“I do,” Mal said. “But I don’t mind if, once we’re done with the pizza, you get the last slice.”
“Did you hear that, Daddy?” Nikki asked. Vincent had already turned into the kitchen, and she ran after him with the bag of pepperoni in hand. “He said it’s okay!”
Mal grinned. He’d only just arrived, but the concerns that had held him back had already been put to rest. Vincent and Nikki had welcomed him into their home—for tonight, he was part of their family.
30
Vincent
In the end, there was enough pepperoni for two pizzas—one regular-sized crust that Vincent and Mal would share, and one personalized crust for Nikki. While Vincent and Mal took over the duty of distributing the sauce, Nikki valiantly took on the rest of the work, layering pepperoni, mushrooms, and roasted pepper slices with masterful precision. While she worked, Vincent kept an eye on Mal, admiring how he doted on Nikki instinctively. It did not come as a surprise to Vincent that Nikki had taken to him so quickly, but to see Mal take to her with just as much abandon did things to Vincent’s heart that he wasn’t aware it could do. Fluttering, frantic things that would have worried Vincent had he not been so sure of its source. Cardiac arrhythmia was nothing to scoff at—but the way Mal made him feel was just as serious.
They’d only met each other in January. Was it okay to feel this way for someone so quickly? While Nikki set down slices of roasted pepper with utmost precision, Vincent stole a prolonged glance at Mal. He stood near Nikki, supervising, every now and then pointing out a part of the pizza where a pepper should go.
Fear of loneliness and abandonment had stolen close to a decade of Vincent’s life. He’d ignored his heart and mind in favor of a stable life. If he ignored his heart now, how many more years would he waste? How much would time take from him? There was no going back, and no rewinding the history he’d already written for himself. If he let himself be blinded by fear, what regrets would he have in five years?
In ten?
Vincent’s heart skipped a beat, its troubling pace reminding him of what he’d found, and what he stood to lose. For Nikki, he’d learned to operate according to his own emotional compass. For Mal, he’d learn to stay the course.
“The best part,” Nikki declared from the chair she stood on, towering over the pizzas on the counter with a bag of shredded mozzarella in hand like a misdirected sprite ready to sprinkle fairy dust, “is getting to put the cheese on. I like lots of cheese. Do you like lots of cheese, Mal?”
“Yes,” Mal said. “But you have to be careful with cheese.”
“Why?”
“Because if you puttoomuch cheese on, then it doesn’t melt right and you don’t get that yummy brown crust on top when you bake it. You’ll burn the crust before the cheese tastes the best.”
“What?” Nikki looked alarmed. She glanced at Vincent, seeking reassurance.
Vincent shrugged a shoulder as casually as he could, trying not to laugh. The thump of his heart worked itself harder, and for a brief moment, he felt like he was standing in front of the subwoofers at a rock show. “I’m sorry, sweet stuff, but I think he might be on to something.”
“No!” Nikki narrowed her eyes and screwed up her mouth, intensely serious in comical ways about one small, inconsequential thing. “How much do I put?”
“How about you start putting cheese on, and I’ll tell you when to stop,” Mal said. “And next time I’m over, I’ll teach you and your dad about the joy of putting toppings ontopof the cheese.”
Vincent smirked at Mal, who shot him a devious, playful look that rattled Vincent’s already shaky grip on PG-13.
“Okay.” Nikki plunged her hand into the bag of shredded mozzarella, came back with a fistful, and dutifully began sprinkling cheese over her personal-sized crust. If she had heard what Mal had said about the toppings, she didn’t let on.
“Keep going,” Mal encouraged. “You need a little more still. A little more… and stop!”
Nikki clenched her fist, squishing the remaining cheese into some semblance of the ball it had been shaved from. “That’s it?”
“That’s the perfect amount of cheese,” Mal promised.
“It doesn’t look like it.”
“You’ve gotta trust me on this one, okay?”
Nikki wrinkled her nose, but she didn’t argue. Around strangers, she was polite and courteous—one thing Vincent and Melissa had seen eye to eye on. “Okay.”
“You should try what you just learned on the big pizza,” Vincent suggested. If the clump of cheese in Nikki’s clenched fist was beyond salvation, he’d eat the unfortunate slices it’d melt onto. “Mal and I will be here to help you if you get stuck.”
“Okay.” Nikki spoke like she’d never been insulted by the flagrant loss of cheese on her pizza. She reached over the counter and did her best to sprinkle the crushed cheese over the larger crust. It fell in disappointing, irregular clumps that looked far from appetizing.
“I’ll eat those slices, if you want,” Vincent murmured under his breath to Mal, who stood at his side.
Mal shook his head. “It doesn’t bother me. You should have seen some of the things my boys put me through at that age.”
