My dad was making pizza when I chose a stool to sit on. I poured some cereal into a bowl and stirred it around. 'Hey! You're going to spoil your appetite if you eat that. I'm making pizza,' Dad smiled, but there was a hint of worry in his tone.
'Great,' I said, chewing glumly.
'What's up?' He stopped slicing peppers. 'You don't like pizza? Has some social media influencer decried that pizza isn't a 'thing' anymore?'
I met his is eye and raised an eyebrow. 'No, as far as I know, pizza is still a 'thing', Dad.'
'All right, then,' Dad winked, 'I know that my pizza brings all the girls to the yard.'
I groaned, stifling a smile with my palm. Was this man really my father? 'Stop. Please. You're embarrassing yourself.'
He shrugged his shoulders, unbothered by my second-hand embarrassment. 'Whatever. At least one of my girls... my wife... appreciates me. You know, on one of our early dates, I invited her round to my flat and made her favourite pizza. She'd suggested a chain pizza restaurant. I had to educate her on the benefits of home cooked fare...'
'Well, she had good taste,' I agreed, thinking back to all the pizza parties my dad had indulged my friends and I with over the years. I was starting to feel less embarrassed about my father...
'I taught her how to make a great pizza,' he recalled proudly. 'She had flour on her cheek. I don't think she was expecting the cooking lesson. She was wearing a lovely dress, not suitable for what I was about to put her through, but she was a good sport.'
'Cool,' I smiled. 'Mum's always up for anything.'
My father smiled secretively.
'What are you smiling about?' My curiosity was piqued.
'It's nothing,' he said, a blush was spreading across his face.
'Oh come on!' My voice took on a whiny tone as I threw my chin up.
My dad rolled out the dough. 'Well, ok, if you insist. She took off her dress—'
'No—' I started to say, realising the full extent of what I'd done too late.
But he was in full flow now. It was like I'd switched on his memory lane tap. 'And helped me in her underwear. I would have given her an apron, but she was worried that she'd ruin her dress. I wasn't complaining. Lillian was — is — such a beauty, Best night of my life.'
'Aaand happily ever after,' I finished off. Despite my father's tendency for oversharing sometimes, I was glad that he'd found the love of his life — my mother. It gave me hope that I too could replicate their love for each other with my own special person. It was just a question of who, when and where...
'Yeah, and and the rest, as they say, is history,' Dad smirked.
My dad went to the fridge to get out the dough which he'd made earlier that morning, humming a little ditty which I didn't recognise, but it probably would have been one of the 90s rock bands he was into.
'What's worrying away at you, sweetheart?' he said, taking the plastic wrapping away from the dough, plopping it onto the board which he'd previously given a generous sprinkling of flour. Christmas had come early in our house.
I internally debated how much I should tell him. And how or if I should even undertake such a delicate endeavour.
'I don't mean to pry...' Dad was saying.
'That means you do,' I cut in only to receive a light chuckle from him.
'But is this about Jonny? He came up to me the other day, saying that he was quitting. I don't know...' Dad mused, looking up from rolling the dough. 'It seems that he was upset by something. I couldn't really enquire into it. He had to go somewhere afterwards. Nice lad, though. Such a shame. Whip-smart. Extremely quick study, I have to give it to him. Never a complaint.'
YOU ARE READING
Devil's Food Cake [✓]
RomanceAN OPPOSITES ATTRACT ROMANCE WITH BITE! **** 'Do you feel that? That's the sound of an alive heart. I don't know what it is about you, Candice, but something inside me knows - or scratch that - demands, that if I saw more of you, maybe it would be b...