Mrs. Govers sat uneasily at her kitchen table and stared at the thing before her. It steamed in a manner almost menacingly even as it’s tempting scents wafted over to her: sweet and cinnamony. It was already sliced, a piece had even been served onto one of her small plates. A silver fork lay beside it. Without even realizing it, she had picked up the fork and was gently cutting through the crust. It was light and flaky and as it broke it seemed to infuse the air with soft, buttery smells.

“Now you stop that!” Mrs. Govers said firmly, placing the fork back down and resolutely pulling her gaze away from the table and the thing that sat on it.

“Isn’t this what you asked for?” was the reply to her outburst.

“I, well…you see,” Mrs. Govers stammered, “I hadn’t expected it to…you know…

She trailed off.

“I do not know,” returned her companion. “I do not read minds.”

“Why do I have to eat it? I didn’t want to eat anything. This wasn’t part of the deal!” Mrs. Govers was growing more agitated by the second. In all her eighty seven years of life, she’d never been so flustered and uncomfortable. She’d made a fairly straight forward request and had expected a straight forward response. Instead she was wasting away the afternoon, arguing over the manner in which her request was being treated.

“Listen you,” she went on when no response was given to her previous exclamation. “If you won’t explain it, I’m not touching it.”

There was a sound, almost like that of a heavy sigh, though it could just as easily been the sound of the wind outside. It was hard to tell when dealing with her companion what sounds were from it and what sounds weren’t.

“We all must abide by the laws of the universe that bind us,” it said.

“And somehow me eating that…that thingis going to—

“It is a pie,” it interrupted her, “and yes, if you truly want what you asked for, then you will eat it.”

Mrs. Govers looked back to the thing. Sure it had the right shape of a pie. It certainly smelled like a pie. She was almost convinced that it would even taste like a pie. However, no matter what assurances her companion was going to give her, she knew it wasn’t a pie.

“It doesn’t feellike pie,” she said at last. “It’s like I’m looking at a spider wearing a wig and you’re telling me it’s my daughter!”

“I guarantee that it is a pie, nonetheless.”

It’s voice was always so droll, bordering on monotone. As though it really didn’t care one way or the other what she did. But if that were the case, then why did it persevere in trying to convince her that it was a pie. What, really, was in it for it?

“Why does it always have to be this way with you?” Mrs. Govers asked, hoping to buy herself time while she considered her options and sought for any means to convince her companion to do things her way.

“You are the one who has never been satisfied with my attempts to acquiesce to your requests.”

Mrs. Govers waved a dismissive hand at it.

“No, no, no,” she contradicted it, “Don’t try and place this on me. You’re the one who has always insisted on being difficult. I’m always straight forward with you. I don’t think I could have been any clearer, really. Do you?”

“You are always quite specific in your requests.”

“And did I ask for pie?”

“No.”

“Have I given you the impression, in any way, that I was even hungry?”

“No.”

“And what about the times before this?”

There was, if it were possible coming from such a being as her companion, an awkward pause.

“Well?” Mrs. Govers needled it. “The so-called rolls? The fritters? The tiered cake? Always something you expect me to eat when I have, for so many years now, always insisted that you not, in fact, provide me with anything of the sort.”

“It is against the laws of the universe for me to do otherwise,” came the defiant response.

“I don’t believe that for an instant!” Mrs. Govers snapped.

“Your belief is not required for the laws of the universe to still hold sway.”

Mrs. Govers huffed and leaned back in her chair. She was beginning to feel light headed from all the arguing and she placed her hand over her heart, feeling the slightly irregular rhythm beating out within her chest.

“Why couldn’t we ever get along, you and I?” she asked without meaning to. She was feeling nostalgic for years gone by and, as often happened when she felt this way, she found herself regretting her several disagreements.

“I do not believe our relationship has ever been one of animosity,” her companion droned.

“Don’t give me that,” Mrs. Govers said, though without the anger and frustration she had used previously. “I know it must be frustrating for you too. Neither of us has ever gotten what we wanted.”

The kitchen clock ticked through the seconds and Mrs. Govers looked back to the thing, the pie, that she’d been presented with. Looking at it still made her skin crawl but she couldn’t stay angry with her companion. It was, she had to finally concede, just doing the best it could. Steam still rose from the pie’s surface, though it wafted in the air more like smoke than steam, and it hung heavily in the air near the ceiling. She breathed in deeply, taking in the sweet and heavily spiced aroma of the pie.

“Well,” she said at last, “I’m not going to eat it so you can take it away.”

In an instant, the pie, the steam, the smell, all of it was gone and in its place there hung a sense of disappointment from her companion.

“I think it’s about time I let you go,” Mrs. Govers said.

“You don’t have to do that,” her companion said and there was just a hint of a plea.

“What, have you grown fond of me?” she asked.

“Though you have never accepted my offerings,” it replied, “I have enjoyed our time together and would not have it end sooner than needed.”

“Well I’m afraid that pie was your last chance to make sure we had more time together.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” it said, and this time the plea was quite obvious, “you would not eat the pie! It would have done as you’d asked and granted you immortality!”

“Either way,” Mrs. Govers said, pulling a locket out from beneath her blouse and lifting it off from around her neck, “I am done. I don’t expect you’ll ever get me to eat any of your creations, but I’m sure there’s plenty of other people out there who would.”

She held out the locket. It was old and tarnished but even still the beautiful filigree could be made out.

Her companion hesitated. It clearly didn’t want to accept the locket.

“What if,” it said slowly, “I allowed you to watch while I made the pie. I swear you will see everything I put into it and will know the precise process I take to make it. Then would you be willing to eat it?”

That gave Mrs. Govers reason to consider. She knew her companion could not lie if it swore to something, and for that reason it was rarely willing to make such oaths.

“And do you swear that eating your pie would only do what I’ve request and in a manner I wouldn’t object to?” She asked.

“And what is your specific request?”

Here was the sticky bit. Mrs. Govers had known her companion for many years now, and knew that it was not inherently devious. However, it was not human, it often reminded her, and did not think in the same ways as a human and therefore could potentially grant her request in a manner that she would not agree with. The wording of her requests was always important and she had to be as specific as possible. This wish, the only one she had ever made, the same one she kept making, had been refined over the years and she felt confident that she had gotten it right.

“I want to become immortal,” she began, “meaning that I retain my body, mind, functions, and everything that defines me, and yet am no long affected by disease, infection, or any other ailment. I must be impervious to all harm but still able to act and enjoy my immortality. My body should no longer age, either, and should instead look and behave as it did when I was in my prime, with the exceptions to illness, injury, and so forth as I have already explained. Also, the…pie…that you create must not look, feel, taste, or in any other way seem or be anything other than it is. In short, the fulfilling of this request must be done in a manner that if I, here and now, were to see the process and the results, would not object to it.”

Her companion considered her words, weighing them out as it always did whenever she made any requests of it. Finally it rose and went over to the counter and began organizing ingredients.

“I swear to you that all of this is as it appears and I will fulfill your desire as requested,” It said.

Mrs. Govers followed it over and inspected the ingredients. There were the usual and expected ones, but several that she was surprised by. Flowers, roots, odd looking fungi and pieces of animals she couldn’t identify. And yet, even as she wondered and worried about the strange ingredients, her mind was opened and she knew and understood each piece. Nothing was toxic. Nothing would make her sick. And as her companion worked, she began to understand how these disparate ingredients could work together to do just as she had requested.

After some time, Mrs. Govers rolled up her sleeves and put on an apron so she could help her companion in its work. Without comment, it slid over and made room for her at the counter and together they formed the crust. The filling soon followed, and then they set it to bake. It smelled just as the previous pie had smelled, but somehow lacked the menacing presence. Perhaps it was her newfound understanding. Perhaps there was something different about this one.

“Tell me,” Mrs. Govers said while they waited for the pie to bake, “How come you could let me understand this pie without me having to eat anything?”

“Simple,” it told her, “knowledge is intangible and can therefore be freely shared.”

So if I had asked for knowledge about how to do things,” she asked, “you wouldn’t have ever tried to get me to eat those things?”

“Correct.”

Mrs. Govers smiled to herself and laughed. “Well, from now on,” she said, “I guess I’ll just ask you for knowledge instead of things.”

“That would resolve our difficulties,” it admitted, “though knowledge is often found wanting without wisdom.”

“Isn’t wisdom intangible as well?”

It did not answer but its silence wasn’t worrying to her. She suspected it was thinking along the same lines as she was. If she gained the knowledge required to do for herself what it could do, then she wouldn’t need it any more. Why it seemed to like being with her was beyond her, though. In all the years she’d had it, this was possibly the first time that she’d actually take it up on its offer to fulfill her every desire. She felt that it would have been much more content with someone else who was willing to eat what it gave them and thus allow it to fulfill their every desire.

No matter. She’d have plenty of time to think on those things later. The oven timer had just gone off and the pie was now sitting in front of her, just as it had done earlier that day. It was sliced, served, and ready to be eaten. As promised, this time it didn’t make her uncomfortable and was just a pie.

“As requested,” her companion said with a slight sense of accomplishment.

Mrs. Govers took up the fork and brought the first bite up to her lips. After so many years, so much anticipation and frustration and disappointment, she was finally going to get what she wanted.

It was the sweetest pie she had ever tasted.