P is for Pie

Here, as promised way back in "I is for Instead", is the pie story. It was my first Thanksgiving as a married woman and we were spending it with Ex's mom. Things were strained, because his mom wasn't doing very well mentally and that stressed Ex out, which made him meaner than usual. And that's pretty mean.

Ex's sister invited us all over to a friend's house for Thanksgiving dinner, since Ex's family was so small and his mom wasn't up to cooking a huge meal. His mom decided to make a pie, and I helped her. It was a lot of fun; I mainly stirred the ingredients while she got things out of the cabinets. It looked delicious and I couldn't wait to try it.
                     
As the pie was baking, I decided to study, since I was just on break from school and had finals as soon as we got back home. I was at the dining room table when Ex came in and curtly told me he was going biking. I told him to have fun and went back to my books. Ex went into his mom's office and began playing on the computer. I thought nothing of it; he often got distracted with the computer.

A few minutes later, out he stormed. His face was bright red, his eyes were teary, his fists and jaw were clenched. He screamed that he couldn't take it anymore. Just couldn't stand it. I was shocked. I didn't know what he was talking about. Then he sobbed that he hated me and wanted a divorce, because I had been snotty when I told him to have a good time biking.  
                    
His mom disappeared and Ex continued his tirade. He finally wore himself out and went biking, right when we were all supposed to leave for dinner. It ended up that Ex went biking, his mom and sister went to the dinner, and I stayed at the house and sat in a lonely fog of despair. I didn't cry. I had already learned that tears just made things worse.

The saddest part of the story? I made a pecan pie for the first time and never got to taste it.