Pat's knuckles were bleeding.
At least it felt so as he landed another punch on the dough. "Prissy, are you sure, this is it? It doesn't seem to work."
"Yes! Yes! Carry on." Prissy smiled with enthusiasm displaying the gap between her two upper canines as she sat cross-legged on the kitchen island.
"Pass me the salt then."
Priscilla pushed the salt container towards her drooping uncle. "Stop slacking off, uncle. Punch harder!"
"I can't believe-" Pat yawned. "-you convinced me to bake crackers at this hour."
"It's so fun watching you bake!"
Halting his intense fight with the dough, Pat gave his niece a side-glance and smiled. "But it's not fun for me. Look at my hands-" He displayed his oily flour coated hands. "-they're hurting."
"But you are a big boy!" She exclaimed, grinning ear to ear.
"I don't think so." Pat laughed at her words, showing her his red palms. "Why are you torturing me like this?"
"It's not torture. It's good practice," Prissy stated, after mulling over it, deepening her voice to sound wiser. "After all, you would need to show off your cooking skills to your girlfriend when you finally get one…or boyfriend- I don't judge."
"O majestic Prissy! How thoughtful! How wise! What would I have done without you?" Pat played along with his niece, even though he was busy battling his heavy eyelids.
His niece narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to distract me with your bad acting? Get back to punching!"
Pat raised his hands admitting defeat to the little kid before going back to his dough. This time, however, instead of following her strange instructions, he added a modest ounce of water and kneaded the dough his own way. That did it. The dough's texture softened and the lumps disappeared despite it going a bit stickier.
"Do you think this o-i-l be needing some more oil?" He asked gesturing at the sticky dough as he laughed at his own bad pun.
Confused at her uncle's sudden laughter, Priscilla sat still unsure of what to do but soon his contagious laughter elicited her to break into her own fit of giggles. Before they knew, laughter was booming in the room- Pat was smacking his knees while his niece was rolling on the marble kitchen island. It was quite the wholesome moment.
Pity, things took a turn for the worse.
In the heat of the moment, Prissy's hand hit the glass bottle beside her, triggering it to roll over and land head first on the kitchen floor and shatter into millions of smithereens.
Pat gasped; his drowsiness fled to Hawaii. Imported straight from Italy, he considered it as one of his prized possessions. He could feel his heart crack along with the glass bottle as he saw the extra virgin olive oil seep on the floor forming a yellow puddle.
Prissy's laughter ceased at the sight. So did her heart. As time trickled by, they both stared at the floor in silence until she could no longer bear the overriding guilt. She knew how much her uncle treasured his oils. Prissy jumped from the island onto the mess below. If she cleaned it up herself, he would be less upset, right?
"Prissy!"
Pat's shriek echoed through the kitchen.