Perfect Pair

I use this recipe when I want to impress people. Food brings people together, in celebration and in mourning. I’ve always felt that cooking is what I most had to offer in life. No matter the type of person, circumstance or energy, food is an offering in a language everyone understands and is guaranteed to make a positive impression.

The ding of the oven brought me back to the present. I rung out the washcloth, dried my hands and pulled my not-yet-famous apple and pear crumble out of the oven.

“That smells delicious, Liv.” Nick joined me in the kitchen.

“Can I help?” He rested an arm on my hip as I dusted cinnamon sugar over the crumble.

“Yeah, would you grab out the cream?” I turned to his family in the living room, “would you guys like ice cream or cream?”

“Some cream would be lovely.” His mother migrated toward the kitchen with her other son.

“I’ll have ice cream if that’s okay.” Nicks older brother chimed in.

Everyone grabbed a bowl of crumble, their preference of creamy topping and took a seat at the dining table.

“This is really nice Liv.” His father said as he sampled his second bite.

“Thanks. I think it’s missing a little something but it’s not too bad this time ‘round.”

“That’s the highest of compliments coming from Dad.” Nick whispered to me as the conversation drifted to the other end of the table.

We drove home peaceful silence. Nick drove with my head on his thigh, one arm around me as I watched the streetlights pass above us.

“Hey, do you remember when we were kids you gave me your pear on the bus? We were going to that temple in the middle of nowhere.” I asked him as we jumped out of the car.

“Sure. I made Matt trade places so I could sit with you.” His smile was beautiful, if a little reserved at times.

“Every time I try to make that crumble, it’s the pear that isn’t quite right. But that pear you gave me was beautiful. The best I’ve ever tasted.”

“That good was it?” He chuckled at my enthusiasm. “Maybe it was the company that made it so sweet and juicy?”

I rolled my eyes at him, but my smile betrayed me.

“Of course, that played an integral role in the level of tastiness.” Sarcasm drenched my words.

“I’m serious, it was the best. Do you think your Mum will remember where she got them from?”

“Where she bought a pear from nine years ago?” His eyes questioned my sanity.

“I know it’s a longshot.”

“If I remember correctly, you didn’t even finish that pear.”

“Yeah, but I loved it.”

“Didn’t love it enough to finish it.” He said with a smirk.

“It was perfect, I just wasn’t hungry!”

“I can ask Mum, but I don’t think she’ll remember Sweetie.”

“Yes please, mmhmm, yep.” I nodded with unmatched enthusiasm.

He called his mother the next day and found out that they mostly bought from Woolworths but also from locals who grow their own produce and sell it on the side of the road.

“There’s nothing wrong with the pears you already use.” He said to me after the call.

“There is though. They aren’t perfect.”

“I think everyone at dinner would beg to differ.”

“They don’t know any better so they can’t expect any better.”

“But you do huh?” He held a quiet amusement.

“Yep, I do.”

“Then I guess we’re getting reacquainted with the countryside this Winter.”

We designed a lot of our dates around visiting his parents, picnics and walks that took us on a tour of his hometown, past where people often sold produce on the side of the road.

“LOOK! Over there, let’s stop.” My enthusiasm was quite intact.

“Let me turn around up here.” He said a little flatter than usual.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“It’s all good.” He paused. “I am getting a little tired though.”

“This will be the last stop I swear.” I kissed his shoulder as he parked the car.

The stand was small with a handwritten sign. Which spoke to the quality of the produce if you asked me; the least fancy places always had the best fruit. Like Italian restaurants with terrible chairs had the best pasta.

“Hey, can I buy a pear please?”

The man handed me the pear and we walked to the car as I bit into it.

“BA-EBE.” I said through a juicy mouthful.

“It’s the one?” His eyes had a little more pep in them.

“It’s perfect, we have to go back and talk to him.”

“Alright, alright.” he said through a smile.

I set a decent pace back to the stand.

“Hey, this may sound very strange. But I love these pears and I was wondering if I could buy one of your trees? I really want to grow some myself if you’d be willing to sell.”

He considered my request.

“I don’t have any trees young enough to sell at the moment.”

“I was hoping to get the tree that this one came from.”

I told him the story about us as teenagers sharing a pear on the bus, in the hope that it would help him relinquish a tree to me.

“That’s the year we started selling pears, I think. We only had one fruiting tree at that point. The others were all too young to fruit at that point.”

“Can we see the tree?”

“Sure, I’m about to pack up if you want to follow me.”

He took us to a modest pear orchid that ran alongside a dusty dirt road. He pointed out the oldest tree he had. It was beautiful in the golden afternoon light, abundant with almost ripe pears.

“How much will it cost for me to have this tree?”

“Have my tree?” He looked taken aback and paused, “It’s pretty old now and probably won’t transport well.”

“I’ll take the chance if you’re willing to part with it.”

He mulled it over.

“For the right price, I’ll organise a way to uproot it, but I don’t think it will transport well. It’s an old tree now, it’s been around since I was a boy. I wouldn’t expect it to produce much over the coming seasons. It’s one of the only reason’s I'm agreeing.”

“Perfect! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I turned to Nick and he kissed me on the cheek.

Up until the tree arrived there was a hopeful joy in the air that was akin to the feeling of sitting on the bus next to the boy I liked and stealing his fruit even though I wasn’t hungry.

I spent a decent amount of time thinking about where to put it once it arrived. I researched everything I could to make sure the tree survived.

When the man arrived, I led him and his truck to the back where I’d dug a hole. The tree was a challenge to get out off of the truck, but once it was in its place, everything felt right.

“Now, I will let you know that the tree took a little bit of damage on the way here.”

He showed me that a large branch at the back had broken and part of the trunk had been damaged badly.

“I told you it’s old and wouldn’t transport well, but I did the best that I could.”

“Oh no, is there anything I’ll need to do to differently?”

“I don’t know there’s much more you can do other than hope it finds a good water source as soon as possible and that it takes to the soil.”

I said goodbye and methodically went through my pear-care plan.

I was still outside when Nick arrived home from work. Things had been tense between us for the last week and as his car pulled up the driveway my mind needed to reconcile the anxiety of his return with the excitement for the tree. If I’m honest I wanted to run up to the car, open the door and show him how my project was going. But as the car came up the driveway, the air thickened around me, and I found it difficult to wade through it and connect in that way. Instead, I waited for his move.

“Hey Baby.” The exhaustion of the last week weighed down his words.

“Hey, how are you going?”

“Not too bad. You?”

“Oh, you know. Good.”

I hated these interactions. They took my hand and led me further into the murky thick-aired swamp.

We walked up to the house together to grab a cup of tea, a ceremony that would, in any other circumstance, be enjoyable. Today however, it smelt of mouldy mangroves on a hot summer's day.

“You didn’t message me today, was everything okay?” A dumb question. He was avoiding me, and I just had to go and say something. Jesus Liv.

“Everything was okay. I just didn’t feel like talking.” He paused, “I don’t message every day.”

“You message most of the time, and usually when you don’t it’s because something is wrong.”

His face changed. I knew that look, the same way he knew my tone of voice.

“Do we have to do this right now?”

“When would you prefer to do it?”

“Sometimes I just don’t feel like messaging.”

“That’s fine, I don’t expect it. But when things are tense it makes me feel anxious not knowing where we’re at.”

“Okay.” His voice tightened.

“What do you mean by ‘okay’?” Mine sharpened.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to do this right now.” He stood up to walkway.

“Walking away isn’t going to help. It’s why we’re in this mess in the first place.” I let out a flash of anger.

“I know.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do Liv. I don’t know how to fix this.”

His voice softened enough for me to find a path through the smog.

“I’m not trying to say you have to message me every day. I just want things to be okay again. I’m not sure how to get things back to where they were either.”

I stood up to give him a hug and he enveloped me. I took a deep breath, smelling a familiar and comfortable scent that was thirty-seven million times better than mouldy swamp.

“Can we just cuddle for a bit?”

“Yeah, come with me.” He led me to the couch, and we barricaded ourselves there for a good portion of the evening.

The following morning was less tense but there was still a nervousness hanging around, like waiting for the bell before a class presentation you were not prepared for.

We parted ways after breakfast and went about our days. He messaged me, and it felt a little forced, but he was trying. The afternoon rolled around, and my day hadn’t improved. Nick came home and the air grew thick again as we both tip-toed around each other. I looked outside and noticed the tell-tale signs of a dying tree.

“The tree isn’t going to make it.” Misery filled my voice.

“You tried everything you could.”

“I know, but it wasn’t good enough.”

That night we went to sleep with an uneasiness between us. My dreams woke me in the early morning before the sun had considered rising. Not an ounce of sleepiness could be found on me. It was the type of alertness you wished would join you in the morning when your alarm went off.

I tried to leave the room quietly, grabbing a warm robe before walking outside. I decided to go visit the tree and ponder the nightmare that doomed my relationship.

At some point Nick came out to find me under the tree.

“Are we going to be okay?” I asked him through the silence that had nestled between us over the last week.

“I’m not sure.” He sounded defeated as well.

I looked up at the last pear on the tree and remembered us as teenagers. My eyes swelled with tears. The thing about memory is that it is your reimagining of reality, not reality itself. Depending on the experience you might lean into preferable feelings or wallow in the unpreferred. The people are never that perfect or that flawed, they are people. Nostalgia is the lie we tell ourselves when we’re confronted with loneliness and disconnection.

“We can’t stay here like this, Liv.”

He was right. There wasn’t a point in staying here. It wouldn’t bring back the tree and it wouldn’t bring back the feeling.

“I know this tree meant a lot to you. I know you wanted it to work out the way you imagined. To cook the perfect pie with the perfect pear, and I’m sorry it didn’t turn out that way.”

He looked at the dead tree, mourning something that had nothing to do with my famous apple and pear crumble.

“Things are always changing.” He looked at me trying to find the words that would sooth the pain I was in. He looked away, eyes darting around with a new idea forming.

“Come with me.” He said looking into my eyes, hands outstretched. My body moved towards his without my conscious effort. Before my mind could protest abandoning my sorrow, I was up off the ground and being led to the car.

“Where are we going?”

“It will be worth it, I promise, but I can’t tell you yet.” I looked at him with intrigue. “I love you and things are going to be okay.” He said.

We drove for over an hour in the silvery first light as the sun threatened to rise behind us. It was a quiet drive. He held my hand and made sure I knew he was there the whole time.

“How are you going Baby?” he asked.

“A little tired.”

“We’ll be there soon.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Are we visiting your parents?” I asked with amusement creeping onto my face.

“There’s that smile.” I loved when he said that.

Some words have a sincerity that slices through the heaviness that stops two people from connecting. The smile reached my eyes, and I squeezed his hand in thanks.

“We’re here!” He said with excitement.

“The farm?”

“Yep. Come with me.” He jumped out of the car and jogged to open the door for me.

“If I didn’t take the tree, we could have had those pears forever.”

“If you didn’t take the tree, it still would have died. It was an old tree. The first tree, of all the ones we can see now.” The sun had caught up with us and a deep warmth bathed the orchid.

“I guess that’s true.” We let silence settle in as we considered the trees in front of us.

I took a deep breath, “I wanted to share another perfect pear with you. Every winter, until we were old.”

“I know you did Sweetie.” He pulled me in for a big hug. I could smell his hair and clothes mixing with the crisp morning air and found a moment of peace.

He held my gaze. “We will. Every winter, the new trees will have pears. We can come here for a picnic. At sunrise, sunset, whenever you want to.”

He reached into his pocket and handed me the last pear from the original tree. I bit into it. The flavour was different to the first time. I was different and so was he. Change was inevitable, it was here with us right now and it would be here with us next winter.

As I enjoyed the perfect pear, he planted a kiss on my forehead.

I smiled and said, “I’m looking forward to every perfect pear to come.”