The crisp, juicy pie aroma escaped my lips as I began to make pastry for my cousin’s wedding. Her wedding was going to be in a majestic, ancient church. I might be singing a song, too, even with my strict and ordealful parents disapproval, who’d rather see my singing skills go to waste. I’ve always wanted to go to the “Berklee School of Music” to become a professional singer. I’ve wondered what it would be like if I could have the freedom to do what I want and see the places I want to see. Oh! How much I wanted to become a singer. I had to work my absolute best in order for success or my adoptive “parents’ “ approval. 

Then, I studied the recipe “How to Make a Tasty Apple Pie.” 

How to Make a Tasty Apple Pie:

225g plain flour
140g butter or margarine
3 large apples
2 teaspoon of honey
1 pinch of cinnamon and mixed-spice
1 cracked egg
Vanilla ice cream or natural yogurt

Carefully, I dumped the 225g of plain flour, 140g of butter, and sliced three large apples in the mixing tray. Trying to find the honey, I realized who the culprit was. The family’s Yorkshire Terrier, Honeycomb.

“Honeycomb Jr.! C’mon! Give back the honey!” I hollered as I played tug-a-war with the silly ol’ dog.

“This is not playtime!” 

“Ruff! Ruff!” barked Honeycomb as if saying, “This is my honey!”

He played with the honey in the mason jar and licked it with great curiosity. Then, as I tried to grab it from him, he spilled it, abruptly.

“Bad dog! Bad dog! What a mess. Next time, pick it up after yourself, “ I shouted as I glared upon Honeycomb.

Honeycomb drooped his head and scampered back to his filthy, lonely cage.

He whimpered, “Whoof, whoof.”

I sighed and cleaned up after the dog. Then, peered at the clock. It was already noon. I quickly scooped 2 teaspoons of honey, 1 pinch of cinnamon, cracked the first of a dozen eggs, and stirred it with the old fashioned mixture. Finally, there was the “final touch.” The choice was vanilla ice cream or natural yogurt. Vanilla had a savorfull flavor with a smooth texture to it. The delicious bittersweetness when added chocolate fudge reminded me of my youth. The distance echoes hanged on to me with my biological mother’s last words: “I’ll come back, I promise. You’d be safer here.” Safer where? There was no place that was safe, especially not here, I thought. Nostalgia clanged to me like a turtle with its shell. Vanilla was just resembling my younger self and pieces of memories would soon begin to form throughout my head.

I shook it off and picked up the natural yogurt from the fridge. I poured in the utmost bits of it inside the mixture. Then, I dumped the preheated pie dish in the oven to cook it for 45 min.. 

During the 45 minutes, I started to practice the song I wrote for the wedding. Since there was no pre-audience, I sang in front of Honeycomb.

I finished with a twirl and bowed down to my audience: Honeycomb. He yipped out of the cage, sprinted around the room, and barked excitedly.

“Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!”

He clamored over me while licking my soft cheeks. We did our happy dance while I sang the song, “If you’re happy when you know it.” Whenever I would squeal, “Clap your hands”, Honeycomb would clap his paws in sync or try and do a handshake with me.

Then, I grimaced as I saw Mrs. Smith, my foster care mother, as she shook her head in disapproval.

“Teresa! Enough with your songs! Get ready… The wedding starts in thirty-minutes and be prepared,” yelled Mrs. Smith.

“Okay. Got it.”

“Also, have you finished the pastry yet? Better check before it’s too late! Smells like someone burned something,” demanded Mrs. Smith.

My smile vanished instantly. I hurried back to the oven. Slowly, but cautiously, I opened the oven and dragged the pie out. Steam steadily rose up, burnt embers displaced the once-sweet pie. The rough edges stained translucent coal-black. Once the savorfull flavor disappeared, I could sense disappointment in myself. This was not the first time it happened, though. Last time, it was Mr.Smith’s birthday, and I was supposed to bake chocolate mousse cake, his favorite. However, I had forgotten to mix natural cocoa with Hershey’s special dark cocoa powder. The result was an angry Mr. Smith that spattered the cake on my face and posted it on Instagram, which received two-million likes. I was officially the laughing-stock in New Jersey for two years. Never in my life had I been more humiliated before.

I’d rather die than to relive Mr. Smith’s birthday. It was like a nightmare coming to life. What sort-of punishment would I receive this time? Banished from the house? No, that was too extreme. Getting embarrassed in front of the attendees by telling them what I’d done? Grounded for a few months? Making me take pastry classes with elementary kids? Too lame, I thought.

“Teresa! Is the apple pie just as I want it to be? Tipped with blueberries, cherries and frosted cream? C’mon! Stop messing with me. Tell me what happened to the apple pie,” snickered Mrs. Smith as she gave me the evil eye.

“Um.. Yeah! Everything’s going perfectly fine,” I nervously replied.

Everything was down to the last seconds. Clever as can be, I hid the pie behind me, quickly squeezed the cream around the pie so the burnt edges wouldn’t appear and shoved eight deliciously-aligned berries on the pie. By then, Mrs. Smith had come to me with her hands on her hips.

“Show me the pie!”

I delicately released my fistful hold on my “masterpiece”, handing it over to her. Butterflies swarming around my stomach, sweat pouring, and my legs couldn’t stop shaking. I tried my best to smile, but it looked so fake that even my dog could recognize it. She carefully examined it, touching every inch of the niche. Oh-no! What if she hated it? Is she going to make me sit out during the wedding and write a long-page essay on why I wasn’t careful enough with the pie?

Surprisingly, Mrs. Smith, who’d usually grunt in approval, gave me a thumbs-up. I grinned with satisfaction, but could feel pressure nozzing on me as I pondered if the guests would think differently.

 I snapped back to attention when she returned to her normal-self and shouted, “Don’t just stand there! Keep moving. We ain’t got time to waste.”

 For the sake of the wedding, I stripped on a velvet sheath dress, kept my hair in a loose bun, and wore stiletto heels. Pacing faster, memorizing the lyrics, was all I could think about for the remaining time. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Smith drove me to the wedding, giving me irresistible headaches as she explained “audience and wedding etiquette.”

Finally, we arrived. As soon as I stepped into the building, I could feel the vibe. The DJ was playing classical music pieces by Beethoven. The room was depicted with luxurious, aqua-peach colored wallpaper, mixed with lavender, fresh fragrance, and the traditional US- red, white, and blue ribbons swaying around the room. In the center of the stage, lightly-dipped with golden, shimmering pastel colors, read “Happy Wedding Day!” 

Then, I peered at half of the attendees who were already there. All the way from Norwiegn to Las Vegas, the guests carried an extravagant, precious gift in their hands. What really caught my attention was the spectra crystal chandelier hanging in the ballroom.  I didn’t need to take a second-glimpse at the building to find any flaws. My first-take was magnificent already. A Christian church with bountiful surprises. One touch was paradise. 

Mrs. Smith, who was chattering amongst her “old friends”, had no tolerance for silence. She gave me the death stare and mouth read to me, “Come join the fun and stop with your staring.”

I mouthed back, “No. You will not boss me.”

Then, she frantically motioned her arms up and down, forgetting to quiet down her voice, shouting, “Come on, Teresa! You must.”

This time a quarter of guests stared at us with dismay. Geez. Mrs. Smith sure was a chatterbox. Quietly, but effortlessly, I stumbled over to her and her gals.

“This is Teresa. Teresa, these are my friends, Jennifer and Chanel.”

“Aww, what a sweetie. Why don’t you sit next to me,” said the charming Jennifer, who wore a navy blue empire silhouette matched with white-pearl earrings.

“Hi, Teresa. You are one fine, darling,” declared Chanel in a lady-like manner.

“Thank you so much Ma’am,” I responded as I took a seat to the left of Jennifer.

Then, someone pointed, “Look! It’s the handmaids and the groom!”

In sync, two handmaids, accompanied by an older man deep in his 60s wrapped their arms around a man, who was wearing a professional suit, and ruffled brown hair, nervously strolled to the stage.

The lights dimmed, the DJ tuned down to a melancholy music theme, and the guests started to go back to their seats in whispers. The spotlight revealed a lady making her way down the aisle: charming goldilocks hair, a dazzling snow-white ball gown, diamond twisted hoop earrings, a pure-crystal choker, topped off with a cathedral veil. She was also holding a bouquet of rosemarys and roses. I looked closer. Unrecognizable, speechless, and the one who’d always comfort me through the darkest times; it was my faithful cousin, Destiny.

“Lets welcome Destiny, the bride!” announced the maid-of-honor. He was a stern-looking young man wearing an ordinary suit and a pitched-black bowtie. He seemed to have catched my gaze and I swiftly turned around. When I turned back, his mind had already shifted to the bride.

Everyone applauded, and there were some murmurs about the bride.

“Whoa! What a huge transformation!”

“I can’t wait.”

“Must have been a fairy-God mother dressing her up, so she could be her own Cinderella.”

“You know, as they say, brides always need to have something old,  new, borrowed, blue, and a sixpence in their shoe.”
“Why?” One asked

“Because it’s for good-luck,” chuckled the other.

“Don’t listen to them. They’re just people who gossip,” winked Jennifer.

“Okay,” I replied.

The older man stepped onto the stage and presumed, “Please be seated.”

“We’re all here to celebrate the relationship of Destiny and Dorian and become supporters of the commitment they share with one another. Together we’re a group of the most important people in their lives and they’ve brought us here to publicly recognize that we’ve all played some special part in the love they share today. Destiny and Dorian would like to thank you all for being here. They would also like to recognize all of those who couldn’t make it here today as they are certainly missed but not forgotten on this day of celebration. Speaking of important people, no one is more important in influencing their lives than their parents. With that being said, who gives Destiny away in marriage with this man?

Destiny’s father, dabbing his handkerchief on his cheek, announced, “Her mother and I.”

Destiny hurries to hug her parents, hands her bouquet of flowers to her maid-of-honor, and holds Dorian’s hands.

“Well done. Marriage brings happiness, laughter, and lots of love within a couple. Even though their journey wasn’t easy, it took them courage and strength to get through. Here is a snippet of E.E. Cumming’s ballad, I carry your heart with me.”

The maid-of-honor recites: 

“I carry your heart with me(I carry it in my heart) I am never without it(anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)”

The audience applauded once again.

“Now, we will read the vows,” explained the officiant as he motioned his hands to Destiny, “Ladies first.”

“Dorian, my best friend, true partner-in-crime, and soulmate. I, Destiny, vow Dorian to be my husband. It has been pure joy to be in love with this man; it was like love at first sight. We will continue exploring the world beyond nature, overcoming obstacles, and say our prayers when one is away. Even when times get rough, I will always be there for you: supporting, encouraging, and promising. Thank you for everything; You are the best soulmate anyone can ask for. We will live in a L.A. home built in a two-story construction, and grand staircases the signatures of gold. It’s a blessing to be with you, and I can’t wait for the future. We will live in harmony, peace,  and eternity ‘til death do us apart.”

They stared at each other, deeply moved, and Dorian started his vow. “Destiny, my best friend, true partner-in-crime, and soulmate. I, Dorian, vow Destiny to be my wife. It has been such a pleasure spending time with you. Even in the most despicable moments, you have been there for me. And I can’t thank you enough for that. We will live together forever. L.A. sounds great to me; strippers, clowns, and stubborn chefs, wonderful-”

The audience giggled with laughter at his inside joke. One person even yelled, “L.A.! Here we come!”

Dorian managed a smile and continued, “You’re not just my wife; a bride waiting to get married; you’re more than that. You’re a heavenly angel; the most gorgeous one I’ve ever seen, the giving blessing from the Heavens. We will become two peas in a pod. Traveling together and helping each other throughout the toughest times. I can’t wait to start a new life wit us apart.”

Everyone clapped their hands in unity. Dorian and Destiny’s maids took two shiny, gold 24k rings out of the soft, miniature pillow and gave it to the bride and groom.

“We will now exchange the rings to symbolize commitment. Dorian, please repeat after me and say this to your future wife, Destiny.”

“I give you this ring as a symbol of our love.”

“I give you this ring as a symbol of our love,” mimicked Dorian.

“Forever ‘til death do us apart.”

“Forever ‘til death do us apart,” asserted Dorian.

They repeated a few more sentences and Dorian put the ring on Destiny's finger. After Destiny said her words, she put the other ring on Dorian’s finger.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes, so blue and crafty, so young and relentless. Jennifer, soothing her own wedding ring, whispered, “Soon you’ll be just like them, and the couples before you.”

“Yuck,” I muttered as I tried not to look disgusted.

Then, Dorian and Destiny both leaned over. Their lips slowly moved together in sync, moving like there was no Earth, like it was only them, two gorgeous angels floating in the Heavens. I shielded my face, covered my mouth from gagging, but Mrs. Smith blocked my arms out of the way. She towered down at me with her piercing, green snake eyes and gave me a harsh shove making me knock Jennifer and Chanel over.

“Ow!” screeched Chanel in a painful voice as she regained her balance.

I scowled at Mrs. Smith and helped Chanel get up. The maid-of-honor told her to be quiet, but Chanel shuffled back to her seat, frowning at me while pointing, “That was her who did it! She pushed me off.”

The maid-of-honor glowered at me and said to Chanel, “Pardon me, ma’am.”

He motioned me to come over. As soon as I came over, I recognized him. Hazel-chestnut brown eyes, dark, curly black hair, and his lips read, “Come over.” My mind immediately snapped back to attention as he whispered in a strict tone, “Excuse me, but you need to follow the etiquette rules and procedures. Rule number one is don’t touch other people. Rule number two is to wait for your turn to talk. Last rule is to be respectful to your elders.”

I sighed. This couldn’t be any worse.

All I could manage to say was, “I apologize for what I did.”

He gave me a nod and left me standing there, motionless.

As soon as I settled down, Mrs. Smith positioned herself away from me, silently messaging on her outdated phone. When I tapped her on her shoulder, she ignored me. Completely. It was no use. I turned to my left. Jennifer was arguing with Chanel over me. Words and phrases. Something like, “She pushed me, and I deserve the utmost respect.” Or, “She said sorry already, so please forgive her.” I apologized, again. Chanel kept on giving me the dirty look. I plumped myself on the vintage chair sinking through the softness. Then, I heard a voice ringing throughout my head that I couldn’t get rid of. “Stop! Don’t take her. She’s my daughter.” It sounded like the voice was right next to me, awaiting for my presence. But it wasn’t. It was Jennifer’s and Chanel’s. 

Luckily, the kiss was already over, and the maid-of-honor reassured the guests with a “wedding celebration.” They started off with a few performances and then, it was my turn.

“Now, let's welcome Teresa and the chorus! ”

 I took a deep breath and hopped onto the stage. Performing in front of Honeycomb was one thing, but performing in front of a large sophisticated audience was another.

Gallant was the word I would describe myself with. The moment I could shine, and my adoptive family could finally realize I was good enough. That singing was good enough.

The melody began to harmonize by itself. My voice blended in… 

“The story begins to unfold

One chapter over another

Who could tell?

You and me

Young doves fighting for courage

Juvenile souls trying to find freedom

Desperately searching for love

So…”

I characterized a singer’s breath and tried to search for Mrs. Smith. She was nowhere in sight, so I decided to continue.

“When the war is on and there’s no hope

Would you hold my hand like the day

 I could see a smile written on your face?

I’d almost forgot you were here

Standing next to me

How could I forget?

The endless laughter with lots of love

Saintful pleasures

Long-lost letters

Please don’t leave me here

I ain’t no runaway girl

I knew it was my cue; so I brought more children to the stage while the chorus tap danced.

Yeah…”

Please let me take this journey with you

To explore Vienna and Toronto, too

The tearful sunsets we drew

Just to get close to you

Honey, I’d do anything for you

Chorus: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah… And I’d do anything, anything, anything... 

For you”

The side singers motioned the children to go back to their seats; melancholy music is playing. In this verse, I sang slower to savor the moment.

“When I saw you standing there, alone

I humbled by your sadness

With no hand to hold

In the darkest times… 

It seems you were blue

And someone tried to drown you

I sat next to you, hoping for a change to come

When we held each other through the hopelessness

It felt stronger that way

At least for me

I was terrified

Completely mystified

And I know there’s a change to come

We’d just have to hope

One day…”

I ended with a pirouette. Everyone clapped. One by one they begin to rise up. My face broke off with a grin. The first person I was thinking about was Mrs. Smith. To see her proud of me; gleaming in a violet spectrum.

It was as if my thoughts had been answered. Fist pumping and distraught, she snapped at everyone in her way. 

“Teresa! Do you hear me? What you have done with singing; it’s just not appropriate in our culture.” She tensed up a bit, straightened up her shoulders, and hit me so hard that I felt like a paralized creature. Just when I was about to hit her back, the security guards grabbed her even when she resisted.

“Mrs. Smith, please don’t ever do that to a public audience ever. That is very disrespectful,” bellowed the maids. Relief washed over my face as I thanked the maids.

“That was lovely singing you did over there,” said someone behind me. 

I turned to see who it was. It was the person that scolded me for “accidentally” pushing Chanel.

“Name’s Rick.”

“Hi, my name’s Teresa. Aren’t you the maid-of-honor?” I questioned.

“Yes, ma’ lady. Oh, wow. Your mom is quite the lady!” He chuckled.

We burst into laughter and could sense a feeling of warmness.

“Yeah, about that. It really wasn’t me who, you know, who pushed Chanel.”

“Indeed. Crystal clear. It was your mother who shoved you. You toppled over the polished woman “accidentally” and she was all fussed up over it. To prevent more gossiping, I chose the smart way even though I knew it wasn’t fair.”

I nodded in agreement.

“You care to dance, my lady?”

Pondering around, wandering who he was talking to, I realized it was me.

Taking his delicate, soothing hands was like being in a whole other galaxy. He gleaned into my eyes, and I was mesmerized into his. The DJ had switched to an italian melody.

We twirled, whirled, and galloped around the ballroom. Song after song, melody over melody, and finally, he drew me in,  bowed down, and said, “Come, there’s a secret basement that unlocks the true meaning of life. Gardens full of Calla Lilies, carnations, and ruby-red roses. I want to show you this before we bid our farewell.”

Reluctantly, I followed this clever boy, whom I only spent three hours with.

We traveled for four miles and when we arrived at our destination, he led me through the archway which was filled with citrus, violet, and hot pink marigolds, trees, the Eastern Hemlock ones, and glistened me with fresh-picked peaches. Grape vines stuck out forming heart-shaped signs, and a single canopy hammock hung on the sides of the Redwoods. Mockingbirds chirped their sweet lullabies, and deers dominated the whole plantation. It was like a wild city of it’s own, climbing up the heights of its own monarchy. We stopped at a decent treehouse, blinded by its humongous branches, overlooked by the Yellow-pine chipmunks.

“After you, madam,” His dimples, slightly lopsided, grinned towards me.

I ascended through the rusty steps and collapsed as soon as I got there. Nervous giggles swept across the room.

“Who is she?”

“What is she doing here?”

“What does she want from us?” 

One shrieked, “Welp! She must be from the Native Tribes of the South Carribean!”

“No, silly. She must be one of Rick’s friends from the city.”

Rick stood next to me, helped me get up and introduced me to the rest of the crew. All of them were wearing bright-yellow polka dotted shirts and light-blue shorts. Engraved in the middle of their shirts had the same phrase: “Protect wildlife and its species from harm.”

“Pretty-neat shirts,” I commented as I pointed towards them.

“Mhm. We sowed it with the remaining war money,” claimed a mature teen named Charlotte.

The war between the Soviet Union and the U.S.. Bombs flying everywhere, destruction on homes, millions lives lost, and long-term psychological effects on children- like these kids.

“Hey, new girl, Teresa, you want to play hide-and-seek, swing on the tires connecting the trees, and enjoy the scenery before sunset?”

“I’d love, too.”

“Yay! Teresa’s playing with us!” shouted one of the kids excitedly. 

The game involved some of us rolling upon a tire while the others would rotate the tires back and forth, back and forth. We’d jumped into the lake when we wanted to dive in. Hide-and-seek; it was like a new version of the game. Crumbled behind rocky mountains, clamouring inside gigantic Red Oak trees while burying themselves in the holes of Beaver’s dens were all hiding spots where the team hid. Rick pulled out an enormous picnic blanket jazzed up with punk music. Mild, evergreen Parsley, lemonade squeezed lemons, and freshwater bait stuffed our stomachs. We tried out as many games as we could and before we knew it, it was already sunset.

“Aww, does sissy Teresa have to go today?” muttered Izzy, a toddler who was rescued from a trench.

“Can’t she stay?” moaned Charlotte.

Everyone, including Rick, himself, felt downhearted. Teresa was going to go back to live with her adoptive family under strict rules, as usual.

“Thank you! We had so much fun with you,” cried the kids out in unison.

They waved good-bye to me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever see them, again. Rick walked me back to the archway passing through the neatly-trimmed grass, heart-shaped vines, and the single penthouse. Tears streaming down his face, unable to attain all the attention, he opened the grand door and muttered, “Farewell, my lady.”

I quickly turned back, but it was too late. Rick shutted the door, and I turned back. Back to the ballroom, back to my cottage, back to my room.

THE END