Don't Drop It

With both hands supporting it from below and thumbs just touching but not climbing over the crust. Never clasping it like a book or cradling it like a football. Two hands from below, as if presenting a precious gift. Thomas had clear instructions on how to hold the fresh pie and he knew it would be more trouble to protest and put his creative spin on it than to follow his mother's instructions. They probably worked best in the end anyway.

Only problem; the thing was damn hot. A freshly baked pie was cooked mainly from below so all the heat focused on the bottom. That's why she wrapped it with tin foil and gave him two oven gloves for each hand and two oven mats for it to sit on but the heat still passed through. It would've been fine to hold it like this for ten seconds, but by now six minutes went by and the pie felt like it still hadn't reached it highest cooking point. Any minute now he would feel it cooling - the car ride was only a few miles longer.

He knew the place well. Every summer, his family would attend the Church Picnic where every household brought a side dish and dessert. The church would supply the entree; usually some kind of barbecued beef or pork. Her side dish - red potato salad - wasn't as tender, so it sat on the floor of the backseat in a sealed container, but the pie was safe and warm in his hands. Cooling since the minute before. By dessert time it would settle nicely - just as planned.