His to Ruin

Alien Pizza and Secret Smiles

The dough in my hands felt sticky but warm, alive like breath clinging to skin. Flour was scattered across the marble kitchen counter, on the sleeves of my shirt, even on Abraham’s cheek. No idea how he managed that while running around earlier.

Pans and baking trays were lined up near the oven, ready to welcome the creations of an alien from Pluto and his mom.

I pressed the dough with my palm, turned it slowly, shaping it into a circle… then into a triangle, per Abraham’s strict regulations.

In the corner of the kitchen, near the fridge, Abraham sat cross-legged on a small mat he pulled from our suitcase. Around him: leftover slices of green pepper, rejected mushroom toppings, and a dinosaur toy recently promoted to “kitchen captain.”

“Captain Dino says the cheese has to go all the way to the edge,” he said, pointing at an empty tray. “And don’t be stingy with the sauce. We’re feeding alien soldiers.”

I nodded while spreading the homemade tomato sauce, its warmth rising to my nose. “Of course. This is a galactic mission.”

Just as I was about to sprinkle mozzarella cheese, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. I didn’t need to turn to know.

Alec.

He came in the same way he always did. Quiet, solid, lowering the room’s temperature just by being there. He’d changed out of his suit into a dark fitted tee, sleeves rolled to his elbows, black casual pants that still somehow made him look like a man who could sign a company acquisition deal while making coffee.

His eyes swept across the kitchen once, then landed on me. His left hand held a phone, his right hand tucked into his pocket.

“Why didn’t you just order in?” he asked, flatly, like that one question contained the entire world.

I didn’t answer right away. I was too busy spreading the cheese, covering the sauce with a thick layer that would melt into golden-white lava in the oven.

“Because Mommy cooks better than any restaurant! And aliens don’t trust pizza made by regular humans!” Of course, it was Abraham who answered.

Alec looked at the kid. His left brow lifted slightly. “Aliens?”

“Yep!” Abraham stood up, lifting a spatula like a sword. “We’re from Pluto. We have high standards. And Mommy knows the secret,” he added in a hushed voice, glancing around like he was sharing classified intel. “A mix of oregano and a little honey in the sauce. That’s what keeps aliens alive on Earth.”

Alec turned to me, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly. “You put honey in tomato sauce?”

“A little,” I said. “He needs a reason to believe I’m a worthy human.”

He walked slowly toward the counter, saying nothing, just looking at the tray headed for the oven. His hand reached for a slice of pepperoni and popped it in his mouth like it wasn’t a direct violation of alien kitchen protocol.

“Tastes decent,” he muttered. “For food from planet Pluto.”

Abraham laughed, bouncing up and down a little, then sat again with a serious face, carefully arranging slices of olives into a “happy alien face” formation.

While I slid the pizza into the oven, my hands still dusted with flour, I felt Alec standing behind me. Not too close. But close enough.

Close enough to remind me that even with my hands busy preparing dinner… danger was still standing a few steps from my back. Watching. Judging.

In the hum of the warming oven, the only sound was Abraham whispering to his dinosaur:

“If this works, we can open a secret restaurant. But don’t tell Uncle Alec. He’s too serious.”

::

The pizza was done, pulled from the oven with crisp golden edges and a smell that could make a god hungry. The cheese melted into little tempting bubbles, covering the tomato sauce and toppings like it knew tonight didn’t need fancy, just warm.

We sat at the small dining table off the kitchen. Not the main dining room. It was too big, too quiet, too full of echoes. This round wooden table was enough.

Abraham sat between me and Alec, the pizza tray in front of him like personal treasure.

He grabbed the first slice immediately, his hands small but quick, and before he could even blow on it, his mouth was already full.

“Hot!” he said, eyes wide, but kept chewing.

I placed a slice on my plate, sneaking a smile at him. Alec sat calmly across from me, slicing his pizza slowly, deliberately, like he was dissecting crucial data. He didn’t say a word.

Abraham, of course, filled all the silence.

“This afternoon I taught Tony how to count backward from a hundred. But he just nodded. So I did it myself. All the way!” he said proudly. “Then I gave him a medal made from a bottle cap. He kept it, you know!”

I sipped my water, pretending I wasn’t amused.

Alec ate slowly. One bite at a time. Calm chews. But his eyes never left Abraham. Watching. Observing. Not with suspicion, though.

Abraham didn’t notice. He was too busy explaining his theory on why triangle-shaped pizza gets into your mouth faster than the round kind.

“…because the corners are like a ramp! So your teeth can push it in!”

I set down my plate, laughing softly. “That’s some very… scientific pizza logic.”

Alec stayed silent. But for a moment, his eyes shifted toward me. A quick glance. Warm? No. But not cold either. Maybe just… uncertain. Maybe he didn’t know how to sit at a table like this, with a child who talked too much and a woman carrying too many wounds he’d caused.

Abraham took another bite, then suddenly set his slice down. His small face scrunched up as he looked at Alec seriously.

“Uncle,” he said, his voice dropping a full octave, like he was on a diplomatic mission.

Alec turned slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Why don’t you ever smile?”

The question dropped onto the table like a foreign object. Not heavy, but just enough to make time pause for a second.

“Your face always looks like you just ate a lemon. Like… like a robot that forgot to learn how to smile,” Abraham went on, completely serious. “It’s kinda scary, you know?”

I choked a little on my drink.

Alec didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the kid, for a long moment, like he was really seeing him for the first time. Then, slowly, his gaze flicked to me and something in his expression shifted. Not quite a smile. But close.

“A robot, huh?” he said quietly.

Abraham nodded, dead serious. “But not like Tony. Tony’s a quiet robot. You’re a grumpy one.”

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

Alec set his knife down, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe,” he said finally, “not everyone has a reason to smile.”

Abraham thought for a moment. “I can teach you.”

Alec raised an eyebrow again. “Teach me?”

“Yeah. You just make your mouth go like this.” Abraham pulled a wide, awkward grin, like a clown mask. “If it’s hard, you can use a pencil to help pull it.”

I laughed now, unable to hold it in.

Alec looked at Abraham, and for a split second, barely a blink, his cheekbones lifted just a little. Not quite enough to be called a smile, but enough to make Abraham freeze.

“HEY! That was almost it!” he shouted, delighted.

Alec shrugged, pretending not to care. But his eyes… weren’t the same anymore.

And for the first time since we sat at this table, I thought maybe… the robot was learning how to be human. Little by little. And maybe, without even knowing it, a kid from Pluto was the one helping him turn the first screw.