remaining pecan piles.
On our way home, Bree talks non-stop about them. We have enough nuts to make pecan pie, pecan sandies, pecan tassies, pecan and caramel cheesecake, turtles, pralines, and even German chocolate cake. She's so distracted that she hasn't mentioned her supposed allergy to Susu at all.
"I haven't even made it to the savories," Bree says as we head back inside our apartment.
"I don't think I can stomach it."
Bree excitedly retrieves her collection from the car, pulls out a nutcracker, and begins popping open shells. I read a chapter about the history of sugar pulling, Susu resting at my feet, while Bree begins experimenting with recipes. It's not long before our place is overloaded with the smell of cookies and piecrusts. I wait a while to see if she'll slow down, or at least take a water break. The clock is ticking closer and closer to midnight, and she still hasn't left the kitchen. I put my book down, my eyes feeling heavy, and join her.
The table is filled with pans and an assortment of cookies hot out of the oven. Bree pushes back a strand of frizzed hair and begins mixing cream and sugar and a pinch of salt in a heavy saucepan. She stirs until the mixture turns into a caramel color. She moves it from the heat and adds butter, vanilla, and a pile of chopped pecans.
"For some melt-in-your-mouth sweetness," she says, spooning the candy onto a sheet of parchment paper.
"Uh…" I eye the mountain of dishes piling up in the sink and the dozens of baked goods that she'll likely give away tomorrow morning. There's no way we could or should eat all this. "Why don't you power down and head to bed?"
"But there's still some left," Bree insists. She gestures toward a pile of raw pecans in a bowl near the sink. "I was going to make pie next."
"Pie?" I raise my eyebrows. If it's possible to bake yourself into a sugar coma, Bree just might do it. "Okay, that's it." I take the handle of the saucepan and force her to let go of it.
"Hey, my pralines," she whines.
"Bree, you've gone pecan crazy." I grab her by the shoulders and wait for her to take a breath and look around the kitchen at everything she has made in the past couple of hours.
"I have not gone pecan crazy," she argues. I can see the worry on her face. She won't make eye contact, and the vein that pops sometimes on her forehead when she's anxious is bulging.
"Sit down before you have a pecan heart attack." I pull her to the living room where Susu is standing at attention. She sniffs Bree's leg.
"Fine."
When Bree finally has the chance to slow down, her thoughts catch up with her. She buries her head in hands, rubbing her eyes. She smears what little makeup is left on her face. She's definitely not telling me something, which is funny because I've been keeping something from her too.
"What is it?" I ask. "You've been weird all evening."
"Before we get any further," Bree responds. She extends an arm toward the kitchen. "Try one of my pecan sandies—"
I cut her off by forcing her arm back down.
"I'm afraid I'm already pecan-ed out."
"You haven't even sampled my pralines." She steers us back to the subject of candy.
"I promise I will once you tell me what's going on," I answer.
"Ugh." Bree shakes her head. "I wish I could forget it."
"Is it Jeff?"
"That man drives me up the wall." She frowns, sticking out her bottom lip like she's tasted something sour. "Or should I say boy . Do you know how hard it was to get him to put his plate in the sink?"
"He probably did it on purpose just to make you mad."
"Yeah, well…no, I can't. It's too embarrassing. You go first."
"Me?" I place a hand on my chest.
"Yes, you . You've been hiding something too. Normally you'd be in and out of the kitchen grazing. You're avoiding me." She lifts her chin and looks down on me. "You tell me, and I'll tell you."
"Fine," I agree. "On three."
"Fine." Bree composes herself, sitting up straight with her legs crossed. "If you want to be all sorority girl about it. On
On our way home, Bree talks non-stop about them. We have enough nuts to make pecan pie, pecan sandies, pecan tassies, pecan and caramel cheesecake, turtles, pralines, and even German chocolate cake. She's so distracted that she hasn't mentioned her supposed allergy to Susu at all.
"I haven't even made it to the savories," Bree says as we head back inside our apartment.
"I don't think I can stomach it."
Bree excitedly retrieves her collection from the car, pulls out a nutcracker, and begins popping open shells. I read a chapter about the history of sugar pulling, Susu resting at my feet, while Bree begins experimenting with recipes. It's not long before our place is overloaded with the smell of cookies and piecrusts. I wait a while to see if she'll slow down, or at least take a water break. The clock is ticking closer and closer to midnight, and she still hasn't left the kitchen. I put my book down, my eyes feeling heavy, and join her.
The table is filled with pans and an assortment of cookies hot out of the oven. Bree pushes back a strand of frizzed hair and begins mixing cream and sugar and a pinch of salt in a heavy saucepan. She stirs until the mixture turns into a caramel color. She moves it from the heat and adds butter, vanilla, and a pile of chopped pecans.
"For some melt-in-your-mouth sweetness," she says, spooning the candy onto a sheet of parchment paper.
"Uh…" I eye the mountain of dishes piling up in the sink and the dozens of baked goods that she'll likely give away tomorrow morning. There's no way we could or should eat all this. "Why don't you power down and head to bed?"
"But there's still some left," Bree insists. She gestures toward a pile of raw pecans in a bowl near the sink. "I was going to make pie next."
"Pie?" I raise my eyebrows. If it's possible to bake yourself into a sugar coma, Bree just might do it. "Okay, that's it." I take the handle of the saucepan and force her to let go of it.
"Hey, my pralines," she whines.
"Bree, you've gone pecan crazy." I grab her by the shoulders and wait for her to take a breath and look around the kitchen at everything she has made in the past couple of hours.
"I have not gone pecan crazy," she argues. I can see the worry on her face. She won't make eye contact, and the vein that pops sometimes on her forehead when she's anxious is bulging.
"Sit down before you have a pecan heart attack." I pull her to the living room where Susu is standing at attention. She sniffs Bree's leg.
"Fine."
When Bree finally has the chance to slow down, her thoughts catch up with her. She buries her head in hands, rubbing her eyes. She smears what little makeup is left on her face. She's definitely not telling me something, which is funny because I've been keeping something from her too.
"What is it?" I ask. "You've been weird all evening."
"Before we get any further," Bree responds. She extends an arm toward the kitchen. "Try one of my pecan sandies—"
I cut her off by forcing her arm back down.
"I'm afraid I'm already pecan-ed out."
"You haven't even sampled my pralines." She steers us back to the subject of candy.
"I promise I will once you tell me what's going on," I answer.
"Ugh." Bree shakes her head. "I wish I could forget it."
"Is it Jeff?"
"That man drives me up the wall." She frowns, sticking out her bottom lip like she's tasted something sour. "Or should I say boy . Do you know how hard it was to get him to put his plate in the sink?"
"He probably did it on purpose just to make you mad."
"Yeah, well…no, I can't. It's too embarrassing. You go first."
"Me?" I place a hand on my chest.
"Yes, you . You've been hiding something too. Normally you'd be in and out of the kitchen grazing. You're avoiding me." She lifts her chin and looks down on me. "You tell me, and I'll tell you."
"Fine," I agree. "On three."
"Fine." Bree composes herself, sitting up straight with her legs crossed. "If you want to be all sorority girl about it. On
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