The Lemon Meringue Pie

For my creative writing class, we were prompted to write a subject/verb/object sentence to warm up before we started writing our short stories. My teacher told everyone in the class to hurriedly write down a subject/verb/object sentence without much thought and then to read it out to the class. This is what I got:

Sarah baked a lemon meringue pie.  

He then told us, this would be the character and the beginning sentence to our story. I had the name Sarah (which happened to be my sister) and that she was baking a pie. This opened up many story opportunities for me. Here is the story that I wrote for it.

Dedicated to my sister, the mysterious pie maker. :)

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The Lemon Meringue Pie

By: Pepper Hales

Sarah baked a lemon meringue pie. The soft white edges looked softer than silk and rolled beneath the hand mixer. She was the conductor to a symphony of ingredients. How Sarah loved the droning sounds of the mixer, creating something sweet under her direction. Stirring away all the complications of life. She took the meringue and scooped it on top of the tart lemon pie filling, putting it into the oven, burning her fingertips with clumsy maneuvering skills.

 Her stomach was in knots. It was always around this time when she was waiting for Jonathan to arrive home. His apartment was directly across from hers and he almost always left the hanging blinds open. From her kitchen sink she could see into his kitchen and small living room, mirroring her own. At six every evening he would come home and flip on the lights, illuminating a sadly furnished apartment that desperately lacked a woman’s touch. A plain white sofa, twenty inch TV and a glass coffee table with a potted plant in the middle that looked starved of love and water.

The timer jolted Sarah out of her day dream, picturing Jonathan’s smooth and kind face, the one that lingered beneath her eyelids as she dreamt alone at night. After carefully lifting the pie out of the oven and setting it on the stove; Sarah noticed Jonathan had come home. She peeked into his windows. Strong shoulders and dark chocolate hair smoothed to the side sat on the sofa watching TV with a blank, tired stare. This should cheer him up, Sarah thought as she eagerly waited for the pie to cool. This wasn't the first pie she made for Jonathan. It was actually pie sixty-seven. She had counted. Ever since he moved in one and a half years ago, Sarah had been secretly leaving fresh baked pies on his doorstep. She would press the door bell and leave the pie as the only trace of her presence.

 He enjoyed her gifts immensely. Sometimes the pies would be gone within a few days and others, even less. After the fifth pie, Jonathan replaced the pie pan with a note saying thank you and wondering who the mysterious pie maker was. Sarah was too shy. She’d never talk to him before. Occasionally they did meet in the mail room but Sarah put her head down, curls hiding her curiously blushing face. Jonathan was polite but never said much. Her heart ached for him to say more, stop her in her tracks and sweep her off her feet. That’s what always happens to the girls in stories so why couldn't it happen to her?

 Sarah wrapped the pie in a cake box with a satin bow, like she always did. She slipped on her jacket, buttoning the coat around her skipping heartbeat. With shaky hands she managed to put on her mittens, grab the pie and leave her warm house into the blustery winter evening. The walk to Jonathan’s house was not long. An elevator ride down and a quick dash to the apartment buildings next door, then another elevator ride up to his floor. His apartment was number 212. She had done the math from the building layout and crossed her fingers when she delivered her first pie, hoping it was the right address. It was. The first pie Sarah gave Jonathan was a Key Lime pie. It was risky, not a first choice for most people, but she wanted to make an impression. From his facial expressions across the expanse, she had been lucky.

 Although Sarah had devoted endless hours into delicately made creations, her hopes sank a little each time she left a pie on his doorstep. Doubt always clouded her mind. Am I just fooling myself? That one question lingering. She was afraid if he found out who she was, he would be disappointed. Maybe he was imagining this beautiful woman that glowed with grace and walked on shimmering clouds. Sarah was quite the opposite with clumsy feet and too frizzy of curls that did their best not to listen to her instructions to stay down.

 Sarah took the stairs instead, seriously wondering if she should deliver the pie. Each step was heavier than the last. When she reached his floor, she stood there for a minute, pie in hand. It warmed her fingers and smelled luxurious. She imagined what it would taste like- if Jonathan would like it as much as her. Lemon meringue was her favorite. She memorized the recipe by heart and had tweaked the ingredients until they obeyed at her command. This pie could melt the coldest of hearts. Each pie, how silly it sounded, was made with a little piece of her soul. Baking was her passion. Seeing people take a bite and their entire moods change to glee lifted her spirits and healed some part of her that she didn't know was broken. After much thought over the days before, Sarah made up her mind as she reached Jonathan’s door. This would be her last pie, Sarah was certain. Baking was not her way of luring a handsome man into the net. It was her way of creating harmony in a pan.

 She crouched down and laid the package at the foot of the door. It was simply innocent, wrapped in red and white. The door swished open before she could run away. Still squatting in the door way, she looked into a pair of sock covered feet. She felt her breath freeze like the icicles outside. Sarah peered up at smiling eyes.

 “Are you the one always leaving pies behind,” Jonathan asked with a twinge of astonishment.

 Sarah’s cheeks blazed and she stood up.

 His eyes were different up close. Dark with hints of hazel and mocha swirled into a chocolate mousse pie.

 “Yes I am,” She barely got the words out.

 Jonathan retrieved the pie, opened the lid and was silent for a minute.

 “Lemon meringue,” He asked, eyes still fixed on the golden brown peaks.

 “Yes,” Sarah whispered. He looked back at her while closing the lid. Jonathan didn't say anything and Sarah feared the worst had come. That he was freaked out by her, assuming she was a crazy stalker.

“Thank you. I mean, you've made me endless of pies and I've never officially thanked you,” Jonathan’s words were sincere. Not at all what she expected.

 “I’m glad you've enjoyed them. I've never had the nerve to say hello so I thought I would bake you pies instead,” Sarah said with a laugh. Then after a pause, “Your apartment is across from mine so I saw you when you moved in.”

Jonathan’s eyes crinkled into a grin, “I know how you feel. I've seen you in the mail room before, but you were too pretty to talk to. I never knew how to approach you. I’m glad I finally found out who this mysterious pie maker was and she happened to be here the whole time.”

Sarah hid her face from him. She found she could not breathe and her heart raced. Is that how he’s always felt about me?

 “Would you like to come in for a grand tour of the place?”

Sarah nodded but then spoke with a confident smile, “I’d love to.”

“And maybe a slice of pie,” Jonathan asked with as nervous as she was smile. Sarah went and searched for a pie server.