Page 4 of The Change Up
But we never went without the essentials. I was clothed, fed—probably better than most kids since my dad knew how to work the kitchen—and showered with unconditional love. And whilesome days the love felt a little overwhelming, I know my dad was making up for my mom’s abandonment. Making sure I knew how special I was. After all, I was his Amore Mia.
“Yes, beautiful girl. You and your friends deserve a little trip away from campus and what better way to celebrate the end of the school year than with your best friends…at a spa.”
“Daddy, you’re the best!” It was a good thing the phone was on speaker and not pressed to my ear, or my dad would have lost hearing with the high-pitched squeals that escaped. His chuckle fills the space, warming my heart, and it’s at this moment I miss being home with him. Dad’s job keeps him glued to the restaurant, and when he’s not there, he’s making special appearances on a very popular food network. Now with the new restaurant opening, I’ll probably see him even less.
It’s getting harder and harder to find time to see him now. My class schedule isn’t forgiving, and his life revolves around his business. It’ll become even more chaotic as he travels back and forth from Dallas to Arizona. My heart hurts that our relationship is changing, but I’m so proud of him. I’ll never let him see me sweat our relationship, not when he’s sacrificed so much while giving me the world.
But I can’t fault him, he’s found his passion in life. And after sacrificing for years while raising me, he deserves his moment. Plus, he’s never too busy to give me a call and catch up, so I’ll cherish everyone I get.
“I love you, Amore Mia.” Voices come from his end of the phone, and I know that our time is ending. “I have to run. I’ll have Kimmy email you all the details. I’m so proud of you, baby girl.”
“I love you too, Dad,” I start to say, but the line is cut off. Kimmy is my dad’s assistant, and she’s practically part of the family. If it wasn’t for her keeping my dad in line, he’d live in the restaurant—or his car outside one of the restaurants.
Pushing my phone aside, I turn my attention to the dough that needs rolling out. Using the rolling pin, I press it into the soft mixture before I roll it away from me and then toward me. Keeping the movement going until the dough is the right thickness. Setting the pizza dough aside, I reach for the dough for the scones before grabbing the cutter as I begin cutting the mixture into triangles.
Sweets are my favorite food. There isn’t one I prefer over the other. Give me some sort of carb, and I’m one happy girl. Except I’m one of the only girls who will be declining chocolate pastries. Give me the warm tastes, caramel, vanilla, cinnamon, and I’ll be your bestie for life.
With the spatula, I lift each triangle and place them on the wax paper-lined baking sheet before placing them in the oven to cook.
Clicking the buttons to set the timer, I turn to make my way over to the kitchen sink and begin filling it with water and soap. It’s time to tackle this disaster before Brynn comes home. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come home to an explosion in our kitchen. Never once has she complained about the mess. She knows not to bite the hand that keeps her fed. If it was up to Brynn Wilder, she’d live off fast food burgers and milkshakes.
“Chloe!” Brynn yells from the front door, arriving at the perfect time. “I’ve got the beer, do you have the pizza?”
Nodding my head, I remove the pizza from the oven. “Of course. I wouldn’t leave you in charge of the food.”
“Hey, I take offense to that.” Brynn strides into the kitchen with a six-pack of Shiner bottles before plopping down on a barstool. Removing my oven mitt, I grab the magnetic bottle opener that rests on the side of the fridge. Walking back toward Brynn, I pass the opener across the granite. With a quick flick, she has two beers open and is sliding one toward me.
Catching the bottle, I bring it to my lips for a quick pull. Thirst has set in from all of the baking I did today, and even though beer isn’t my first drink of choice, I’m too thirsty to care. I know that lifting weights should be on everyone’s radar, but rolling out dough is as exhausting. Or maybe I’m just severely out of shape. I’m a runner, not a lifter.
Brynn’s eyes flit around the kitchen. I watch her drool over the waiting pizzas that just came out of the oven. A pepperoni and pineapple pizza—yes, pineapple goes on pizza—and a supreme with all the toppings. Her eyes find the scones placed under a domed tray which are waiting by the coffee maker.
“What all did you bake today?”
“Vanilla scones, chocolate chip cookies, and the dough for the pizza.”
“That’s all?”
With an eye roll, I answer, “Yes, that’s all.”
She nods in response as she takes another drink. To some that may seem like a lot, but I’ve been known to bake six or seven different things depending on my mood. While I love to bake just because, it’s also one of my biggest stress relievers. When life gets a bit too overwhelming, I’ve been known to hole up in the kitchen for hours baking and baking until my body nearly collapses from exhaustion.
Is it healthy? No. Is it therapeutic? Absolutely.
Taking the pizza cutter out of the drawer, I slice it into triangles—the superior pizza shape—while Brynn fills me in on her day. The two of us always seem to have our schedules opposite each other. I have classes from early morning to evening on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday while hers are fromearly morning to evening on Tuesday and Thursday. We may live together, but we rarely see each other. Her evening class was canceled tonight which is how we managed to both be free.
Sliding a slice of each pizza on our plates, I pass Brynn her plate before reaching to grab my beer. The two of us make our way into the living room.
“What’s on tonight?” Brynn asks, taking her spot on the far end of the couch.
“It’s Tuesday,” I pause, trying to remember the TV schedule. “Oh shit, it’s the first episode of the new season ofVanderpump Rules!”
“Dude! This season is going to be fucking crazy!”
“Absolutely crazy,” I respond around a mouthful of food. Flipping through the channels, I surf until I find Bravo. They’re playing last season’s finale.
Turning until my back is to the armrest, and my knees are folded, I settle into the cushions, letting them envelop me like a giant bear hug. My attention finds Brynn, and I chuckle as I watch her shovel a mouthful of pepperoni and pineapple pizza into her mouth. She moans around the bite.
“Chloe, this pizza is amazing! Like can you just drop out and open a pizzeria? You’d be a millionaire in no time. Seriously, every person on campus would be keeping you in business, especially after parties.”
