Thrill

CHAPTER FOUR

(Anna's Pov)

Uncontrollable laughter fell from my lips. The sight of my sister's scrunched up face, filled with frustration and annoyance, amusing me. Standing behind the counter, with clear difficulty on her face whilst making the neapolitan sauce, it looked liked the last place she wanted to be.

The two of us were given the responsibility of making dinner, as my mother was too busy trying to tend the crops in our back garden. Since the winter had arrived, my mother knew the crops wouldn't grow too well, so was beginning to pick off the few left before she'd pull them out and plant new ones in the spring.

"It's not funny, Anna!" Amy snapped, briefly glancing at me with a frown before turning her attention back to the pot she was stirring. "It doesn't taste or look right..."

Rolling my eyes, I paused with rolling out the pastry sheets that I'd fill with cheese, tomatoes and other vegetables. "It's because you added too much garlic. Mama said only put in three and you added in..."

"Six," Amy finished with a sigh. "Crap... I'm going to throw it."

I frowned, picking up the cutter and gently letting it sink into the rolled out dough. "Just start over again. Mama would rather that than no sauce."

She huffed at my suggestion. "See, this is why I told you to make the sauce instead. You know I can't make it."

"Well, I'm sorry that mama said you make it instead of me," I muttered, focusing on the pastry sheet I was placing the cutter in. "Not my fault you can't cook."

"What was that?" Amy asked with a snip in her tone. 

"I said, it's not my fault you can't cook." I repeated, holding the stare, or should I say glare, with my sister. She glared harder, before she sighed loudly, breaking the stare/glare.

"God, my life just has to be difficult, doesn't it? Nothing ever goes to plan. Nothing's ever gone right. Nothing's ever easy for me." Amy muttered to herself, ranting about how unfair her life was as she dumped the previous sauce she had been working on down the bin. I kept silent, shaking my head at her dramatic self.

"You know what? I'm not going to make it again." She suddenly announced, placing the empty pot on the counter. "If mama wants that sauce so bad, she can make it herself."

I gasped at my sister, widening my eyes in shock. Yes, naturally my sister was a snappy person and had somewhat of an attitude - but she was never this bad. She had never gone against either of what my parents had said to her. Well, not until now.

"Amy," I called with disbelief. "What's gotten into you?"

"I'm fed up, that's what's gotten into me, Anna." She snapped. However, her little outburst was cut short when my mother entered the kitchen. My mother was muttering to herself in Italian, complaining about how she hated the winter and the lack of sun. 

She walked over to the sink and twisted the warm water on, washing her hands after smothering them with soap.

"Siete due fatto con la cena?" My mother questioned, her back facing us.

Are you two done with dinner?

"I've almost finished with the pastries," I shared, clearing my throat.

She hummed, grasping the towel and drying her hands. "What about you, Amy?"

My eyes wondered over to Amy, raising a brow to ask what she would say. She looked conflicted for a second, sighing and shrugging at my mother when she finally turned around to face her.

"The sauce didn't come out right, mama. I added too much garlic... and olive oil. I threw it away. It's in the bin." She told my mother, rushed, her lips pursed and awaiting to hear what my mother would say. My mother sighed and muttered something under her breath, that went unidentifiable by us.