Vanilla

Thirty Eight

"But we haven't had Chip's pumpkin pie just yet, Vanille," the critic in my uncle never seemed to have a day off. "You know we can't leave without having a slice of it. Those mochi waffles of his... one would never think they were bake by the same person. We'll leave right after."

Chewing on my lip in unease, I gave in without another word. Uncle Al was well aware of my unconditional support for any sort of pastry made by my godfather and insisting on my request would have seemed all the more unnatural. Either way, an additional ten to twenty minutes of pumpkin pie couldn't possibly hurt and might even put Leroy in a better mood, as Chip's food often does to the human heart.

I had to, in the meantime, distract myself from the various probable instances that had, already, unfolded in my head like a deadly storm. Revealing our relationship or going as far as to be as open about it as my godfathers were at present entailed many other questions to be asked and answers, demanded. There was, among many other things, the expectation of 'coming out'—of revealing one's orientation having introduced a partner whose gender wasn't quite as society would expect. And if that should be the case, I, too, would have to be sure of my own sexuality, apart from never having raised the matter in a conversation with Leroy. Therein lies the truth: that I had no answers to these questions, regardless of their seeming importance.

"How is it?" I noticed how Chip had decided to seek the opinion of Leroy before everyone else, after handing out slices of pumpkin pie on dessert plates. He'd even added a dollop of whipped cream on top of every slice. "The crust and the filling?"

Most of the room had started digging into their pie and Leroy had been one of the first to do so, slicing through the perfectly-set filling and tender, flaky crust. It came to me, and perhaps, to everyone else, a surprise when my companion's final verdict had been put across in a manner so blunt and monotonous.

"It's a little bland. But I like it."

Stunned by his comment, the rest of the room had momentarily paused and glanced down at their slices of pie, perhaps even wondering if he had been given a different, store-bought serving. I scrambled for a forkful of it, knowing exactly how precise the culinary students at school had trained their taste buds to be, but he was wrong. As expected, the pumpkin pie was, objectively speaking, gently spiced but bursting with the flavour and sweetness of fresh pumpkin, rich and smooth.

I'd even went as far as to consider the inconsistency of the filling but logically speaking, that was impossible given the fact that every slice had come from the exact same pie. Further, Chip was that experienced of a baker not to make such a mistake.

"I disagree. I think it's quite perfectly flavourful," said my uncle, unable to resist an honest opinion. Aunt Julie had given his shoulder a nudge.

"O-oh, but... hm, tasting it now, I see what Leroy means." My godfather, as usual, was the kind to mediate. His husband sat beside him, surprisingly quiet. "I was um, a little light-handed on spicing it."

"Yes but the trick is not to over-spice it or that would only ruin the true flavour of the pumpkin. Spices are meant to bring out the flavour of the dish's highlight, not overpower it."

"Alright Alfred, now that you got us educated can you just enjoy your pumpkin pie?" Nana got to prodding Uncle Al with the back of her fork. "Boy's said it himself. He likes how it tastes so I don't know what you're defending." The room fell silent soon after, save the faint clinking of forks against plates. Miki and Rory had resorted to hiding behind Atlas and nibbling on their shared slice of pie. The former feeding the latter.

Needless to say, I'd found myself both a little confused, crossed, and ultimately, disappointed. Leroy had never once come across as someone particularly petty or childish enough to be taking out his emotions on any external entity, let alone, my family. No matter how upset or piqued he was with me or my words, I would have pegged him as having decent control over himself.