First Day of Christmas (Pear Story)

Mary dried her hands with the dishtowel and stared at the baking dish that sat cooling on the counter.

I’ve ruined it, she thought. It’s not like Mom used to make.

Wringing the dishtowel in her fists Mary’s eyes welled up with water with the sheer disappointment of her failed creation.

“Something smells good,” came the voice from behind her. “Is that tonight’s dessert?”

Mary turned and walked to the sink, stifling her tears. “Hardly,” she said. “It was something I’d planned for Christmas dinner but we’d be better off buying something.”

Christmas dinner, Clint thought. “Smells awfully good from here,” he said. “I’d give it a go.”

“Oh, I’m not going to serve that to your mother….” her voice trailed off.

“She’ll love it. So will Dad.” Then, almost reluctantly, Clint asked. “What is it?”

Mary half laughed, half sobbed into the dishtowel, “It’s my Mom’s baked pear recipe. Or not. It’s a total failure,” she said and buried her face in the towel which caught the oncoming sobs.

Clint Stockwell moved slowly across the tile floor towards his wife, his eyes absorbing the curves of her body, his mind trying to grasp how this beautiful creature could ever consider anything she created to be a failure.

“Sweetheart,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Mary from behind. “What’s wrong?” Though he knew. They’d offered to host Christmas dinner for his side of the family and the pressure was proving itself too much for his new bride.

“What’s wrong? What’s WRONG?” She asked, her voice high and shrill. “I can’t bake for shit.”

Clint chuckled at that and squeezed his wife around the waist, his lips finding her neck beneath her long brown curls. The aroma of flour, spices and fruit mingled with the sweet familiar scent of her skin filled his nostrils.

“Baked pears,” he said as he rested his head against hers. “They sure smell nice.”

“Well, I’d planned on making them tonight as practice. I knew I couldn’t pull them off as good as my mother. Just look at them.”

Clint did. The white baking dish appeared to contain a cobbler with four distinct pears erupting from the crust.

“What type of glaze is that?” Clint asked as he kissed her cheek.

“It’s a pear juice and um….. raspberry reduction.”

“Mmmmm,” Clint nibbled at Mary’s earlobe.

“And the crust?”

“Ahhh,” Mary struggled to remember. “Brown sugar and um, oatmeal.” She whispered.

Clint’s left hand found its way to Mary’s waist, then the apron string and finally the bow knot holding it fast. Mary turned to face her husband as the white apron fell to the floor unnoticed. Her tear stained eyes registered the twinkle in his.

“I think,” he said slowly. “That dessert is going to be the second most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Mary felt a familiar twinge in her belly as his lips fell full on her mouth.

Christmas dinner and impressing her in laws could wait. Dessert was now being served.