Pizza Night (a story)
Decided to post something a little different this week: a very short story I wrote a few months ago. I hope you enjoy it.
Pizza Night
by Robert Kroese
The fighting starts again before dinner.
Emma crawls behind the couch, pressing her knees to her chest. From here she can’t see her parents, just their shadows sliding back and forth across the kitchen floor. The words come sharp and fast, like plates clinking together.
She knows the rhythm of these arguments. At first, they’re quiet and careful, like people trying to walk on ice. Then come the louder words, the ones that sound like doors slamming. That’s when she hides.
She hugs her stuffed rabbit, Cotton, tight, squishing his ears. “Stop it,” she whispers into his fur. “Just stop.”
Her mother says something in a shaky voice. Her father’s voice cuts through it, lower, rougher. Emma can’t make out every word, only a few that sting: enough and tired and can’t do this anymore.
She covers her ears but still hears the rhythm of it. Her heartbeat matches the rise and fall of their voices. She thinks about the pizza place on the corner — the one that smells like melted cheese and oregano. Daddy always gets pepperoni and olives on Wednesdays. It’s Wednesday now. Maybe he’ll go later, if everyone stops being mad.
She looks toward the kitchen, just a few steps away. If she were braver, she could crawl out there and tell them to stop fighting. She imagines standing between them, holding up both hands like a superhero. Stop! she’d say, and they’d look at her and start laughing again, like that time when she was just little.
Her mother’s voice breaks. Something clatters — maybe a glass. Emma’s stomach twists. She squeezes Cotton’s paw. “Go,” she whispers to herself. “Go tell them.”
She starts to rise, her head just peeking over the arm of the couch. Then something changes. Her father’s voice drops, quiet now. Her mother answers in a small, shaky sound, not words really. The floor creaks. Emma freezes.
