Page 58 of Based on You

"I can see that."

"Violet said we could make it from scratch and it would be much better."

I looked at Violet. She looked right back at me, still grinning, unbothered by the destruction of my kitchen.

"Pizza isn't healthy, whether it comes from outside or inside," I said.

Olivia turned to Violet at once. "Don't listen to him."

"I wasn't going to," Violet assured her.

I walked over and sat down beside Marta, resigned. "Why did you let this happen?"

"I couldn't stop them," Marta confessed, though she didn't look particularly troubled by the kitchen anarchy.

We sat back and watched the production. Violet spread the red sauce in wide, concentric circles while Olivia stood with her arms folded, issuing detailed, bossy instructions about the optimal sauce-to-dough ratio she'd clearly researched online beforehand.

Violet kept a serious face and adjusted her spreading to meet Olivia's strict specifications. Olivia then added the shredded cheese with both hands, ignoring Violet's slightly raised, questioning eyebrow. The volume of cheese was too much. It was structurally too much. Violet added it anyway when Olivia pushed the heavy bowl toward her.

"More," Olivia ordered.

"More," Violet echoed, and dumped more on.

The cured meat went on next, followed by an escalating argument about whether mushrooms improved or ruined a pizza's flavor. Violet kept a careful, diplomatic neutrality while Olivia argued fiercely from a principled, aggressively anti-mushroom position. In the end, the mushrooms didn't make it on.

"Are you seriously not going to weigh in on this?" I called out to Violet.

"I've learned not to," she answered, without looking at me.

Marta covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

The huge pizza finally went into the hot oven. The kitchen looked like it had lost a bar fight. I stepped in and helped clear the bigger mess from the island while the oven timer ran, listening as Olivia talked about a fight she was planning with her art teacher over vanishing-point perspective, an apparently ongoing feud she described in punishing detail.

When the savory smell finally started drifting through the kitchen, Olivia stopped talking mid-sentence and whipped around to face the oven.

Violet pulled it out.

The mountain of cheese was improbably golden. The thick crust had gone a crispy brown at the edges, and the whole chaotic thing looked far better than it had any right to, given the anarchy that had produced it.

"That smells incredible," Olivia breathed.

"I know," Violet agreed, not looking up from the masterpiece.

They cut it into slices. Olivia served herself the first piece and bit into it. The melted cheese pulled away in a long, dramatic strand, which she caught with her free hand and ate with smug satisfaction.

"Can I please have a slice?" I asked.

Olivia glared at me. "You were mocking us."

"I was merely skeptical. That's different."

"You said it wasn't going to be good."

"I said pizza wasn't a healthy choice. I didn't say anything about the quality." I looked desperately at Violet. "Can I have a slice?"

Violet held up her hands in surrender. "I can't legally involve myself in this. It's strictly between you two."

"It's probably not even good," I taunted Olivia. "You should let me confirm that for you."