Detoxified

Chapter 10: Episode 7 - Part 3

Tharn was comically bad at cooking. Frankly, the level at which he was bad at cooking was almost a talent in itself. He would always accept his mother's invitations to help her cook family meals, but it usually ended in one of six ways:

He would slice the crap out of his fingertips trying to dice a vegetable of some kind.He would burn something because he left it on too high of a heat or forgot about it altogether.He would burn himself because he was trying to cook something frozen in hot oil, and the ice from the frozen food melting into the pan would splatter said hot oil everywhere.He would straight-up just catch something on fire(but that had only happened a grand total of two times).He would somehow manage to break at least two items of ceramic dishware. Or he would just make a general massive mess in the kitchen.

Needless to say, he didn't understand why his mother--ever-patient as she may have been--kept inviting him to help her cook.

Hell, Thanya was ten years-old, and she cooked better than he did.

Ten minutes ago, his mother had assigned him the simple task of peeling five potatoes... And he was still trying to peel all of the potatoes. What respectable man couldn't use a frickin' vegetable peeler? It was absurd how bad at this Tharn was.

He was eyeing the potato in his hand with contempt as he kept trying to slide the peeler over its surface, chipping only tiny little chunks of skin off of it. He probably hadn't concentrated nearly this hard on a task in his entire life.

Through his frustrated haze of hyperfocused peeling, he faintly heard Thanya prancing into the kitchen, then pausing beside him. "P'Tharn, you're still trying to peel those potatoes?"

Tharn slumped his shoulders in defeat and managed a nod of agreement. "Yeah," he sighed.

He heard his baby sister giggle at the resignation in his posture and tone. "Mom didn't tell you you're holding the peeler upside-down?"

Tharn blinked down at the peeler in his hand, only now just noticing that the blade-side was facing up toward him... The embarrassment struck him the moment he realized he'd been trying to peel potatoes with a blunt edge this entire time.

His mother chuckled from behind him, where she was currently dicing-up various other vegetables on the kitchen island countertop. "I was trying to let him figure it out on his own," she said, setting down her knife and walking over to turn the peeler around in his hand.

"You're so cruel," Tharn muttered with a pout.

His mother laughed again, reaching up to ruffle the hair at the top of his head. "Sweetheart, you're an adult now. You need to learn how to figure things out yourself every once in a while."

Tharn's pout only grew. "I can figure things out perfectly fine," he insisted. "But cooking is a different story."

"Yes, you're just like your father," she mused. "You're just going to have to take a page out of his book and find a life partner who can cook. You can't eat takeout every day; it's unhealthy."

Tharn transiently wondered if Type could cook. Type occasionally talked about helping his own mother in the kitchen and had yet to mention any kitchen accidents, so Tharn could only assume that Type at least knew a little bit about cooking.

But, even if Type couldn't cook, it was no matter. Eating takeout every day may have been a really unhealthy option, but Tharn would gladly do so for the rest of his life if Type either didn't know how to cook or simply just didn't want to.

...

Rest of his life...

He was getting way too far ahead of himself with that thought. It had already been proven time and time again that the likelihood of him ever finding someone that would be willing to tolerate him for the rest of their life was slim-to-none. What made him think that it would end any differently when it came to Type?