Try For Me | Zelink AU

Baby Doll

Zelda's Perspective

I stand on my toes, shoving all my weight into mashing the potato I'm not sure is cooked all the way through. The few I'd poked with a fork were fine but this one—

I yelp as the masher slides right off, clanging into the pot while flinging already mashed chunks. "You stupid thing," I mutter under my breath. I was lazy and thought I could get away without quartering the potatoes before I boiled them. Maybe I'm the stupid thing.

"Did you burn yourself?" I jump now at Father stepping into the kitchen who I hadn't heard get up from his chair in the living room.

"No." I drag my hands down the front of my apron and reel in my expression of guilt. "I'm fine," I say toying with my fingers as he narrows his eyes. I gesture to the pot, forcing a smile. "I didn't cook them long enough."

"Ah." He half turns, looking over me once more before walking back to his chair, muttering something about me acting strange.

I huff a sigh and scoop the raw potato into a bowl to put in the microwave. There's a list of things making me act strange lately and unfortunately, it's not simply a book that had a less than ideal ending.

I can't make myself forget about the library the other day and how Link acted when picking up his sister. That's not to mention how she acts. Then there's Zant's prowling that I haven't gotten around to mentioning to Revali yet. He'll somehow twist it into a reason why I can't date Link, saying spending time with one troublemaker is attracting more.

But I also can't stop thinking about the way he smiles or his voice and how it drops lower when he wants my cheeks pink.

I get the now slightly less raw potato from the microwave, tossing it back into the pot to mash along with the rest. I season them and add the margarine, hoping they'll still turn out okay.

They end up looking like the worst pot of mashed potatoes I've ever made.

Well, maybe not the worst but they're lumpy and look more like paper mache than something I'm supposed to eat. And I'm almost entirely sure the lumps are bits of raw potato.

Ignoring the side for now, I finish the steaks sizzling in the pan next to the unfortunate potatoes. The breading on the outside is brown like it should be and lifting one end with a fork, I see that the other side is only burnt around the edges. At least half of dinner is edible.

Once everything is finished, I make up the plates as Father checks in, staying for a moment before he heads to the dining room. What does he want to lecture me about now?

Carrying our plates, I follow him, my mind flooding with the same worries that he's figured out I'm seeing a boy. But he wouldn't wait so long to say something. He would have stormed through the door, shouting with his face red.

With only that to calm me, I set his plate in front of him before sitting myself, keeping my eyes down.

"What...is this?" I look up just enough to see Father inspecting his steak, poking at it with his fork.

"Chicken fried steak."

"What?"

I smash a lump out of my potatoes with my fork or at least try to. "Impa's mom made it a few times. She gave me the recipe awhile ago."

"I see."

I brave a bite of the potatoes while Father fights to cut the steak. They're not terrible when drowned in gravy.

I stare at my plate while I chew. Cooking shouldn't be this difficult. Impa's mom makes it look easy and I remember Mother's food tasting good—not that I remember much at all from then.