‘Hurry up Elijah’ my mother orders as I struggle to walk with the huge plastic boxes that are balanced precariously in my arms, each one filled with my mother’s pies. Somehow, and I don’t actually know how it happened, I’ve ended up at eight in the damn morning, helping my mother deliver her baked goods to the fundraiser. One minute I was blissfully asleep, the next the covers were yanked off my body and my mother was ordering me to get up because we ‘have to goooooo!’
So here I am, at the town hall, at God knows what time of the morning, carrying pies through the f.ucking snow.
I step into the huge hall, barely able to see over the top of my boxes, but what I can see it rows of tables with chairs behind them being set up by volunteers. My gaze stays on the win a bottle table a little lo
