Shannon: Hey everyone – I have fifteen pies free to a good home. They’re in the garage refrigerator so we can keep our bubbles intact. The temporary keypad code is 1122. It will expire in 24 hours per my husband. Help yourselves.
Sam: Don’t you think holiday pies have passed their prime? We don’t need anyone coming down with food poisoning.
Shannon: FFS. They aren’t holiday pies. You think pies last three weeks in my house? Are you kidding? Have you met my father-in-law? He can smell pie from a mile away. We literally hide pies from him.
Shannon: Anyway. The Commodore needed a project to keep himself busy over the weekend since they’re still not traveling and he was grumbling about the last of the holiday pies and cookies running out before New Years.
Shannon: I told him I’d make the fillings if he made the dough. Four hours later, he’d made enough dough for fifty pies. Rolled out, shaped, perfect. He watched one Martha Stewart video and he was an expert. Half of that dough is in the freezer because there was no way in hell I was baking fifty pies but over the course of a few days, Judy and I ended up baking about twenty-five pies because he kept coming back from the farm stand with more fruit and I just can’t say no to the guy.
Matt: My wife would like to know what kind of pies you’re offering. I would also like to know because if I drive all the way up there and come home with banana cream, there’ll be hell to pay.
Shannon: Apple, blueberry, pear-cranberry, honey-nut squash. The Commodore doesn’t like banana cream either.
Patrick: Pretty sure I’m waiting on you to draft the Q2 budget but sure, setup a pie shop in your garage.
Shannon: Why don’t you scroll down to the bottom of your inbox, Patrick. You’ll find the draft Q2 waiting for you. I sent it around 5:30 this morning.
Riley: I really miss watching these smackdowns in person.
Patrick: I don’t have anything from 5:30 this morning.
Shannon: LOOK AGAIN
Riley: We should lean into this. We could be one of those family businesses where they’re known for one thing but also have an unrelated and semi-bizarre side project that they refuse to give up even though it’s so freaking weird and not strategic in any form. Like, come for the sustainable preservation architecture. Stay for the garage pies.
Erin: Garage pies. The new junk cookies.
Shannon: They are not garage pies! They are normal kitchen pies stored in my extra refrigerator, which happens to be in my garage, because I don’t have room for FIFTEEN pies in the house.
Sam: Did anyone else notice that RISD just used the word strategic in conversation? Where have I been while this evolution was taking place?
Matt: Mostly chasing Danger Baby Dave around and prying deadly weapons from his hands.
Sam: My god. That child. We had to remove the headboard and footboard from his bed because he would stand on top of the headboard and jump onto the mattress with the goal of getting enough bounce to propel himself onto the footboard. He’s sleeping on a mattress on the floor like a frat boy but what else can we do? His entire torso is bruised from slamming into hardwood but he gets right back up and does it again. Forget about the whole tuck-and-roll off his bed onto the floor. I have so much white hair.
Matt: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really don’t mind that we’re skipping cousin play dates right now. I don’t need my daughter learning any of those shenanigans.
Sam: You’re hilarious. I can’t wait until Madeleine starts dating and every minute of your day is a rollercoaster of anxiety. Cannot wait. I’ll have a headful of white hair, my nerves will be fried, and I’ll drink bourbon for breakfast but I can’t wait.
Riley: You guys are the most effective birth control I’ve ever encountered.
Tom: As I’m sure you recall, Wes has offered to help refine Danger Baby’s skills anytime.
Sam: He’s three. I am not sending him to SEAL school.
Tom: You should still let Wes spend some time with him. He’d at least teach the kid how to play without beating himself up.
Erin: That’s what you want. More deadly, less evidence.
Sam: We might need to move. He needs room to run free.
Riley: Like… a farm upstate?
Sam: I don’t know, man. Maybe. Living in a house with a fearless child and brick and concrete floors is going to give me a heart attack.
Shannon: Is anyone coming for any of these pies?
Matt: Wait, you baked twenty-five and now you have fifteen? Has the Commodore eaten ten pies since…the weekend? Is everything okay up there?
Shannon: He didn’t eat ten pies by himself and thank you for your outrage-concern. He’s had plenty of help from Will, Judy, and Abby. Also, I’m breastfeeding. I eat whatever I need, whenever I need it.
Riley: I love these shambles so much.
Shannon: Last chance. Any takers? If not, I’ll drop the pies off for Stremmel.
Matt: You’ll drop them off for Stremmel but I have to hoof it up to Swampscott? What?
Shannon: Have you managed a massive emergency department during a public health crisis for the past ten months with hardly any days off? Or should I arrange to deliver some pies to a guy who is literally doing life and death work right now?
Riley: You set yourself up for that one, Jugger. Send the pies to Stremmel, Shannon. I can’t stand the guy but he holds the line to get the resources necessary. I hate to admit it but I appreciate the way he busts his ass for his staff.
Erin: I agree with RISD about pieing up Stremmel although I like him a lot. He’s like a loaf of that granary bread Andy started making last spring. Hard, crunchy, chewy exterior but very squishy on the inside. Just needs to be slathered in butter.
Riley: I don’t enjoy that metaphor. I don’t want to think about that Stremmel and butter.
Erin: Speaking of which, what do I have to do to get a loaf of Andy’s granary bread? It reminds me of Oxford.
Patrick: She says she’d be happy to make you one.
Shannon: Has she found the Q2 budget in your emails? Because I’m sure she could help out with that too.
Matt: Hold on a second. Are we actually sending fifteen pies to Stremmel? Does that seem like a lot for one guy?
Riley: I really miss being able to reach over and slap you upside the head. He’ll be able to distribute the garage pies appropriately. Calm yourself.
Shannon: Matt—tell me which ones Lauren wants. I’ll save some for her. Sam—if you actually want land, I’ve been eyeing a property in Hingham. It’s near Magnolia’s younger brother’s place. Woodsy, weird, lovely, and about fifteen minutes from the city if you know the way. Patrick—find that budget. The rest of you—be good. I have to go pump.
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