Page 32 of Wrecked

“Am I a flake?” I ask while cutting.

“You’re gonna have to clarify that for me.”

“No, sweetie, you’re not a flake at all, is what you were supposed to say.”

“What I’m supposed to say and what I will say are two very different things. What’s bothering you?” He’s mixing the ingredients in a pan over the flame.

I pull a piece of the cut taffy and feel its sticky texture. “I know I appear shallow and indecisive. Part of it is genuinely me. I don’t like to take life too seriously. And I have fun. Life is fun, you know?”

“It’s one of your greatest qualities.”

I smash the taffy in my hand. “There’s no substance. At least, not to the outside world. But there is so much more to me. I just wish people could see it.”

He makes a sound of understanding from his throat as he stirs, his mixture coming to a boil. “Sure are a lot of ingredients in this recipe, aren’t there?”

I internally groan. Way to be supportive, Dad.

Maybe if I were Emma and her violin, he’d stop and tell me how amazing I was. Or, if I were the prized son, Luke, he’d list all of his amazing attributes. But, no, I’m just Leah.

He removes the pan from the heat. “Sugar, cornstarch, butter, corn syrup, even water. Sweet and savory in one pot. It’s complex and simple at the same time. I count the butter as the savory,” he says with a wink. “Pick out a flavor.”

I drop the taffy in my hand and pull over Dad’s tin of flavors and food coloring. Looking through, I choose vanilla extract and a small vile of orange coloring.

“Good choice. Orange is a fun color. And the vanilla brings on a taste that reminds me of a warm evening. A strong scent, too.”

He adds them to the pan and then pours the mixture into a baking dish.

“It’s a shame,” he says. “It takes so much time to make candy and only seconds to eat. Everyone enjoys it. They comment on how cool the colors are and devour the flavor.”

He takes a piece of taffy with one hand and a piece of wax paper with the other. He wraps the candy in paper and twists it at the end. “We even dress it up and make it look all pretty.” He holds the candy up in the air. “No one knows there are nine different ingredients in this little piece of heaven.”

I look up and think to myself for a second. “No, there are eight ingredients.”

“Name them,” he says.

“Sugar, cornstarch, butter, salt, corn syrup, food coloring, vanilla extract, and water.”

“Ah, you forgot one. Love,” he adds.

I roll my eyes.

“See? Yet another ingredient no one sees, so, therefore, it doesn’t count.”

I take the candy from his hand and roll it in my fingers. “Are you comparing me to a piece of candy?”

He smiles. “You’re more than what you show on the outside.”

I unwrap the candy and pop it into my mouth. Even though I’ve made it countless times with my dad, I’ve never appreciated what goes into creating it. What the candy is actually made of.

Leaning on my elbows, I ask, “How do I let people see what’s on the inside?”

“You’re just gonna have to show them what you’re made of.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Invite them into your kitchen.”

Getting up, I walk around the counter and give my dad a hug. “Thanks, Bob.”