Deeper than Pasta
1450 Words
I spend all Friday dreading Monday, and could you blame me? I never reached out to anyone beyond the three us and the occasional partner for any assignment. I never needed more. I wasn’t introverted per say, but I just never saw the point in branching out when I already had everything I needed.
I had my girls, my wing women, my stupid friends who thought it would be nice to leave me by myself.
It wasn’t.
My dad of course was no help, whatsoever.
“What do you mean this is a good idea?”
My dad looks up and raises his eyebrows at my sharp tone, I will myself to make my voice softer.
“Papi, I’m going to need you to elaborate or repeat yourself because I swear, I heard you say that this is a good idea.”
My dad looked up and book marked his textbook. I had his full attention.
“That’s because I did.”
“Da-ad!” I whined.
“Fe-li!” He whined mockingly a smile. They say that the firstborn daughter will look like a female version of her dad, and that couldn’t be more false for us. My dad was Hispanic and he definitely looked it. With thick dark hair and deep olive skin. Lines lingered around his mouth and eyes. He must have been handsome once, but years of stressing must have dulled his color. But his laugh brought back a youthful glow, and I worked hard to dig it out.
“Be serious.” I instruct, pulling the textbook out of his grasp. My dad was no college professor but he was a science tutor, and substitute high school teacher. Yes, my high school. But, strangely enough, by accident or on purpose he never subbed any of my classes. His connection with my school is also why we got an affordable home so close to it. And I’m proud to say that despite looking and being complete opposites, I inherited his love for science.
Maybe because it was logical, explainable, yet not set in stone. Maybe I like that it can be explained, but also be proven wrong. That even logic can be bested, unless it was right. But you never really knew that either. And everything you did, proved, supported or contradicted a fact, theory, or idea. And every idea, fact or theory proved something about the universe, about the world. Understanding the world might help me understand life, and that would be helpful right now. Speaking of which;
“I need advice.” I remind him, sitting in front of him. I take care to tuck myself into the worn couch. I didn’t like looking bigger than my dad. Maybe it was old-fashioned, but my dad was 5’11, a decent height. But my couch was higher than his armchair and he only had 3 inches on me.
He was sitting in the armchair, his legs relaxed and his glasses sitting lazily on his nose. “Oh? And why is that?”
“I just told you!” I whined, loudly.
“No.” he states primly “You said that your friends are trying to branch out in hopes to break a jinx.”
I wrinkle my face at him as he stands, stretches and offers me a hand. I curl in tighter into the crook of the couch.
“You aren’t listening.” I accuse.
He pulls me up from my armpits “I’ll listen better if you go shopping with me.“
I scoff and pout at once, a look dubbed by my ex’s “hard to say no to” or other variation. My dad calling it my “obnoxious doll face” and lastly courtesy of Emma “Princess Prissy face”. Yes, all of them are very flattering. “You shouldn’t use the word ‘shopping’ like that. It’s sacrilege.”
“C’mon, put on your coat. We’re going. We can splurge tonight and make some fancy smancy dinner. You can even invite Taylor.”
I make a face “His name was Ed.”
He raises an eyebrow “Was?”
I roll my eyes “He broke up with me this morning. But this is not why I'm upset.”
“Right. You’re upset because you and your friends are jinxed.”
I open the door for him “Okay, old man. You are going to have to listen to me now.”
He clutches his heart “Please tell me your story of woe.”
And so, I did.
....
My dad is ridiculously friendly. His constant laugh and sparkling eyes, thick accent and humble persona had plenty of single moms swooning. Most of his friends are made when he was literally doing normal stuff. Like buying toilet paper or buying the occasional lottery ticket. He can charm anyone.
Maybe that’s why the school made him an exclusive sub.
Out of all of hi friends, his closest would be my English teacher, Mr. Mans.
Mr. Mans, also known as Mr. Try to Expose Everyone to My “Hidden Brilliance”. It wasn’t like I didn’t want anyone to know how smart I am, I just didn’t need them making more assumptions.
Like; I bet her dad gives her the answers! Or maybe they’ll mock me; I wonder where she spends time on her homework with all the time, she spends doing her makeup.
I honestly don’t even wear that much makeup. And, it’s not their business whether or not I do.
“Mr. Mans.” I greet, giving an awkward wave.
Mr. Mans shook his head, “Felicity, I said you can call me Jacob when were out of school.”
“No sir. I must respect my elders.” He requested the same thing every time, and I gave the same answer every time. Now it is almost like our version of a secret handshake.
Mr. Mans and my dad exchange a bro-hug, I look away studying the labels for a bag of veggie chips. It didn’t look all that appetizing.
I hear them before I see them.
I'm out.
“Dad, I'm going to get the pasta-”
“Mr. Mans! Mr. Lopez!”
My dad looks up, gaze locking on Sebastian. His face hardening slightly. He nods towards me, and I swiftly try my hand at a discrete exit. “Felicity?”
“Seb? What’s going on?” I ask, tying my hair back. Trying to ignore the fact that I didn’t look my best. A large t-shirt, and some sweatpants plus no makeup. I get why be would be confused.
“What are you-”
“Dude I found the Mentos!” Another guy yelled, Sebastian looks over his shoulder to yell something back. I take the opportunity to leave.
I take my sweet time finding the pasta, despite already knowing exactly where to find it and what type we usually bought. Partly out of hope that by the time I go back the boys would be long gone and also because... I always lingered. Always had the idea, the delusion, that something would catch my eye, some new pasta. The best pasta in the world, and-and it would be amazing. It would be so amazing, that would never look for a better pasta because nothing better existed.
....Maybe it was a little extra dedication for pasta but whatever.
I grabbed the box and stare at it.
I stare at it so long and hard I feel like I cooked the pasta with my gaze. I lift my gaze to the colorful assortment of pasta before me, I scan it looking for something that will stand out. A certain color that will clearly contrast against all other colors. But nothing stands out.
I stare at the familiar box in my hands, it was a decent price and it was familiar.
I might as well buy it, maybe next time i'll find the perfect-
An employe crashes into my side, a strangled yelp escapes my lips and the employee stumbles a bit into the pasta aisle, hands flying. During her stumble she knocks down a box to the floor. I swoop to pick it up and say automatically "Sorry." Even though it wasn't my fault.
The lady looked embarrassed, "It wasn't your fault, I'm sorry." After a nervous chuckle she hurried away. I stare down at the pasta in my hands, it was just as plain looking as the others and I search for it's place on the shelf. I find it rather quickly and am about to place it on it proper spot when I hesitate.
I glance at the price, it was a dollar more expensive than the usual pasta. A dollar gamble.
Was I willing to....?
I glance at the box one more time comparing it to the other one in my other hand.
The gamble and the familiar.
I was never one to gamble, but seeing show this is such a small matter..
I trail off looking at the familiar box, the one that had a crappy recipe in the back. The one that i've been eating for years now.
I laugh at my own foolish inner turmoil, it was just pasta.
But it felt deeper than pasta.
I grab the box.
The one I would have chosen no matter how long i've debated.
As much as I liked concrete answers I liked the experimenting a whole lot better.
I surprise myself with my choice and my realization, but it wasn't a bad surprise just a...surprise.
- Writer
