AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Ah, that’s what they want you to think. But all the while, those smart teachers are sneaking in lessons. I bet you’ve learned all of your letters and will be able to read before you even start first grade in the fall.”
“I don’t like to read. That’s Myla’s thing. And Mom’s.”
Hmm. I wonder what Jillian likes to read.Mystery. Poetry. Perhaps the spicy books my mother would engross herself in to while away her hours. “You probably can’t sit long enough to read.” I chuckle. Something catches my eye, and I turn to find Myla pointing at me and grinning. “That’s it, right?”
It dawns on me I have hours to go with this clan and no idea what to do to keep them entertained. Opening the refrigerator door, I peruse the contents and am pleasantly surprised. For someone who doesn’t cook, she has some fantastic items in here. Pears, some romaine and spinach salad leaves, and a green pepper are lying in the bottom of the crisper, and a large container of mozzarella sits next to a package of prosciutto in another drawer. Opening and closing cabinet doors, I find her spices, which are plentiful. “I thought your mother didn’t cook.”
“She doesn’t. She almost burned the house down the night we met you guys.”
I can’t help but wonder if her husband was the cook in the family.
“Gammy uses that stuff.”
Ah. Reaching inside, I pick up a packet of dry yeast and a lightbulb goes off. “I have an idea. Why don’t we have a pizza party?”
“What?” Tarzan belts out as he flies from his seat to dance in place, a cookie in each hand. “Best day ever!”
“Mimmo and I love to make pizza, right, Polpetta?”
“Yes.”
Caleb’s eyes are wide. “You make pizza?” His face is comical. “And what’s a polpeppa?”
“Of course we make pizza. We’re Italian. Who do you think invented pizza? And it’s Polpetta,” I correct him, trying to enunciate each syllable.
“He calls me a little meatball.” Mimmo grins as Caleb throws himself on the floor.
“Once you’re done with your cookies, why don’t you and Mimmo go outside and play while I gather what we need to make the dough?” Maybe Tarzan can burn off some energy before we start. I suspect sitting at a desk all day has only made him more spirited. He was able to sit still at Luigi’s the other night. Plus, I’ll need a little time for the dough to proof. It won’t be as good as what I make at home, but something tells me these kids are easily impressed.
Almost two hours later, Jillian’s kitchen counter is covered in flour as we each roll out dough to create our pizzas. Little turtle stays occupied with edible playdough Myla found for him. She even located a toy rolling pin. This girl is smart.
As the music plays softly in the background, I watch as Truitt’s legs kick wildly as Britney Spears sings ‘Baby, One More Time.’
“Myla, your hands are cleaner than mine. Grab my phone and turn that up. Turtle likes this song.” I observe her run to myphone, hit a few keys, then out of the blue, Britney’s voice comes through what I assume are nearby blue tooth speakers.
“Yeah!” Caleb shouts, dancing in place.
Mimmo is laughing and having the time of his life.
I carefully place my dough down and rush for Myla, spinning her around, the flour descending from my hands, decorating her clothes as she twirls beneath me. The sweet sounds of her laughter melt my heart. Why does this beautiful child not speak? What has happened that has caused her to shy away from the world, and her little brother’s growth to be stunted? There’s so much joy in these children. They should know no pain or suffering.
I immediately stop spinning her when I see a large handful of flour flying through the air. “No, no. This kitchen is enough of a mess without you two having a food fight. Knock that off.” I laugh. “Besides, we need to get these pizzas going. Myla is going to help you two with the sauce so you don’t splatter it all over the walls.”
“Mom already did that,” Caleb whisper shouts to Mimmo, and I chuckle.
“I have some toppings for your pizza.”
“Cheese.” Caleb rubs his belly before pinching a few shreds and dropping them in his mouth.
“Or just cheese.”
Myla reaches over and pinches a few as well, depositing them on Truitt’s highchair tray.
I demonstrate spreading the sauce onto my pizza before handing the spoon over to Myla to do the same. As she assists the boys, I sprinkle a helping of cheese, prosciutto, and green pepper on mine. “Once you’re done, I’ll put these in the oven. Myla, can you help get your brother cleaned up before dinner?”
She looks in Truitt’s direction until her gaze lands on her other brother. Caleb could double for Casper the friendly ghost.He’s covered in flour, his blue-gray eyes more pronounced as they are about the only thing shining through.
The pizzas will take about twenty minutes to cook and cool off. I managed to prepare the salad and fruit while the boys tossed the football in the backyard.
