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Hand In The Pie Plate

The warm air wafts through the open window into the dining room letting the sweet spring season show its full bloom. Hearing soft feet tap on the hardwood floor, I look over from the kitchen table to great my little cousin, Grace, whose blonde spiral curls fly as wild as honey bees.
“Hello, Miss Grace! Are you ready for breakfast?” I ask jumping up to get the baked French toast out of the oven, setting it with the rest of the breakfast fest. “Yes!” Grace says, jumping up and down. “When will the rest of the family get here?” she asks peaking over the counter on her tip-toes to see the spread of food. Marveling at the newly restored kitchen, I glance back at Grace, “In about a half an hour.” I say, reaching into the cabinets to get everything to set a table for six. Grace looks up at the clock on the wall and squint, as though trying to figure out how long that would be, yet too much for her five-year-old mind to comprehend. “In a little bit pumpkin.” I say. “Why don’t you go wash your hands?” I ask and she immediately speed off to do it.
Just moving into my new home, Grace wanted to have a sleepover to break in the home. Every Sunday my whole family has a massive breakfast at my grandmother’s house. Today though, since my mom and eye just got a new house, we decided to switch things up. Like always though, everyone brings a covered dish. Every week things go without a hitch, except for last week, were my Aunt Lori, who always brings some sort of pie, brought a pie with a chunk taken out.
“Everyone, we’re here!” My Aunt Lori exclaims, her opening note she always says, as she and her family flow through the French doors of my grandmother’s house. Her husband Wesley and their three rambunctious boy all walk in with their hands full of things. Bentley, whose nine and Liam, whose six all run into the kitchen, sit on the island stools and stare at their phones with amazement. Lori, walks into the kitchen, carrying her three-month old son, Isaac, who my mom and I immediately flock to. Wanting to hold, the precious little thing in a tiny navy blue onesie.
  Once all the food was set on the table, Lori brings over the strawberry rhubarb pie. Taking off the lid, my aunt looks at it in marvel at the luke warm pie, not because of the beautiful lattice crust, or the steaming pink filling glistening under the topping, but the handful of pie taken out.
   “What the world!” my aunt exclaims. “Wesley, Liam, Bentley, get over here!” she asks, with them scurrying off the stools and coming to stand by her. “Who did it?” she asked, Wesley the first to speak say “I didn’t do it!” running his hand over his smooth core “Boys?” he asks looking down at his little mini-me’s. “I didn’t do it!” Bentley repeats, “Me either!” Liam says with a small grin.
“Lori!” my mom laughs as she holds Isaac. Turing him around she we could all see his chest, there is a clear pink stain on his little outfit. Then holding up his hands, to show them lightly painted with color. “Isaac! I worked so hard on that!” she says through a massive smile. Going over to get him “Come on my little Pie Monster, let’s go get you cleaned up!”
“Well at least we now know who couldn’t wait for the rest of us!” Wesley says and we all carry on as usual.
“Everyone, we’re here!” Aunt Lori exclaims, carrying her pie in one hand and her smallest son in the other. “And no, there is no missing piece this time!” she says with a smile and we all laugh.

Kayle Burnsworth has been writing for as long as she can remember. She is a senior in high school and will soon be graduating. In her free time, she enjoys reading, baking, and yoga. She tries to tie in her hobbies into her love of writing. 






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