I’m not a morning pony. I know the stereotype is that earth ponies and cooks typically get up with the sun, but that isn’t me.
That doesn’t stop my earth pony instincts from waking me up shortly after the sun rises – it just means I don’t like it. My mind needs extra time to wake up after my body does. When I worked at my classified military job, I would get really grumpy when one of my roommates tried to engage me in conversation before I’d had my breakfast.
But now I’ve got the perfect thing to look at while I finish waking up: Lyra, my amazing wife. The simple act of her being in bed next to me lets me know that I’m going to have another good day. I’m perfectly content to lie here and watch the gentle rise and fall of the blanket on her belly as she sleeps.
I love her so much.
When she turns her head and gives me that small smile, that’s how I know it’s time to get out of bed. But not before a kiss on her cheek to say good morning. By this point, I’m awake enough that I can climb down the stairs and start breakfast.
Lyra feels bad that I do all the cooking for us, but I don’t mind – with my special talent being candy making, I’m at home in the kitchen. Once upon a time, she would occasionally attempt to make something, but we’ve come to the unspoken agreement now that she shouldn’t do that. The last time was several years ago on my birthday, when she tried to make me breakfast in bed. It did not end well… although the oatmeal was pretty good.
Plus, because I’m the one who always cooks, it means that I always get to eat whatever I want. I have a lot on my proverbial plate coming up today, so this calls for scrambled eggs and hash browns.
Two minutes before the food is actually ready, I call out, “Breakfast time!” Ten seconds after the food is on the table, Lyra shows up to give me a nuzzle and a kiss of my own.
By the time we finish breakfast, we’re both ready to start the day. After my shower, I open the icebox, remove all of the trays of caramel chips that have been setting overnight, and pour them into two canisters. I don’t get to make these too often, so this was a welcome change of pace. Especially given how well they turned out.
Lyra is always nice enough to carry deliveries, so we head out together. I don’t know if I think this because Ponyville has really good weatherponies or because I have Lyra by my side, but it’s another beautiful day. In no time, we’re at Sugarcube Corner, having missed the breakfast rush. Mrs. Cake is currently the only one on duty and there’s no line except for one adolescent pegasus in front of us. I spend the time trying to remember if I know him, but the sculpting cutie mark isn’t ringing any bells. He gives us a nod and a smile like he knows who we are, though.
After he gets his order, we give the caramel chips to Mrs. Cake. When the pegasus hears “caramel chips,” he sticks around to see what they are. I suppose they are kind of an unusual ingredient.
Mrs. Cake looks inside one of the canisters. “You were even able to get them pointed at the top!” she says. When she ordered them, she had told me it was okay if they wound up being tiny squares, but she deserves better than that.
I explain, “After the caramel firmed up a bit, I cut it into little cubes. Then Lyra used her magic to form them into proper chips.” I can’t help but smile.
The pegasus also seems impressed by the chips. I’ve learned that when you’re a town’s primary candy maker, foals will remember you for a long time – maybe that’s why he recognizes me. He says, “I knew you two were married, but I didn’t know she helped you make your candy, too.”
Far be it from me to pass up an opportunity to talk about my favorite subject. Not candy – Lyra. I tell him, “She isn’t just my wife. She’s my partner in everything.”
I know what’s coming next. Lyra kisses me on the cheek, and I probably blush a little. She knows that public displays of affection make me uncomfortable, but I know how much she enjoys doing it to me, so I don’t complain. Besides, she’s so cute when she gets that mischievous little smirk on her face.
Mrs. Cake pays us for the chips, then tells me that the bakery is going to need more multicolored sprinkles soon. I ask if she needs them by tomorrow, and I’m relieved when she says it can wait a day or two.
I’m eager to get home so I can finish one of my orders, but first, we have to stop by Twisty Loops’ stand in the marketplace so I can pick up the peanut butter–filled pretzel nuggets that I asked her to make for me for today. A couple of weeks ago, Cranky Doodle Donkey ordered a box of chocolate-dipped peanut butter pretzels for Matilda’s birthday tomorrow. He was pretty short-tempered when he came to me with the order, but that’s just who he is. Besides, when he sees how much Matilda likes them, he’ll be happy. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s how good you feel inside when you can put a smile on your wife’s face.
We also have some time to say hi to a couple of our friends on our way back. Nothing much is going on in anypony’s life – the biggest development is that Golden Harvest fixed her kitchen window – but sometimes, no news is good news. Soon, I’m back home in my kitchen, where it’s time to finish the order I’ve been working on for the past three days. Even though it’s been a lot of work, I’m excited – it isn’t every day I get an order from an actual Bridleway director.
Here’s how it happened: Lyra’s sister, Chorine, has been performing in Berry Ellicolt, which is ending its run next week. A couple of months ago, when Lyra was writing to her, she reminded her that if anypony was thinking of commemorating the event, I take commissions. I was shocked when a couple of weeks later, the show’s director actually wrote to me asking if I could make one hundred boxes of blackberry creme chocolates as a cast party gift for the performers and crew!
I’m just a small-town candy maker – I never would have dreamed I’d ever be filling an order for a Manehattan theater director. But Lyra was able to get Chorine to convince the director to do business with me instead of one of the big-city candy stores. And then she acts like I had anything to do with it, trying to give me credit for getting this commission.
Just before I get out the different types of chocolate wafers, she asks which order I’m going to make first. I tell her that I’m going to start today with the blackberry cremes so I can get the feeling of accomplishment from having finally finished them. Then I’ll do the peanut butter pretzels, as those will be a lot easier. She watches as I begin to melt some of the chocolate, then makes an offhoof comment that I should combine the two orders to make a chocolate candy with a peanut butter and blackberry jelly filling.
I explain that while chocolate and peanut butter go well together, the fruity jelly would get in the way of the interplay between those two flavors. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Her feelings aren’t hurt when I say it. Her feelings have never been hurt when I explain why one of her suggestions won’t work, but it’s still a relief. She knows that she’s always welcome to come up with ideas. For instance, I never would have thought to develop “cookie chip chocolates” if she hadn’t said it first.
Lyra is usually home while I cook, but today, she’ll be meeting up with some of her musician friends to perform at the School of Friendship. If I didn’t have these orders to make, I’d go watch her.
Instead, she leaves (after I get my good-bye kiss from her) while I keep working on the blackberry cremes. Line the molds with the tempered dark chocolate. Set for a few minutes in the icebox. Add the blackberry/white chocolate filling. Firm that up. Cover with more chocolate. Another trip to the icebox to get everything to harden quickly. And then I’m going to do it all again. The process of making candy always seems more ho-hum when Lyra isn’t here to keep me company.
While I’m melting more chocolate so I’ll be ready for when I can remove this batch and reuse the molds, my mind goes back to what she said earlier. Chocolate, peanut butter, and jelly are too many competing flavors… but why not just peanut butter and jelly? Inspiration strikes, though I don’t have time to really start focusing on it until the final batch of blackberry cremes have the last layer of chocolate added and they’re in the icebox.
I take some peanut butter, mix in a little coconut oil, and pull out one of my deep square molds. I don’t think the chunks of fruit found in jam would be pleasant, but I have a jar of strawberry jelly on hoof. So I get to work making peanut butter shells with a strawberry jelly filling. This is just a small test run, so I only use half of the indentations in the mold.
I put that in the icebox to set, too. Now I’m excited for how these will turn out. And I can’t wait to see Lyra’s reaction when we taste them later tonight.
Right now, though, it’s time for lunch. It’s only for me and I’m already doing a lot of cooking today, so lunch is just a sandwich. It probably would have been peanut butter and jelly, but I’ve seen enough peanut butter for one day. Marigolds sound good.
After lunch, it’s time to take the last blackberry cremes out of the icebox, package them, and finally finish this order. For a lack of anywhere else to put them, I’ve been stacking the boxes against one of the walls in the living room. Usually I don’t have to do something like that unless it’s Hearts and Hooves Day or Hearth’s Warming time. I’m glad that Lyra doesn’t mind.
Tomorrow morning, we’ll put all of the boxes into one big cardboard box. Then the costume designer will stop by after she visits Rarity and we’ll figure out how to get it onto her train. If we have to borrow one of our neighbors’ carts, that’s no big deal. One good thing about being a confectioner is that it’s easy to make thank-you gifts for small favors.
While I’m setting up to make the chocolate-covered pretzels, Lyra comes home. All work comes to a stop so I can properly say hello to her again with a hug and kiss. I know it’s only been a few hours, but these little absences always make us realize how glad we are that we have each other. And not that I need an excuse to kiss her, but still… I like getting kisses from her.
Now I have somepony to have a conversation with while I begin to melt the semisweet chocolate. Lyra’s had the more interesting day today, so I’m happy to listen. Eventually, we run out of things to say, so she practices her lyre while I keep dipping pretzel nuggets. Work always goes by so much more quickly when she plays, even when it’s just incomplete snippets of songs like it is today. When she’s on tour, I’ll put on the album her band released so it feels a little bit like she’s home.
As I get to the last few nuggets, she stops playing and sits at the kitchen table, just watching me work. I wait for an explanation, but about five minutes go by and she doesn’t say anything. I guess it’s up to me to ask.
“What are you doing?”
“Appreciating you.”
Did I mention how much I love her?
First, she gets a kiss for that. Afterward, I say to her, “I guess I’d better give you something to appreciate, then,” and I start to comically swing my hips back and forth as I walk across the kitchen to put the pretzels in the icebox. That gets her to giggle, which always makes my heart swell.
After spending most of the day in the kitchen, I need some time to decompress, so we relax on the loveseat together, reading. She has a new magazine today, so she doesn’t ask for the entertainment and comics section of the newspaper while I start reading the national and local news.
As I read, I find myself appreciating Lyra right back. Ever since I met her, I get to be my favorite self when she’s around. She has a great sense of humor, she radiates joy, and she’s objectively more attractive than I am. Such a funny, spontaneous, beautiful pony could have had her pick of any mare in Equestria. I am so lucky she chose me.
When I finish the newspaper, the pretzels are ready to be packaged. Not too long after I do that, Cranky stops by to pick them up. After he leaves, Lyra comments that I should make more birthday gift orders – we usually don’t have to deliver those.
I joke that she’s getting lazy, then pretend to demand that she get up and go to our self-defense class so she’ll get a proper workout.
Taking this class was a good idea. I hope I never need to use it, but I’m learning a lot about how to maneuver out of an attack, even when the other pony is bigger than you. Although I didn’t enjoy the first session – we had to get accustomed to having another pony right up against us so in the heat of the moment, we’ll be able to think about how to defend ourselves rather than freak out about a stranger being on us. Not only did I not like being pressed up against some pony I didn’t know, I admit that I felt really possessive when I saw other ponies standing that close to Lyra.
Today’s lesson is how to get out of a choke hold. It’s all about getting the other pony off-balance since they have one of their forelegs around your neck. Some of the moves seem counterintuitive to how I’d naturally react, but I guess that’s the reason these are techniques that have to be learned.
Class gets out late enough that I don’t want to have to deal with dinner, so we go to Hayburger. It occurs to me that between breakfast and this upcoming dinner, we’re going to be eating a lot of fried food in one day. Eh, we’ll just make it up with healthier meals tomorrow. I still don’t want to cook right now.
It’s kind of late for dinner, so there aren’t too many other ponies in the restaurant. We both get the usual, and after Lyra levitates our tray to the table, she immediately picks up both burgers, takes the pickles off of mine, and places them onto hers, all without me needing to ask.
As we eat, we discuss today’s class. She has the best comment with “Now Bulwark has conditioned me to respond violently if somepony tries to give me a choker necklace.”
Shortly before we finish, Lyra comes up with a mini croquet game using the potato fries and our drinking straws. I love that she can take something as mundane as getting a bite to eat and make it fun. Plus, she did it knowing that I’m probably going to win.
“You think you can take me in fast food croquet?” I jokingly challenge her.
“I’m here to take your crown,” she says, even though this is the first time that I – or anypony else – have ever played this game. Before I get a chance to say that the loser has to bus the table (since she was going to do that anyway), she adds, “So what do I get if I win?”
It takes me a second, but I come up with something funnier than not bussing the table. I say, “If you win, then you get to taste-test my new idea.” Now she’ll say…
“And if I lose?”
I smirk. “Then you have to taste-test my new idea.”
Yes. Best sound in the universe.
I win, and decide that my reward should be getting to eat the remaining fries. Now it’s time to go home for dessert. While we walk back, Lyra playfully tries to get me to tell her what the new candy is, promising to give me whatever free things she happens to see as we go along.
By the time we get home, we’re both eager to try it. I pop the candies out of their molds, not bothering to trim off the excess peanut butter around the edges. At the same time, we take a bite.
Hm. Something isn’t right. It definitely tastes like peanut butter and jelly, but I’m not sure I’d want to eat this as candy. I scowl a little bit, but I don’t say anything until Lyra has told me what she thinks. When it comes to evaluating my new ideas, I always want to hear her honest opinion, good or bad. She feels the same way about my opinions when she tries out new music.
She says that something about the jelly isn’t quite working for her, and I nod in agreement. She thinks that it’s because when she eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, she never gets that much jelly in one bite. That’s a valid point – I guess I was trying to get too close to a literal PB&J. First and foremost, I have to make this a piece of candy, and it isn’t going to work with the kind of jelly you get from a jar.
Thinking out loud, I say that maybe the filling should be closer to what you’d find in a jelly doughnut. But Lyra clearly doesn’t like that idea. I suppose it’s true that most ponies wouldn’t want to take a big bite of that.
I talk about possibly making the strawberry filling more like a creme, like what I did with the blackberry chocolates, but my gut tells me that that would be too similar in texture to the peanut butter shell. Maybe a soft creme? I really want this candy to work – it came from Lyra’s idea. I ask her how she’d feel about the doughnut jelly, but not as sickly sweet and with thicker peanut butter walls so there would be less jelly inside. She responds well to the idea of a thicker peanut butter coating, so I’ll try that tomorrow. And maybe the soft creme, too.
Unfortunately, right now, we have to do the dishes. As always, I wash and she dries. By this point in the day, we’ve run out of things to say, so we usually suffer through it in relative silence. But at least the chore only takes half as long to do since two of us are doing it.
Sometimes, being bored makes you more creative. As I’m washing my pots, I think some more about the PB&J candies. The idea of grape jelly enters my mind, but I think I’ll stick with perfecting strawberry before I branch off into other flavors. However, imagining a liquidy grape filling leads me to wonder whether it would be possible to make chocolates for adults that contain actual wine. Could they be aged, getting the wine to ferment while it’s inside the chocolate? Although as I keep mulling it over (pun not intended), I think I remember Berry Punch saying something about leftover sediment in wine barrels, so maybe that isn’t such a good idea.
Meanwhile, Lyra needs to put away the frying pan, which goes in one of the cupboards on the other side of me. Without any warning, she ducks down and crawls underneath me, barely squeezing between my hind legs and the sink cabinet, popping out on the other side. Even though she easily could have just levitated the pan over my back and into its place.
I give her a look. She explains, “It’s the shortest distance between me and the cupboard.”
I roll my eyes and smile. And then of course, she starts to come back the way she came, crawling underneath me again.
“I should drop down onto your back,” I say. “Then what would you do?”
“What would you do?” she replies. “’Cause if I carry you away from the sink and put you down somewhere else, you’re going to have to wash your hooves again to finish the dishes.”
That doesn’t stop me from shuffling my hind legs forward to pin her against the sink cabinet for a few seconds.
Finally, the dishes are done. But that took us late enough into the night that now it’s time for bed. Getting ready doesn’t take very long – we each brush our teeth and that’s pretty much it. Neither of us is in the mood for anything else tonight, but given how these things usually go, that likely won’t be the case tomorrow.
After we get into bed but before we lie down, we share one last kiss for the night. I will always enjoy kissing Lyra Heartstrings. Then, just before she turns out the lantern, she gives me such a wonderful look – I can only hope it’s the same look I’m giving her.
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you,” I say.
We’ve said those words more times than I can count. We still always mean it, and it still feels so good to hear it.
With that, the lantern goes out, we lie down, I place my right hoof on her left, and we close our eyes.
When I think about it, I suppose it’s true that getting to fall asleep next to the pony that I love might not be as exciting as it was when we first started sleeping together – after all, it’s impossible to recapture the thrill of doing something for the first time. But while that endorphin rush might be gone, I’ll gladly take the inner peace that comes from knowing that Lyra will always be by my side.
Today was a day just like any other day. Jaded ponies might call it routine, but I call it reliability – and I don’t understand why anypony would think that that’s a bad thing in a marriage. Knowing what to expect can be great – especially when it’s knowing that your wife will always love you. Lyra is still full of little surprises throughout the day. But the big, important things are predictable, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I can’t wait to wake up and see her again.