I loved the smell of chicken soup.
Pouring in the mix of carrots, celery and onion into the big black pot (not to be confused with the gumbo pot hanging over the stove), I turned back to the potatoes rinsing in the sink.
Dancing around the kitchen, I turned up the radio and checked the bread in the oven. It smelled done, but the top wasn't quite brown yet; check again in two and a half minutes.
When the door opened, I didn't even hear it. I just felt an arm around my waist and a laugh that made me want to laugh, too.
“Hi, Boo.” Dad greeted, kissing the top of my head “Smells great. Papa's on his way.”
I smiled, “Come on in.”
Papa opened the door, and set a pink box on the table, smiling “My two loves in my favorite place in the entire house. Dawson's cooking tonight?”
“Soup.” I said, stirring the pot before grabbing the potholders and sliding the bread out of the oven.
Dad took a big whiff and squeezed my shoulders “It smells delightful.”
I hummed to the sounds of sweet music as I switched between cutting up fruit and watching my fathers. Papa hid behind his sleek black-rimmed eyeglasses that perched on his nose as he read the paper, clicking his tongue. I saw what I called his 'Italian wrinkles' trace his face, which only came out when he was worried about something. We'd been living in Waldport for only a month, and already they were stressing out about the restaurant.
“What are those local nuts saying now, Dom?” Dad asked, walking over and placing his hand on Papa's shoulder as he shook his head. Dad's graying hair fell into his eyes, seeing his ironically enviable green eyes stare at Papa, a portriat of a sad puppy.
He sighed, “They're just getting all worked up about some big summer festival for the town. I just hope we have enough supplies to feed them, especially with tourist season coming on so quickly.”
I laughed over my shoulder, “It'll be fine, Papa. I'll come in and work an extra shift if you need me to.”
“Might need you in the kitchen.” He remarked, folding the paper on the table and opening the cupboard to take out bowls.
Dad barked, “Sexist pig. Next you'll be remarking about how much she needs to wear a sign to school, to embrace the fact that she's adopted.”
“Daddy!” I remarked, blushing and trying not to let them see. But the tears came anyway; I hated that I cried all the time. It was my weakness, and I kicked myself for it all the time. The adoption thing got to me, I don't know why; maybe because I never felt different. I always felt like their's; Dominic Menzini and Oliver Bennet were my parents, I was Sara Bennet, and I was happy. I didn't need to go telling everyone about it all the time.
Papa walked over, placing his hand on my shoulder “Daws, beautiful, look at me.” I turned, taking a deep breath.
“I'm sorry, I just get...”
“I know.” He smiled, sad and worn “You know Dad and I love you very, very much. You're our precious little Dama de Noche, you know that.”
I nodded, gasping “I d-don't like talking ab-bb-bout leav-ving.”
“I know, baby.” He combed through my hair “But don't you worry. We'll be here for a little while longer.”
Dad put in “At least until the end of the summer.”
I nodded, turning off the stove and pulling out a ladel from the drawer.
“Burger plate up!”
YOU ARE READING
Hometown Hero
Teen FictionDawson Bennet never had a permanent home. Traveling from restaurant to restaurant with her dads, no town held her in one place long enough to get comfortable with anyone. And signs don't look good, now that she's become acquainted with Indie, the to...
