“Emily, dinner’s nearly ready,” Dad calls up the stairwell. I push myself away from my desk and clomp down the stairs.
Mr. Mom is standing in the kitchen, grinning so hard that the creases in his forehead are showing.
“Hi to you, too…” I say, pulling out a chair from the tiny table.
“You’re wondering why I’m smiling, aren’t you?” He asks, turning to the stove.
“I am…” I venture. “I’m actually a bit spooked.”
He laughs, his gleaming teeth showing. “I actually cooked something, honey!”
“Dad, is this some sick joke?” I ask with concern. He hasn’t cooked a meal since Mom died. It’s always been take-out, or some kind of potluck.
He smiles so wide I’m afraid that it’ll break his face. “Nope, it’s real. I actually cooked.”
“Let me see!” I shriek giddily, pushing past him to get to the stove.
Sure enough, a bubbling pot of macaroni is standing on the stove. I turn to him, squeezing him tightly.
He pats me on the head. “Now, move over. I have to put the cheese in.”
I spin on my heels and take a seat at the table, which is set for two. I pick up my stainless steel fork and let it scrape across my empty plate.
Dad chuckles, “Hang on. I’m just waiting for it to bubble… oh… there we go!”
I smile as he dumps the macaroni and cheese onto the two plates, a sticky-cheese-noodle mess.
“Yum.” I stab some noodles with my fork, and lift it into the air until the cheese breaks off the clump on my plate.
“Ready, Emily… One,” he lifts his fork in the air.
“Two…” I whisper, opening the hangar for the buzzing plane.
“Three!” We both put the noodles in our mouth at the same time.
It tastes like dirty socks. I spit it back onto my plate and drink my entire glass of milk, even though I hate milk.
“Oh god…” Dad spits his forkful of macaroni into his napkin.
“How about some pizza?” I suggest, reaching for the phone.
“Pizza it is! Ugh, I won’t be touching those pots or colanders for a long time…”
“Good thing too!” I say, as I hit Speed Dial #3, the local pizza parlour.
He sighs. “Cooking was always your mom’s job…”
I close my eyes as I place my order. The second the line goes dead, I sprint into my bedroom, praying that I won’t cry.
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The pizza comes in record time; ten minutes. The pizza guy must’ve known I was upset, hah.
I open the door to a greasy, zit-covered boy. He smiles a missing-tooth smile and I throw some bills at him, outstretching my hands for the pizza box.
I take the warm box and shut the door in his face.
“Pizza’s here!” I scream, carrying the box into the kitchen.
“Emily, be quiet… I’m right here.”
“Oh.” I notice that he’s already sitting at the table. “Sorry.”
He opens the box and the room is instantly filled with the aroma of pepperoni, bread and cheese.
I take a slice from the box, strings of cheese stretching in the air. I lick my lips before chomping on the pizza. Warm, spiced pepperoni fills my mouth. I chew and swallow, deciding to wolf down the rest of it.
“Slow down there, flash.” Dad advises, biting off another piece of dough.
“I can’t help it,” I mutter through a mouth full of food. “I was starving.”
“Okay, well… clean up when you’re done.” He wipes his mouth on a paper napkin and throws his pizza crust in the trashcan.
“Yes, I know.” I roll my eyes, throwing the empty pizza crusts in the garbage.
“Wait, do you want the rest of it?” I ask.
“Um, I might bring some to work…” he lies, his eyes darting around the room.
“Okay… I guess I’ll just take a few slices to school.”
“Yes, honey. You do that… now, I have to do some work for the office… if you need me, I’ll be at my computer.” He says, drifting towards the door.
“Yep, see you later.” I murmur, knowing that see you later translates to remember to wake me up in the morning.
Though he may not seem like it, my father is a workaholic. He’s constantly squirreling away in his tiny office, doing
business things (sometimes) into the wee hours of the morning.
I pull a roll of saran wrap out of the cupboard and bundle up two slices of pizza, for my lunch, even though I probably won’t eat that much.
I sigh and walk into the den, which is arguably the most comfortable room in the house.
It’s a tiny, dimly lit room full of multi-media devices and comfy, overstuffed chairs. It’s a great room to do some thinking, and I was going to do just that.
I sink into one of the chairs, tossing the remote between my hands before clicking the POWER button. The television screen buzzes and I start clicking through the various channels, finally settling on some black-and-white movie about a robbery.
The cheap, creepy music plays quietly in the background, while I prop my feet up onto a pillow and lean back onto the couch, inhaling the leather scent.
I close my eyes and my mind wanders into the locked doors of the past…
Flash: Mom’s funeral – late May. It was a ridiculously sunny day, and hot too. Wearing black was difficult, which resulted in all the funeral-attendees sweating out their tears.
Her procession was beautiful though. I remember her mahogany casket, draped in lilac-coloured silk and recently-bloomed lilacs, the dark expressions of the mourners, the beautiful hymns that my father had picked out for her.
I was too spaced-out to really grieve then. I just sat in the front row, with my father and some other relatives, with a blank expression on my face.
I guess I was still shell shocked.
It didn’t last long though, because after the graveyard service, I cried for three days straight.
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“Wow, it’s you!” Someone shrieks in my direction. I duck my head, but they keep running after me. “Emily – wait up!”
I spin around, to face a freckly, excited girl. Her curly brown hair stuck out wildly from her head, and her glasses look as if they’re about to fall off her nose.
“Um, do I know you?” I question, backing away from her slightly.
“Yes, silly!” she says. “Duh, it’s me. Annie Greene – I’m in a bunch of your classes.”
Oh – Annie…” I slap myself on the forehead. Annie is the hyperactive girl in a lot of my classes. I’m not really her friend though.
“Yep, there you go! You missed some time, didn’t you? So, how are you? I mean, obviously you’d be upset and stuff… but aren’t you over it by now…”
“I uh…” I say, trying to close my ears. This girl talks a mile a minute.
She smiles. “So, like, are you glad to be back? You missed a lot.”
“Well, Annie, the grieving process is a long one…” I whisper, my eyes downcast.
“Oh, god… I’m sorry, Emily. I didn’t mean to…” she frowns. “Just stop talking to me okay? I’m obviously not making things better…”
“Alright, Annie… I’ll see you around, I guess…”
“See you later!” She grins before bouncing off in the direction she came in.
I roll my eyes and grit my teeth. She is one annoying girl… I definitely won’t be looking for her in the future, unless I’m looking for someone to bore me to tears.
I navigate my way down the hallway, past girls whispering one toilet to another, sympathetic eyes and sly stares.
“Yep, she’s the girl whose mom was a total space case.”
“She’s back? I thought she’d off herself too!”
“Eh, she’ll crack eventually. Being back here will drive her mad.”
I stare at my feet, forcing them to carry me into my next class, where the knife-tongue girls are waiting.
I sit in my regular seat. The thousand year old teacher smiles a broken-toothed smile and turns to the whiteboard, where she [somehow] manages to write a board full of notes.
I take out my binder, and prepare to jot down the notes. Something jabs me in the back and I inch forward. I turn around to see a gum-popping, white-blond girl.
She flashes her brilliantly white smile at me, and flashbulbs pop.
I sink into my chair, praying for a fire drill, or some other kind of school-clearing disaster.
