Over the Edge

Ch. 3-Parental Perfection

"How are you, ragazzo?"

"As usual, Uncle V," I replied. It was what he insisted I call him, since the start, even if he was nearly old enough to be my grandfather. Said it made him sound cooler, though that was debatable.

He threw a pinstripe apron at my chest that I caught easily and tied around my waist. "The evening rush is in thirty minutes. That's as long as you get for a head-start on the pizzas."

I nodded, moving into the back to get to work. Uncle V's wife, Michaela, worked the front of the house because of her winning smile and kind eyes. The food was good, but I was pretty sure half the people came back just to continue their conversations with her. She was definitely the motherly figure I had been missing my entire life.

"Rhys, my boy, how are you?" She greeted me, grabbing my cheeks to kiss each one with a loud pop. I grimaced, wiping her lipstick off my skin.

"I'm fine, Michaela," I said, wiping the lingering makeup off my skin.

She patted my shoulder affectionately. To Michaela, affection meant roughness. And she had a strong pat. "Good, good. Excellent. Get to making our merchandise now, boy."

With an exasperated shake of my head, I moved toward the back. "Yes, ma'am."

I was nearly a completely different person inside Vittorio's compard to anywhere else. Sometimes I questioned why, but I never really could come up with a solid answer. Half the time I didn't even know who I was supposed to be, or who I originally ever even was. I was just kind of wandering around until I stumbled upon something.

I dumped handfuls of flour onto the wood countertop, and emptied a packet of dough. I rolled it around and kneaded it with my fingers. The door squeaked open behind me. I didn't bother turning around. Uncle V had a particular way of walking.

He didn't say anything for a while, just let me roll out the dough and twirl it through the air. I was ripping open the packet of cheese when he finally decided to speak. "So I've been thinking about hiring a new hand."

My hands froze from where they were sunk in the dough. "What?"

"It's nothing against you," he was quick to add. "You've been fantastic for the five years. But . . . Under certain circumstances, I think it would be good for you to have someone back here with you, helping out."

I ground my teeth together, clenching the dough so tight it oozed between the cracks of my fingers. "I've been doing just fine," I pointed out. And I had been, clearly, if five bustling years of business since me being taken on was anything to go by.

"Rhys, don't take it personally. I was just thinking-"

"We're fine, Vittorio," I snapped.

He picked at his own apron, unsaid words hanging between us. Dammit. That only meant one thing.

"You already found somebody, didn't you?"

He cast me an uncertain look. "They're old friends, and they asked me to take her on. Just for a little bit, to give her a routine. And you can't tell me you won't appreciate the assistance, Rhys!"

I grumbled under my breath, slapping the dough extra hard. I didn't need help. All people ever did was let you down, get your hopes up, and then let you down even harder. I didn't see one good reason to hire somebody else. 

"She's a really nice girl, Rhys, and I think that you might even-"

"Just stop, Uncle Vit," I quipped, whirling around. Flour puffed everywhere, some of it getting in my eyes, but I paid it no attention. My temper began to rise, and I had to remember to subdue it. I had gone through enough therapy sessions and personal experiences to know the consequences of letting my anger go too far. "Are you trying to set me up, too? What the hell?"