A cushion flipped up as Alize ran her hand between the folds of the couch. She slid a hand down a crevice on the side and squealed- “I think I got it! Oh my God, look at all this hair, Howard!” Howard’s head shot up from the kitchen as his tail did a brief dance. He was patiently waiting by his bowl for his slice of pizza, but he realized it was a false alarm. He put his head down and glared from the kitchen.

Zehra stood at the other end of the couch with her head wrapped in a towel. She was dressed in pajamas and currently pouring herself a cup of red pop. The ice crackled as the fizzy bubbles tickled her nose. She loved the smell of red pop; it was strawberry flavored of course, and by flavored that meant it didn’t taste like strawberries necessarily, but it was close enough. Her mother shoved the cushion back in place and took a seat with a tv remote covered in dog hair. “I can only imagine what else is hidden there. Do you think Howard hides food in the couch?” Those were two words Howard knew as he sashayed into the living room with a confident wobble. Zehra glared at Howard and puffed, “no Howard, not yet!” Howard understood that much and returned to the kitchen and circled before plopping down again.

“Now he got a whole bowl full of food and somehow, he can’t keep his eyes off our plates, ain’t that something Zay?” Zehra stopped sipping her red pop long enough to respond. “He likes human food, especially pizza. I swear he’s not a dog, he’s a person.” Her mother laughed and turned on the tv. “Maybe in a former life he was. So, what’s on tonight?” She flicked through a few channels and landed on a crime show called Recipe for Murder. They were both locked in within minutes of the narrator’s chilling introduction:

“It wasn’t a perfect marriage, but twenty-six-year-old Chelsea Williams was a seemingly happy and devout mother of two, with one on the way. Raising two children left little time for herself, but between soccer practice and dance lessons, she found time to go fishing with friends and she was a pillar of her church community. She had it all figured out until one day when things suddenly took a turn for the worst. It turns out, Chelsea’s picture-perfect marriage was anything but... Take one wild night with a former fling, a dash of insane credit card charges, and blend with a secret so earth-shattering, it sent shockwaves through a small community in middle America. This wasn’t just a good time; this was a recipe... for murder!”

Alize lifted a cheesy slice of pizza from the box and draped the excess over the toppings. “Ooh, this is gonna be a good one!” Zehra’s mother said as she bit into the slice while her daughter nursed her stomach. If Zehra ate another slice, she knew her insides would burst, so she quietly retreated to the kitchen with her final slice in hand.

Howard’s eyes sprang open as he stood on his haunches. His mouth was already salivating as his nose began quivering. A giant glob of spittle hung from his lips as Zehra walked closer. “Stay Howard,” she demanded as the delicious slice of pizza landed in Howard’s bowl. The dog tried his best to resist the urge to pounce. “Stay How—“ Howard almost swallowed his bowl in an instant. He snagged the pizza in his jowls and dragged it across the kitchen floor. He made little work of the pizza, licking the tomato sauce and cheese off the tiles. Zehra crouched down in front of him and grabbed his cheeks and gave them a hearty shake before hugging him tightly. Howard licked her face to show his appreciation.

Her mother walked in shortly after, with a pleased look about her face. “I paused it so we could fast forward the commercials, and I already have a few theories in mind, how about you?” Releasing Howard, Zehra stood up and brushed hairs from her robe. “I have a few ideas, but I don’t know.” Her mother folded the pizza box in half then stuffed it in the trash can. It snagged the bag on the way down, she looked up with a tsk. “Your hunches are always right; you have a knack for spotting detail.” Smiling and nodding, Zehra didn’t have the heart to tell her mom that nearly every episode was structured the same.

“I like the way you wrapped your head in that towel, you look like a corndog,” Alize said with a smile. That certainly was not the look Zehra was hoping to achieve. Images of nearly set paper mâché popped in Zehra’s head as her hands felt about the base of the towel. It hardened that quickly! A silent alarm went off in Zehra’s head as her mother moved in for a closer inspection. She felt the towel and gasped. “Whew, girl, this feels like dry cement. What did you do?” Zehra pulled away, slightly offended. “I washed my hair, and when I finished, this was the result!” Her mother poked and prodded the towel for a loose end, but it was beginning to feel like a helmet. Snagging a small bit of towel that hadn’t quite hardened, she spun both towel and daughter in opposite directions, hoping to crack the chrysalis of this very tough cocoon.

The towel unraveled like a flaky cinnamon bun and sat on the floor by itself. The tragedy underneath the towel looked like drowned roadkill. On closer inspection, the culprit was that disgustingly cute puff; it had devoured her head whole. “Why didn’t you take your hat off before you showered? I don’t know what your fixation is with this thing. I mean, it’s cute an all, but come on...enough is enough,” Alize said while attempting to free a strand of hair. She pulled back a glob of mucus instead. The smell made her choke on her words as she broke for the sink just as a precaution.

Everything about Zehra’s face balled up into a tight fist as her cheeks hollowed out. It’s like talking to a brick wall, her mother could be so aggravating, so complacent, so dismissive of most things she had to say and that was infuriating. “I’ve been telling you all day mom, but you kept insisting I chose to put this crap on my head. Look at it, it’s worse than the craps Howard takes outside!” Zehra’s anger was laid bare, but she wasn’t finished. “You just don’t listen; I try to talk to you and it’s like you just don’t care.”

That last bit hurt Alize the most because she was trying. The woman was trying so hard not to be her mother that this realization nearly crushed all her spirit. Alize nervously grabbed the dish soap and squeezed it generously over her snotty hands, before vigorously washing the gook down the drain. The paper towel fell off the counter and rolled towards the living room. She tore off a tiny piece and dried her hands. The damp ball of paper towel fell to the ground with a splat as Alize placed her hands on the edge of the sink. Her head disappeared behind severely arched shoulders. What are you going to do now? Her daughter’s words replayed in her mind. She whipped around with a phone in hand.

“We’re looking at a code red,” her mother said sternly. The phone cast an eerie glow under her face as she dramatically swiped through a list of contacts. “This is a code red; did you hear me?” Alize said as she began feverishly texting away. “Drop everything and march straight up those stairs and lay out an outfit for tomorrow. First thing in the morning you will have your appointment. I’ll be up in a minute to wrap what’s left.”

‘What’s left?’ Fear crept up Zehra’s neck and numbed her cheeks. Admittedly so, she didn’t know what to do as she watched her hands attempt to look productive. “Don’t you dare touch that towel, it’s dead now!” Her mother swooped in like a hawk and covered the towel in a plastic bag. “Bagged and tagged, now go! We need to be up bright and early to catch the bus, so get a move on, chop, chop!” Zehra spirited from the kitchen and dashed upstairs. Her mother heard the door open then shut. Not a moment passed by before she heard a blood-curdling scream. She sat her phone down and braced the counter while clutching her chest. How did I ignore the signs? Her eyes pinballed around the kitchen and rested on Howard snoring softly under the kitchen table. You sweet ignorant beast, you have no idea. Alize stammered out of the kitchen, disoriented and wide-eyed.

The back of her hand became a cold compress against her forehead; her knees buckled at the foot of a staircase, she was too afraid to ascend. She pinched the air in front of her and dragged it to the pit of her stomach while releasing a deep sigh. This technique unleashed confidence that picked her chest off the ground as her eyes grew more determined and focused. A sure hand gripped the railing and confidently ascended the steps and disappeared into the dark.