I go through the motions of baking the pie I promised. As I chop up apples and sprinkle cinnamon, I am constantly shoving the words “baked with love” out of my mind. There is no love here. Only pie. And duty. Duty pie. But in spite of my many reminders, I feel myself getting nervous. Because yesterday, Owen brought up The Day That Shall Not Be Named. Right out there. In broad daylight. As if it’s a topic to be discussed on the street.
