the way to a man's heart - K

(context: Micah McQuistan, a vampire; Johnny Ray Maxwell, his boyfriend)

It was an accident. The force of habit.  When he made the strawberry-rhubarb pie, one of his best, he wasn't thinking.  He hit up his ma's place, got the strawberries and the rhubarb stalks from her garden.  Stewed them, added the nutmeg, the cinnamon.  A little crystallized ginger for something extra.  Rolled out the crusts and tried his hand at a lattice-top, and it wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, but that was all right.  It was more fitting that way, rustic.  Like him.  Anyway, he always said it didn't matter so much how a thing looked so long as it tasted good.  You just might have to trick people into eating it.

But now Johnny Ray was kicking himself.  How could he have forgotten something so important?  Again, he supposed it was habit.  He was so used to cooking for Micah, having the boy try every little thing, tell him what it needed, that he didn't stop to think twice about the pie.  It didn't hit him until he brought it to the table when Micah came over that night and the pale boy's expression sank like a stone down to the riverbed.  Right.  They'd had this conversation already.  That night Micah came over and "surprised" him--and it was quite a surprise--he offered to get into the kitchen, make something up to try and placate Micah's hunger, but he didn't understand it.  It had to be explained.  No food.  None, not even celery, and even if he could keep it down, it wouldn't put a dent in that new-found hunger.  No drinks, either--except the obvious.  No more cocktails or wine coolers or Johnny trying to get him on beer.  No milkshakes or cappuccinos, no biscuits, no scrambled eggs, no skillets.  And definitely no pie.

Johnny stared at Micah across the table, fumbling for something to say, some way to take it back.  The pie sat in the middle of the table, and the whole kitchen smelled of it--fresh sweetness and summer air.  What an eyesore it had suddenly become, that painstakingly laid pastry crisscrossing violently red, glistening filling.  A poor attempt to hide the strawberry gore.  The sugar dusted over the top glittered like shattered glass, and Micah made a point of not looking.  It was okay, he said.  Johnny just forgot--no big deal, and did he wanna go watch a movie or something?  But it wasn't okay.  Johnny could see that Micah's eyes were wet, going pink at the corners.

Johnny wrung his hands, looking past Micah across the kitchen counters, thinking, searching.  Then he spied it.  "You know--you know, I bet it's no good anyhow.  I think I fudged it up, cooked the filling too long.  And I was always terrible at crusts, real dry and tasteless."

He moved across the kitchen and grabbed the salt shaker he had his eye on.  Plucked the bottle of tabasco from the back of the stove and came back to the table, and before Micah could ask what he was doing, Johnny upended both over the top of the pie.  The salt sprinkled down like tiny snow, indistinguishable from the crystals of sugar, and the tabasco too was masked by its hue. 

"I think I added too much salt, too."  Johnny unscrewed the cap with his thumb, and a whole shaker's worth landed in a messy pile in the middle of the pie.  He spread it around with a finger and kept at the tabasco, splashing the white with orange.  "And who the hell puts hot sauce in a pie, right?  Lord, I'm probably about the worst pie-maker you ever laid eyes on."

Micah stared up at him, confused.  Maybe a little worried, because it seemed very much like his boyfriend had just lost it.  As a final touch, Johnny took the sauce bottle and pushed it down into the middle of the pie, sending salted strawberry ooze up through the spaces in the crust.  Then he met Micah's eyes.

"Damn awful.  Completely.  Can't even stomach lookin' at it.  You must be ashamed to call me yours."

And Micah laughed.  His eyes were still a little red, and Johnny knew things still weren't really okay on a grander scale, but he felt the tension break, the tragedy give.  He wouldn't make this mistake again, wouldn't hurt Micah like this for no damn reason. 

"Yeah, you are pretty terrible.  Should probably go back to Paula Deen for another lesson or two."  Micah was grinning now, and Johnny knew that hard moment had passed.  "Come on, you'd better make it up to me for this wreck."

Micah got up and took Johnny's hand, tugging him around the table and toward the other room.  Johnny tossed the salt shaker over his shoulder, and it landed with a moist smack on the ruined pie.