I sat beside my dad on the flour-dusted kitchen floor, waving away lingering traces of smoke. I don’t recall exactly how we got there, but there we were. We didn’t say much, but every few minutes we would glance at each other and stifle our laughter. We almost burned down the kitchen, our guilty eyes said to each other.
Don’t tell mom, mine said.
It’s our little secret, his said back.
Nana’s voice wafted in from the living room.
“How’s it coming in there?“
A pause, as we scrambled for a suitable answer, and then—
“Can I help?”
****
