"Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it." L.M. Montgomery, The Story Girl
Jack heard the garage door opening from his spot on the couch and stood, cursing as he heard his knees pop. He made his way around the green faded couch and towards the kitchen. He opened the door that led to the garage and saw Sam near the back of her car, closing the trunk with her elbow.
"Hey!" she said cheerily, a mountain of grocery bags lined meticulously on both arms. "When did you get in?"
"Not too long ago," Jack answered, leaning against the door and watching the balancing act. Sam always refused to make more than one trip from the car, so she would line her arms as far as she could with the sacks, and Jack was always impressed by her strength. "I saw your note."
She approached him and smiled. "I'm glad you're home," she pecked him on the lips, then, moved towards the kitchen, "I got stuff for dinner!"
"Excellent!" Jack voiced in his best Mr. Burns impression.
Sam's cell phone rang and Jack helped her by fishing her phone out from her back pocket, though he didn't really mind. Jack took the bags from her arms – it was incredible how much the woman could carry – and followed her into the kitchen. It was someone from the SGC with a science question, Jack could tell, and he heard her ramble on about particles and quarks and generators to boot. He didn't really care who it was on the phone, he just cared that they be done with needing his wife. And soon.
Watching her pace the kitchen and take bowls and cellophane out of cabinets, Jack started taking items out of bags: two steaks, a head of broccoli and some potatoes. A carton of sour cream and some cookies, his favorite. A box of crackers and a wedge of brie, two bottles of wine and a six pack of Guinness. He paused at the next bag, removing from it a package of Chapstick and his deodorant, then a box of tampons. Frowning, he placed the offending box down on the counter. He moved to the last bag and removed two cans of something that looked like fruit and a long cold box of bread. Looking closer at the item, he saw the picture of a pie on the carton, next to the chubby doughboy he recognized from the cans of cinnamon rolls they sometimes bought. Looking one last time in the bag… yep, sure enough, there were two cans of cinnamon rolls. He shifted and waited as Sam continued moving bowls and items around in the kitchen, while talking on the phone. He picked up the can of fruit and looked at the label, "Vermont Cherry Pie Filling: The Best and Freshest Choice!" said a cherry with a happy face. He did a double take of the box of pie crust and cans of pie filling, then looked up just as Sam hung up her call.
"Carter, are you making me pie?"
She smiled. "Well, not from scratch, but… yeah."
"I love pie!"
She smiled bigger. "I know."
He grinned back at her, unable to stop. "We never have pie at home, though."
She bent over and pulled her jeans up, reaching the zipper to her boots and undoing them. "I know," she said, pulling the boot off completely.
Jack moved over and bent down, hearing his knee pop, and undid the second boot for her. "So what's the deal with pie tonight? Is it to make up for the box of tampons you had to buy?" He stood, holding the boot out to her, a slight grimace on his face.
She smirked. "No, that's for next week." Then she waggled her brows.
He rewarded her with a grin. "So… the pie?"
"Jack! Can't a wife make pie for her husband?" Sam said, taking the boot Jack held and tossing it towards the hallway with its pair.
"Yeah, ok. I won't complain. I'm really excited!" Jack reached for the box of dough. "How does this work anyway?"
He opened the box as two tubes of dough crashed onto the counter. Sam laughed and sprayed a pie plate with nonstick spray. "It pie dough. It's just that it's already made, and already rolled out. Pretty much you don't have to do anything but put it together." She rolled out one of the tubes and patted it down into the pie plate.
"Wow." Jack said, "Did your mom teach you that?"
Sam scoffed, then, turned pensive for a moment as she twisted the can opener around one of the cans of fruit. "No. Mom made everything from scratch. Pies, cakes, cookies…" She paused and licked her lips, remembering the cookies she was baking the moment she found out about her mother's death.
She shook herself and reached for a spatula. "Vala taught me about this." She emptied the contents of the first can into the pie plate.
"Vala taught you about what?" Jack asked, while opening the second can.
"This," Sam held up her hands around the kitchen counter, "The pie dough… the pie filling. She thinks it's fabulous, all the ready-made, easy foods we have available. She made Daniel a pie once, just like this."
Jack shook his head. "Vala. Who knew?"
"Well, I certainly didn't." Emptying the second can of fruit into the pie dish, Sam unrolled the second tube of dough, and covering the cherry filling, pressed her fingers over the edges to press them together.
Silently, she took the pie over to the sink, turned it on, and with her fingers brushed some water onto the surface of the dough, moistening it lightly. Then she brought the pie back over to where Jack was. Opening a cabinet, she retrieved a small bowl, and in another, the spice container of cinnamon. Grabbing the sugar dispenser next to the coffee machine, she poured some sugar into the bowl and then some cinnamon, mixing it with a spoon. Then, with her fingers, she sprinkled the sugar and cinnamon mixture over the pie crust, making lazy patters with her arms. Jack was mesmerized by his wife's actions, entranced by her domestic debut.
"Did Vala teach you to do this too?" Jack interrupted her thoughts.
Sam smiled and shook her head. "No, that was my mom," Sam said, her eyes still glued to the pie, the last of the cinnamon sugar being sprinkled calmly over it. "She was a really good cook, have I ever told you that?"
Jack looked at Sam and shook his head. "No, you haven't."
"Mmhmm," Sam said, dusting off her hands. She lifted a knife, and with the precision that could skin a Goa'uld, made six slivers through the dough covering the cherry filling, making red lines in a circle on the top.
"What's that for anyway?" Jack asked.
"To let the steam out," Sam answered. She picked the pie up and turned, opening the door to the oven and depositing the pie plate right in the center. "She was good at a lot of things," Sam said wistfully, still staring at the pie in the oven, its door still open in the warming kitchen.
Jack wasn't sure what exactly Sam was thinking, but he allowed her the moment and refrained from adding any of his usual sarcastic remarks. When she spoke, the oven door still open, Jack barely heard the whisper of her voice. "Today was her birthday."
Jack's breath was knocked from his lungs. Sam never talked about her family, and she never mentioned dates, birthdays, anniversaries, deaths. They had spoken sometimes of Sam's mother, but Jack knew that it was hard for Sam, having lived much of her life without a mother, yet needing one so badly. He slowly stepped around the counter and approached the oven door. Calmly, he placed his hand over Sam's, and helped her to slowly close the oven door. Startled, she drew her hand away from the door and looked up at him.
"How old would she be today?" Jack asked.
Sam swallowed and broke her eye lock with Jack, her eyes shining. "Seventy," she said. "She would be seventy today."
Jack nodded and took her hand in his. "I think steaks and homemade pie is a wonderful way to celebrate."
Sam chuckled. "She'd kick my ass for not making it from scratch."
Jack laughed with her. "Well, Mom will just have to realize that you're pretty damn busy being a General in the United States Air Force… and that you have to live with me for company!"
The comment made Sam laugh, a full blown smile. "Yeah. She'd be proud of me for that."
"Dad too," Jack said.
Sam nodded, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "Yeah, Dad too."
"Go change, I'll get the steaks on the grill," Jack said, patting her butt.
Sam gave Jack a short kiss and made her way up the stairs. "Don't you drench my steak in beer and burn it!" she called out before she disappeared into their room.
Jack smiled and turned again towards the oven. Opening the door slightly and peeking at Sam's perfectly made pie, he said in a voice full of emotion, "Happy birthday, Mom… Thanks for giving me Sam." Closing it again, Jack set out to grill the steaks.
THE END.
A/N: "In the childhood memories of every good cook, there's a large kitchen, a warm stove, a simmering pot and a mom." Barbara Costikyan
Author's Note: Some of you might be shocked about the pie dough and filling. While most Americans still make delicious pie from scratch, this method is very common. It has personally proven effective, and delicious, when in a pinch. Feel free to message me for the recipe for real cherry pie, made from scratch :o)