Jump to content
  • Join For Free and Get Notified of New Chapters!

    Are you enjoying a great story and want to get an alert or email when a new chapter is posted? Join now for free and follow your favorite stories and authors!  You can even choose to get daily or weekly digest emails instead of getting flooded with an email for each story you follow. 

     

Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental. Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Unspoken - 9. R.I.P.

There’s not much that can get you pounding in heart, blood, and mind, like turning onto your street, and seeing flashing blues and reds in front of your house. You may be a quarter mile away, but you’ve driven it hundreds of times. You know it’s yours. You slam on the gas to try to get there, worry thrumming in every vein and muscle of your body. Worry because of their presence, and worry because you’re heard not one damn word from your family. Even if it only takes seconds to traverse the distance, slamming on the brakes before you hit something or someone, it feels like an eternity.

I’m amazed that I managed to park the car and turn it off before leaping out. My Miata was a convertible, and even being a midget I managed to jump right out of it.

My rush towards the house, that I could now see had some minimal smoke damage, was impeded by a police officer, grabbing me and almost knocking me over.

“Whoa! Whoa kid you can’t go in there.”

My hands signed way too fast for anyone to possibly understand, but I could tell right away this cop didn’t sign. He must be new if he didn’t know me.

I struggled against his grip, a silent whine of distress escaping my lungs, as he fought to keep me from approaching the house. I didn’t notice the lack of smoke. All I cared about was Nicolo and Bryce. Fuck, I’d only been gone for thirty minutes!

“ALEX!” I heard a call from a voice I recognized.

We both stopped our struggle short to see the chief of the nearest fire station approaching, in suit but not helmeted.

“Alex,” he dropped a hand to my shoulder, “they’re both unhurt. Over here, come with me.” He led me away from the cop, whom I guessed would get an explanation later on, around one of the fire trucks, to see Nicolo with Bryce on his lap, a blanket wrapped around them both. I still couldn’t tell you why they did this. It was ninety-five, and in summer, being late August. Nicolo looked nervous, and Bryce was plastered to his chest. They both seemed to sense my approach, as they looked up at the same moment.

“Dad!” called Bryce as Nicolo called “Alex!”

I didn’t pay attention to anything else, as I smashed myself into them, hugging tight as Nicolo whispered “nessun ferito, nessun ferito” into my ear. No injuries, no injuries. Johnson said they were unhurt, but hearing it from Nicolo made it all better. I pulled back, wide-eyed, as Nicolo had started chuckling. Chuckling that morphed into laughter.

What happened?’ I signed.

——

Alex had just left, after receiving a text that my prescription was ready. With things as they were, sitting in my office chair, going through accounts, I was hoping that he would be quick. Thirty minutes wasn’t very long, true, but we had a growing boy to feed! After leaving the doctor’s office, we’d stopped at a local pizzeria, managing to get a bake-at-home pie, so Alex wouldn’t have to do much in the way of cooking. Wanting to give him a surprise, I’d called Bryce into the office, and talked him through pulling out the pizza stone, where to rearrange the racks in the oven, and preheating it.

“Papà?” Bryce’s face peered around the doorway. “The oven is ready, the thermometer says the stone is 425.”

I attempted to stand up, but the pain from the bite on my leg seemed to have me immobilized for now. It wasn’t this bad when I sat down. ‘Dannazione, a Bryce non è permesso cucinare da solo.’ I rubbed my chin in thought. ‘Ma quanto può essere difficile cuocere una pizza? Alex capirà. I waved for Bryce to come in, and he scampered to my side. There was no way I was going to try to use him as support. “Bryce,” I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, papà?”

“I want you to cook la pizza. It’s molto facile. Just take it out of il frigo and use the peel to slide it onto the stone, sì? Set a timer for fourteen minutes on your cellulare, and then take a picture so I can gauge how done it is. Capisci?”

Bryce’s eyes went wide, probably due to more than regular Italian slipping in. I controlled it as much as I could. He nodded though, managing to figure out what I’d meant, and just as quick, scampered off.

I looked back and forth between the two faces still peeking from under then blanket. Nicolo had started chuckling again, and Bryce’ was full flushed from embarrassment. He did still somehow manage to look adorable; even Nicolo’s charm was still present.

How did we go from pizza to fire?

“It’s my fault, dad,” he whispered.

“No, piccolo, it is not. Alex, I did not tell him to take the pizza out of the box first.” Well, at least there was minimal Italian. Bryce was learning slowly, but picking things up fast. We had more than a year before he would be taken to Firenze to meet the Bucellos, which is why we were pacing it slow. Wait. What? I stopped my mind from wandering. What?

What?’

“Alex, he put the whole box into the oven. The box caught fire.”

I goggled. That was it? That was all?

“The smoke set off the smoke alarm, which set off the central alarm, which called the fire department and police.”

I was still too stunned for a moment, before the stress of the last few minutes caught up with me. My face must have relaxed, because Nicolo started chuckling again. That set Bryce off, trying to hide his snickers in Nicolo’s chest. I lost it myself too, and almost collapsed from laughing so hard. We were getting strange looks, I know, but I didn’t care. The house be damned my boys were alright and that was all that mattered. It took a few minutes before my brain finally caught up again.

That makes no sense. Cardboard doesn’t combust at that low a temperature.

“Alex,” Nicolo managed between heaving breaths, trying to calm himself down. “I set your mamma’s cast iron on fire.”

I leaned forward and gave them each a peck on the cheek. ‘No more cooking alone for either of you. You’ll try making cereal and set the car on fire.

Bryce lost it again, which set us all off. “D-dad,” he breathed. “I made a funny. R-requiescat in pizza!”

This time I did fall over.

Dannazione, a Bryce non è permesso cucinare da solo - God dammit, Bryce isn’t allowed to cook by himself

Ma quanto può essere difficile cuocere una pizza? Alex capirà - But how difficult can cooking a pizza be? Alex will understand

Tried something a bit different for this chapter, with shifting a POV. Not sure how I like it.
I have a sex chapter sort-of in the works, in case anyone is interested. Another chapter is in the works as well, hopefully some will find this and that next chapter humorous.
Thanks for reading!

Copyright © 2021 Late to the party; All Rights Reserved.
  • Like 13
  • Love 13
  • Haha 12
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental. Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
You are not currently following this story. Be sure to follow to keep up to date with new chapters.

Recommended Comments

Chapter Comments

The beginning had me a bit worried, but it turned out to be a rather sweet and funny chapter.  I did miss how Nicolo's leg was injured by something biting him(?).

I'm really enjoying the story and love Bryce's character and know he has a story to tell!

  • Like 1
Link to comment
On 10/22/2021 at 12:00 AM, Gregory said:

The beginning had me a bit worried, but it turned out to be a rather sweet and funny chapter.  I did miss how Nicolo's leg was injured by something biting him(?).

I'm really enjoying the story and love Bryce's character and know he has a story to tell!

Thanks! I’m glad you found it funny. After the fourth chapter they’re not chronological, though, so Nicolo’s leg getting injured hasn’t been shown yet.

  • Like 4
Link to comment
8 hours ago, drsawzall said:

Keep both of them away from the kitchen and lock up the pressure cooker!!

ifc GIF

Okay to be fair this came from my own crap cooking experiences. I was lucky that the pizza box didn’t actually catch fire. The cast iron did though 😩

  • Love 1
Link to comment
4 hours ago, Anton_Cloche said:

Why does this story seem so familiar? 🧩

I doubt I’m the first person who has done this lol. Did the pizza thing when I was 13, and the cast iron when my husband and I inherited 8 Griswolds from my grandparents.

Link to comment
On 10/24/2021 at 1:35 AM, Late to the party said:

I doubt I’m the first person who has done this lol. Did the pizza thing when I was 13, and the cast iron when my husband and I inherited 8 Griswolds from my grandparents.

I hope you realized the smoking Griswolds were just losing the years and layers of added oils; you just needed to clean and re-season them. Those Griswolds are cherished items as cast iron products are only produced by one remaining manufacturer in the USA, and that Lodge In Tennessee; anything else is import. But those old Griswolds are classic, lighter and fine craftsmanship.

We used to toss any old cast iron skillets and pots too coated, caked, or rusted into the tree burning piles to get basically new items from the ash. It strips the items down totally free of any signs of previous use. Then use get to season it as brand spanking new. So anyone unknowingly discarding those caked old nasty items were tossing away a brand new skillet that was one fire away from being renewed! 😝 

This can even be done in a self-cleaning oven cycle too; but use caution as the racks are very limited in the weight they support at those temperatures and you could warp those if too much cast iron is loaded. I’d limit that process to one medium to large item per rack or two items if they are small.

This too is best if you truly have an exhaust oven/kitchen fan and not a recirculating grease filter fan.

  • Like 3
  • Love 1
Link to comment
5 hours ago, Philippe said:

I hope you realized the smoking Griswolds were just losing the years and layers of added oils; you just needed to clean and re-season them. Those Griswolds are cherished items as cast iron products are only produced by one remaining manufacturer in the USA, and that Lodge In Tennessee; anything else is import. But those old Griswolds are classic, lighter and fine craftsmanship.

We used to toss any old cast iron skillets and pots too coated, caked, or rusted into the tree burning piles to get basically new items from the ash. It strips the items down totally free of any signs of previous use. Then use get to season it as brand spanking new. So anyone unknowingly discarding those caked old nasty items were tossing away a brand new skillet that was one fire away from being renewed! 😝 

This can even be done in a self-cleaning oven cycle too; but use caution as the racks are very limited in the weight they support at those temperatures and you could warp those if too much cast iron is loaded. I’d limit that process to one medium to large item per rack or two items if they are small.

This too is best if you truly have an exhaust oven/kitchen fan and not a recirculating grease filter fan.

Actually no, this was after they were all cleaned (lye baths) and reseasoned. There was no discernible reason for the pan to have caught flame. 🤷🏼‍♂️
We find Lodge to be subpar quality, being annoyingly textured and way too heavy. Our #8 gets more use than any other kitchen implement, and it’s 87 years old. Not the oldest thing we own, but you just don’t get quality like that anymore.

  • Love 2
Link to comment

I really enjoyed a change in narrator. The characters are becoming more and more real. I'm enjoying the story. Thank you.

  • Like 1
Link to comment

I was reading this as I was eating dinner, homemade chili.  The meats were cooked in my favorite skillet, a 110 year old cast iron #10!  I have also trained first-ever-job teenagers over the years and have learned that I must be very very specific for many of them.  What we feel is self explanatory or common knowledge, is not necessarily the case for kids.  Great chapter, I'm really getting into this story.

Link to comment
View Guidelines

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
  • Newsletter

    You probably have a crazy and hectic schedule and find it hard to keep up with everything going on.  We get it, because we feel it too.  Signing up here is a great way to keep in touch and find something relaxing to read when you get a few moments to spare.

    Sign Up
×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

Our Privacy Policy can be found here: Privacy Policy. We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue..