Devil's Food Cake [✓]

23 | little miss sunshine

In the glow of the hopeful, happy morning light bursting out from the curtains, my dad was bathed in sunlight, as he flipped pancakes on the skillet, whistling a ditty.

I stumbled into the kitchen, ribbing at my sleep-encrusted eyelids, partially in a zombie-like, fugue state.

Rubbing my palms on the back of my flannel pyjamas, rather than reaching out for a tissue, such was my morning lethargy.

'Well, if it isn't Little Miss Sunshine!' Dad said with relish.

'Dad, please, don't start!' I groaned.

It was a common routine of ours: I played at pretending the sulky, stroppy teenager on the occasions when his happiness exceeded mine.

During that particular morning, he seemed to be bursting with energy and zest.

With secret pride, I watched my father's skilful hands work away at the pancakes, spreading a dollop of cream with indulgent defiance, drizzling a river of chocolate sauce, and adding succulent berries atop his creation. Dad took pleasure in details.

'So, you're not still brewing over the incident with Zach?' My dad set the plate in front of me with a flourish.

He had gone all out, judging by the crime scene investigation-inspired outline of a body he'd drawn on the pancake.

'Oh very funny,' I replied, stabbing my fork into the stack of pancakes, the squelchy sound of honey and chocolate sauce mingling together, promised to deliver a hearty breakfast, 'so are you showing favouritism now towards Dorothy?" I made a face.

Chuckling, Dad ruffled my wild, untameable hair and settled down on the shaky wooden chair that he'd always said he'd replace but never did.

'I'll have you know Dorothy is a very hard worker. Her sense of humour may not be to your taste, but it doesn't mean that she isn't a talented young lady... when she puts her mind to it.'

I gaped at him, unwilling to believe that Dad has developed a soft spot for Dorothy of all people. Wonders never ceased on that front. Then again, Dad and I did share a tireless, some would say foolish, idealism for the potential for humans to be and do good in the face of adversity. However, I wouldn't have said that Dorothy had much of a sense of humour, unless being cruel for the hell of it was your idea of fun.

'I guess you're right, Dad,' I said, giving a noncommittal shrug, 'Dorothy has her moments.'

It actually made me wince to say the last few words, but sometimes it was better to keep up the illusion of agreeability rather than complain about certain people or events. You never knew when your words would come back to bite you.

And it turned out that a certain person had made a significant impression on my dad, as I was about to find out.

'I'd like to discuss something with you, Candice.' Dad took a sip of his drink; humming in contentment when he took a large gulp. He reminded me of one of the three bears in Goldilocks, stealing a moment of pleasure amidst the busy day that would ensue.

I was busy stuffing my mouth with forkfuls of pancake, so I could only grunt unintelligible sounds in between my mouthfuls; perhaps I should have been warned by the usage of my full name, but it never occurred to me to suspect he was building up to something of gargantuan proportions.

'Sure, Dad,' I managed to say.

'I believe that you're good friends with Zach.'

I gulped down a glass of creamy milk.

'I suppose,' I snorted.

'He seems like a sensible young man,' Dad mused, his eyes fixed on the mirror hanging on the wall, slightly eschew, as though in need of a helping hand.