Emergency Chocolate.

Mel laughs as Mariam, her partner at the Italian pizzeria they own, exits the kitchen to serve refills of tea. "Just think about it!" Mel yells after her. Mariam allows the swinging doors to close on her teasing voice.

There is no way they are going to start serving chocolate cake in addition to the tiramisu they already serve at this pizzeria, Mariam thinks. There is also cannoli and a lemon curd on the menu, both of which taste wonderful with their hand-tossed creations of authentic, Italian pizza. This restaurant is Mariam's sanctuary. And now is not the time to expand the dessert menu, not with the impending restaurant expansion later in the year. Costs must be considered.

The cool breeze from fans in the main area of the restaurant is a welcome change over the stifling oven heat in the kitchen. She pauses to breathe it in. The inner room is large with stamped concrete floors, shaped to look like giant, intricately designed tiles. Each of the tables has a candle and a small plant, along with a design of an Italian flag to remind each customer of her heritage country. The walls are lined with wooden floating shelves and wine racks, displaying pictures of Mariam's childhood homestead and bottles of her favorite wines from all around Italy. Just on the far side of the restaurant is a corner leading to the alley. Instead of a garbage area, she has installed a couple tables under an awning, which reminisce of her favorite Italian eateries, encouraging guests to linger a bit longer and enjoy evening breezes.

This evening however holds humidity in its overcast skies of southern Pennsylvania. Mariam imagines that there will be rain in the near future. Weather can change quickly around here. She smiles at the recognized regulars and chats briefly with those just entering, making sure if food is not being consumed by each person that there is at least a refill or an extra couple lemons to freshen drinks. She waves personably at the thinning crowd as each family disappears into the twilight. "Meow." A soft noise accompanies a gentle rub at her ankles and she bends to pick up the restaurant greeter, Pickles. The little fluff ball of a cat defies his name, as he is a solid black color. The only reason they call him Pickles is because of an odd white patch with sprinkles of black dots that run up his furry tail, like the bumps on a pickle.

"Your parents would be proud, Mar." Their long-time friend and waitress is now hostessing, and gives the kitty a nuzzle. A loud clatter echoes from the kitchen and a small group of customers turn in unison toward the kitchen.

"Did I--?" Mariam drops the cat who scurries to his cat door, leading outside. He has been trained so well he never enters the restaurant area and is rewarded each evening with a soft pallet of salmon.

She hears a blood-curdling scream. That is definitely Mel. Before she can investigate, the woman emerges from the back grabbing her own hand, but Mariam doesn't miss the unmistakably streak of blood falling down her arm. Mel is not crying, but her face is pale and she gasps to Mariam as she shoots out the door, "Drive fast."

The doctor at the local hospital is shorter than Mariam, and he has a friendly face, though slightly balding. He looks her straight in the eye as he gives her the prognosis. "The tip of Mel's thumb has been cut off completely. That can happen when you're dealing with sharp objects in a kitchen." Before Mariam can ask, the doctor confirms with a nod, "Yes, even in professional kitchens. You'd be surprised at the accidents I've seen. The good news is that it was a clean sever, so it should heal nicely. However, she will have some permanent damage and lose feeling on the edge of that finger, even after the pain diminishes. We've given her pain medication for that and be sure she comes back next week and a couple weeks following to confirm infection has not set in."

"Mommy!" A little kid runs past Mariam and nearly jumps on the bed next to Mel.

"Hey, hon. Woah! Let Daddy help you." Her husband, Dan, is right behind the little fireball and helps him onto the bed, whispering something to him.

The tiny boy leans over to his mom and asks in a stage whisper. "Did you cut off your hand?"

Mel shows the kids her finger with the giant bandage. Her older daughter, maybe six, though Mariam can't recall the exact number, hovers back, hugging her dad's leg. "Your mom is going to be really brave," Dan tells the kids. He hesitates and glances at Mariam, who takes the hint and suggests to the kids that they grab a couple snacks from the vending machine outside. He nods in thanks.

They sit in the large waiting room room with the boy, Taylor, perched on Mariam’s lap. She asks the kids, "What can we do to help make your mom feel better?"

"A special gift, Aunt Mariam!" The girl jumps up and down. Mariam isn't their real aunt, but they've spent enough time at the restaurant that she's been adopted into their family.

"Yes!" Taylor says. Let's get her a puppy!

"No," his sister argues, shaking her head. "What about her favorite cake? Then she will know that we love her that much!" She throws her arms out wide.

Mariam asks, "What is her favorite cake?"

"Chocolate."

Of course it is. Mel's plea for a new menu item rings in her head. Over the next twelve hours, Mariam uses the rest of that night and her one free day of the week to try her hand at baking, catching cat naps with Pickle every couple of hours. She has always been the person to put together the pizzas and Mel has done most of the baking, but how hard can it be to follow a cake recipe? She chooses an Italian favorite, a seven-layered chocolate miracle, carefully crafting each layer according to instructions from Google. The second to the last layer, the chocolate mousse, goes onto the pan a bit runny, but surely it will firm up in the oven. As the cake bakes, she can smell the hazelnut and chocolate mixtures and imagines that she hears the crackle of the praline crunch. When the timer beeps, she pulls it out of the oven, allowing it to set appropriately. The unmistakable waft of chocolate fills the kitchen. She'll take up a slice to the hospital! Just what Mel needs to lift her spirits. But as she cuts through the cake with the knife, the entire side caves in! Something must have gone wrong in the baking process. "What am I going to do now?" she mutters to herself.

When she finally makes it back up to the hospital, Mariam hands Mel a container, grinning sheepishly. Mel passes it to Dan, who carefully opens the lid, revealing a perfectly stacked seven-layer slice of torta setteveli, with its chocolate and hazelnut richness, covered in a mirror glaze of chocolate. Mel eagerly sniffs her surprise and breaks off a piece with two fingers of her good hand.

"Mariam, did you make this? I’m crazy about it!"

"Um, no, but I found a wonderful bakery. By the way, Mel, I know you're getting released tomorrow, but just give me a chance before you come back to clean the kitchen disaster I left at the restaurant. My poor attempt at a cake didn't turn out nearly as beautiful as this one."

"I’ll stand hostess for a while. What is life without a few disasters?" Mel smiles. "Keep the recipe you wanted to use for this cake, by the way. I'd like to put my own twist on it to add this beautiful cake to the menu! It's sure to be a hit." She winks at her friend.

The kids swipe at the piece and nod in agreement, their mouths full. "Please, Aunt Mariam?"

Mariam grins at her friend’s slyness. How can she say no, after all this?