Fake It Till You Make It

6

I couldn't help but wonder how I hadn't been fired from my job as a nutritionist yet. Apparently the chicken was still raw from the inside. When I read the text, the only thing I wanted to do was throw myself out of a window. The embarrassment.

Today was Thursday. And it was not just a Thursday. Thursdays are no chicken days for Milan. But for me, this Thursday made my heart cry. Today was the day I lost everything. My family.

As the evening sun cast a warm glow over the kitchen, I found myself immersed in the soothing rhythm of preparing stir-fry noodles with a medley of colorful vegetables. The aroma of garlic and ginger filled the air as I diced carrots, bell peppers, and broccoli, creating a vibrant palette of ingredients that would soon dance in harmony.

The noodles, resting in a pot of boiling water, began to soften, ready to absorb the flavors that awaited them. I stirred the vegetables in a wok, the sizzle of oil and the symphony of sizzling sounds enveloping me in a sense of culinary bliss. I couldn't help but smile, knowing that Milan would appreciate the effort I was putting into this meal.

Just as I was about to add the noodles to the wok, my phone chimed with an incoming message. It was from Ava. The message read: "Hey, I won't be home for dinner tonight. Study session with classmates. Sorry!"

I quickly replied, "No problem. Just let me know if you need anything. Have a good study session!"

Putting my phone aside, I returned to the task at hand. I placed the dishes in the glass containers and cleaned the kitchen up before heading out.

Today was one of those evenings when the world seemed to slow down, and memories, both beautiful and painful, stirred within me. The annual visit to the cemetery loomed ahead, a ritual that tugged at my heartstrings with each passing year.

My mother, a woman of grace and elegance, had always adored lilies. Their pristine white petals and delicate fragrance had been her favorite, and I could still picture the vases of lilies that adorned our home when I was a child. My father, in contrast, had a peculiar fascination with dandelions. He saw beauty in their simplicity, and I could recall him teaching me how to make wishes on their fluffy seeds.

As I drove, my thoughts also turned to my little brother, a bundle of youthful energy and enthusiasm. He had a passion for Hot Wheels cars that was unmatched. His collection, meticulously arranged in colorful rows, was a testament to his love for those tiny vehicles that could spark so much joy.

Spotting a local flower shop on the way, I decided to make a stop. The colorful blooms in the display window beckoned to me, their beauty an echo of my mother's spirit. I parked my car and entered the quaint little shop, greeted by a delightful burst of floral scents that filled the air.

The florist behind the counter smiled warmly, her eyes kind and knowing. She led me to the lilies, their petals soft and inviting, and I couldn't help but choose the most exquisite bunch for my mother. Each delicate bloom held a memory, a reminder of her grace and the love she had poured into our family.

Next, I moved to the dandelions. The simple, yellow flowers stood in stark contrast to the elegance of the lilies, just as my father's personality had been a stark contrast to my mother's. I selected a bunch, envisioning the smile that would have crept across his face at the sight of those familiar, cheerful blooms.

With the flowers in hand, I made my way to the local toy store, a place I had frequented countless times over the years. The rows of Hot Wheels cars gleamed with vibrant colors, each one a miniature work of art. I carefully selected a few that I knew my little brother would absolutely love.

Leaving the store with the tiny cars nestled safely in a bag, I resumed my journey, the weight of the upcoming visit to the cemetery growing heavier with each passing mile. It was a pilgrimage I made every year, a chance to reconnect with my parents and little brother, to remember them, and to honor their memory.

The cemetery appeared on the horizon, and my heart began to pound in my chest. Even after all these years, the thought of standing before their graves filled me with a mix of longing and sorrow. I parked the car and sat there for a moment, clutching the flowers and the bag of Hot Wheels cars.

A solitary tear slipped down my cheek as I thought about my family, the laughter we had shared, the love that had bound us together. It was always a challenge to visit them, to confront the pain of their absence, but it was a challenge I willingly embraced.

Summoning my courage, I stepped out of the car and made my way through the serene cemetery, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the gravestones. The familiar names etched in stone greeted me, a poignant reminder of the lives that had touched mine so deeply.

Kneeling before my mother's grave, I carefully arranged the lilies, their pure white petals a symbol of her enduring beauty and grace.

Moving to my father's resting place, I placed the dandelions gently beside his headstone. The simple, yellow blooms were a tribute to his unwavering optimism and his ability to find joy in the everyday.

Finally, I made my way to a smaller grave, where my little brother lay at rest. His collection of Hot Wheels cars had been his pride and joy, a symbol of his boundless curiosity and enthusiasm. I placed the bag of cars beside his marker, a way of keeping our tradition alive, even though he was no longer with me.

Kneeling down, I whispered to their graves, as I had done for years, as if the words could somehow bridge the gap between our worlds. "I got a job, Mom and Dad," I began, my voice barely more than a murmur, but I knew they could hear. "I work as a nutritionist for Milan Vasilios, a professional footballer."

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, as if nature itself was acknowledging the significance of my words. My parents had always encouraged my pursuit of knowledge and my passion for helping others. Becoming a nutritionist was a dream they had supported, even if they weren't here to witness it.

Taking a deep breath, I continued, "I also started college this year. It's my first year, and I can't wait to graduate and make all of you proud." My heart swelled with a mixture of determination and sadness. Graduation was a milestone I had longed to share with my parents, but now it would be a tribute to their memory.

I let out a deep sigh and wiped away a tear when I heard my phone buzz in my pocket. I swiped across the screen to see who messaged me.

Ms. Shadid

These noodles were so undercooked they could've auditioned for 'America's Got Uncooked Talent.'

M.V

"Ah, fuck off." I cursed before realizing I was standing over my family's grave. "Pretend you didn't hear that lil bro. Sorry mom and dad."

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