Creed

“Time to go home.”

Home.

I’d never had that, not ever, not in my life, not even way back when, when it was just Creed and me.

My smile got bigger.

* * * * *

“And they were all, ‘It’s too hot,’ and I was all, ‘Wusses, it’s not too hot. There’s a breeze. This is a walk in the park to me. I could run in this heat. I could sleep in this heat.’”

Brand and I were sitting at Creed’s island with Brand talking a mile a minute while Kara and Creed were making what they told me was called a “pizzookie”. The pizzookie, as described, was a phenomenon whose existence I was shocked I’d not only never heard of before but also had never partaken of, copiously. Apparently, you took store bought cookie dough, sprayed a cake tin, scrunched a bunch of dough in the bottom, baked it until it was just cooked but mostly gooey, plopped a shitload of ice cream on top and ate it out of the pan. If you were feeling saucy, Kara further explained, you could do this with brownie dough.

See?

A phenomenon. Delicious and genius. If it was as good as it sounded, I could make and consume one every night.

I couldn’t wait.

Dandan noodles were a hit. Eating them, I found that I’d had them before at restaurants but I would never consider making them at home. Then again, Creed had always been good in the kitchen. He’d learned to cook out of necessity because his Mom didn’t and he’d always had a knack for it.

I’d learned to cook at the crack of Richard’s whip and thus I avoided it. I could cook and do it well; I just hated doing it because time spent in the kitchen reminded me of Richard. And that was never good.

Grocery shopping with the Creeds before the noodles was a stitch. This was partly because Brand was riding a water park high and sweeping us along with his wave, being a total goof and cracking jokes that were so bad, they were hysterical.

But it was Creed who had us doubled over in an aisle when he inexplicably started roaring with laughter so uncontrolled he couldn’t even speak. He just pointed at a display of DVDs in the center of the aisle that had a label that said “Family Friendly Movies” but were a variety of documentaries on natural disasters and serial killers. Obviously, we all saw the humor and joined in. It took us ten minutes to pull our shit together and move on considering the fact both Brand and Kara kept making suggestions about family friendly movies that should be added such as an in-depth perusal into the Third Reich (Kara’s idea and she even used the words “in-depth perusal”) and the Spanish Inquisition (Brand’s idea).

When we got back to the house, I found it was cool being in Creed’s house with his kids. Even being there only weekends, they were comfortable and there was a kickass family vibe that not only was awesome to see Creed had but was awesome to feel.

I wasn’t a part of it, it was way too early, but both kids included me and it felt more than a little nice.

Once we dumped our stuff, got in showers and changed, the division of labor fell naturally. Kara helped her Dad in the kitchen in a way so practiced I knew it was the norm while Brand entertained me.

We’d had the noodles and were onto dessert and Brand was regaling me with stories of how his cousins (Chelle had a brother and a sister, both with kids) who came from Maine for vacation that summer couldn’t get on in the heat. Something Brand thought made them wusses and something, as a native Phoenician, he was proud he could do, no sweat (literally).

“Son, they’re not wusses,” Creed broke in as Kara pulled the pizzookie out of the oven and Creed tossed a hot pad across the kitchen to land on the island in front of Brand and me. “They’re just not used to it,” he finished.

“Yeah, but they complained about it, like… a lot. Like… all the time. That says wuss,” Brand disagreed.

“Can’t argue with that,” Creed muttered and I silently concurred.

Kara put the pizzookie on the hot pad, Creed opened the freezer to get out the ice cream and I stared at the pizzookie, mentally making it my first priority to hit King Soopers and buy cookie dough and ice cream when I got home.

“Totally,” Kara muttered after her father, now reaching for spoons. “It’s too hot,” she fake whined. “I feel the heat coming through my shoes.” She looked at me as she handed me a spoon and went on, “We don’t complain the ocean’s too salty when we go visit them.”

Brand snorted before he said, “The ocean’s too salty. I am so totally using that when we go back to Maine.”

“And the air’s too heavy,” Kara added.

“And the breeze is too breezy,” Brand put in on a boy mini-giggle.

“How about the Creeds don’t bellyache or even pretend to be wusses but suck it up like true Creeds?” Creed suggested, turning away from the fridge.

Kara grinned at her brother, handed him a spoon and all got quiet as Creed arrived with the ice cream, opened it up, scooped it out and piled it on.

I watched him do this with avid fascination.

Holy shit.

Seriously.

I was full of noodles and I still was considering taking all three of them out so I could have that shit all to myself.

Five minutes later, I would lament I didn’t make this move. This was because, with what was clearly abundant practice, the three Creeds fell on that pizzookie like chocolate chip cookie dough was being outlawed the next day. It was every man and his spoon for himself. With difficulty, spoons clinking against spoons, I got a load on mine and got it in my mouth but before I got it back to the pan, swear to God, more than half the pizzookie was gone.

Apparently, Creed gently drilling manners into his children did not include allowing the guest to have a head start on the pizzookie or even a clear go (or two).

As I was trying quickly to form a strategy to get my spoon in there, I heard Creed order with mouth full, “Don’t be shy, baby.”

I made the mistake of looking at him to see him grinning, mouth still full, then he swallowed and honed back in on the pan. By the time my eyes got back there, I estimated there were approximately five bites left.

“Can’t be shy when pizzookie is on the line,” Brand murmured his advice then shoved pizzookie in his mouth, Kara and Creed’s spoons scooped out more and I went in, got a load and hoisted it to my mouth.

By the time I went back, mouth barely having taken its first chew, it was all gone.

I’d had two bites and the entire ten inch cake pan was full when we started.

I looked around the island at the chewing, grinning Creeds, the young male version having melted chocolate and cookie crumbs on his lips.