The babysitter

Cooking skills

Lucy and Emma sat at the dinner table, staring at the plate in front of them with mixed expressions. Emma's face was a picture of confusion, her small lips parted as she studied the "food" in front of her. Lucy was less charitable. Her eyes narrowed at the dish before her, and the corners of her mouth twitched downward in disbelief.

Tim's attempt at cooking had ended in what could only be described as... an accident.

Lucy poked at the vegetables with a chopstick, lifting one piece and watching as it slipped from the utensil with a concerning amount of grease. The oil glistened in the dim light, reflecting off the green bits in a way that made her question if she was about to eat something that could be classified as a biohazard. She dropped the vegetable back onto the plate with a soft plop, staring at it for a moment before moving her gaze to the other dish. She poked at it, grimacing as the overpowering scent of something vaguely sour hit her nose.

Her stomach churned.

"Hey, Em," Lucy said, glancing sideways at the little girl, who had been watching her with wide, innocent eyes.

"Hm?" Emma replied, her voice a quiet hum of curiosity as she picked at her own plate, completely unaware of the culinary disaster unfolding.

"Does your dad cook often?" Lucy asked, her voice calm but laced with the kind of disbelief that could only come from someone who was struggling to understand how a person could mess up something as simple as cooking dinner.

Emma didn't look up. "No," she said bluntly, her face serious as if she were simply stating an obvious fact. She glanced up at Lucy. "Why?"

Lucy shrugged, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably as she pushed the oily vegetable around the plate. "Makes sense," she muttered, more to herself than to Emma.

The door to the bathroom creaked open at that moment, and Tim stepped out, his hair still damp, a towel draped around his neck. He looked like he had just returned from a spa day, completely unaware of the horrors waiting for him at the dinner table. He walked casually over to the table, looking between the two women and their slightly stunned expressions.

"What's wrong?" he asked, standing with his arms crossed, his gaze moving between the food and the two of them. There was a slight tilt to his head as he scanned the scene, sensing something was off but clearly not fully understanding why.

Lucy shot him a pointed look, gesturing at the food with a slow, dramatic flourish of her chopstick. "Why don't you try it?" she suggested, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Tim raised an eyebrow, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. "What? Is it that bad?" he asked, sitting down and picking up his chopsticks, unfazed by the tension in the air. It was almost as if he were daring the food to surprise him.

He picked up a piece of the vegetable, eyeing it skeptically, and popped it into his mouth without missing a beat. The moment the food hit his tongue, his face twisted in an almost comical display of shock. His eyes widened, and he coughed into his napkin, trying—and failing—to mask his reaction. He reached for his water, gulping down a huge swig.

"Takeout?" he asked, his voice strained but with the kind of humor that only someone who had just tasted something unidentifiably bad could muster.

Lucy leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a satisfied smile. "At peak hour? Please. I'll make you something better."

Emma, who had been waiting patiently through the entire ordeal, piped up, her voice high-pitched with the kind of innocent excitement that only a child could muster. "Yay!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together as if Lucy had just announced they were going to Disneyland.

Tim shook his head, chuckling to himself. "You're all a bunch of amateurs." He paused, eyeing the dish again. "But seriously, what was that?"

Lucy grinned, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's called 'experimenting with flavors,'" she said sweetly, using air quotes in the air. "And clearly, it's not for everyone."

Tim stared at the plate, poking it with his chopsticks again as though hoping it would magically improve on its own. "More like an 'experiment gone horribly wrong,'" he muttered under his breath.

Lucy took a deep breath and stood up, the sound of her chair scraping against the floor breaking the silence. "Alright, you know what? This is officially a disaster, and I refuse to let it ruin my night." She made her way to the kitchen, determined to fix the situation.

"Well, if you make instant noodles, we might just survive the evening," Tim said, his voice laced with both humor and a hint of hope.

Lucy shot him a playful glare. "You're not much better," she retorted, though there was no heat behind the words. She was already rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out two packets of instant noodles.

"Don't be a food snob," Tim called from the table, his tone teasing. "Instant noodles are a classic."

Emma, who had been waiting patiently, perked up at the mention of noodles. "Yay! Noodles!" she cheered, bouncing in her seat with enthusiasm that made Lucy's heart swell. It was amazing how a small bowl of instant noodles could bring so much joy.

Tim smirked as he leaned back in his chair. "You know, you're just as bad as I am. Look at you—cooking gourmet meals one disaster at a time."

Lucy snorted, opening the two packets of noodles. "Gourmet meals, huh?" she mused, stirring the boiling water in the pot with exaggerated care. "If by 'gourmet,' you mean 'edible after 3 minutes of boiling water,' then sure, I'm a Michelin-star chef."

Tim laughed at her sarcasm but knew better than to press it further. As much as he tried to pretend he didn't mind, he could see the effort Lucy had put into taking care of Emma—and even trying to salvage a decent meal out of what could have been considered a culinary crime.

Within minutes, Lucy had prepared two bowls of noodles—one for herself and one for Tim—and a smaller bowl for Emma. She placed them on the table with a flourish, placing Emma's bowl in front of her with a smile. "Dinner's served," she said triumphantly.

Emma picked up her chopsticks and immediately dug in. "Yummy!" she exclaimed through a mouthful, her face lighting up as if she'd just been handed the finest meal on earth.

Tim, meanwhile, took a tentative bite of his noodles, lifting his eyes to Lucy. He chewed slowly, eyes narrowing, as if trying to evaluate the noodles in some sort of culinary contest. After a long, drawn-out moment, he swallowed and met her gaze. "Alright, fine," he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "You win. These are better than whatever that thing was."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her smile sly. "What, you mean these instant noodles?"

Tim gave her a pointed look, pushing the empty plate away. "You aren't much better," he muttered, shaking his head in mock defeat. "But you know what? At least they're edible."

Lucy smiled, sitting down at the table and starting on her own noodles. She glanced over at Tim and Emma, both of whom were happily slurping away.

"It's a win," she said, with a smirk. "For all of us."

Emma nodded enthusiastically. "Yay!" She gave a thumbs-up with one hand while holding her noodles in the other.

"Alright, alright," Tim said, rolling his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You win. Instant noodles for dinner. I'm not even mad. I've had worse. Maybe."

Lucy chuckled, shaking her head. "Next time, we'll stick to something a little safer."

But, in that moment, as the three of them shared the simplest meal, Lucy felt a warm sense of contentment. It wasn't about the food. It wasn't about the disasters or the mistakes. It was about the small moments, the laughter, and the little victories that made everything—no matter how disastrous—feel worth it.

"Good night, Emma," Lucy said, as she wiped the small girl's face clean of noodles.

"Night!" Emma replied, her voice filled with the kind of happiness that made everything feel alright.

And for once, Lucy realized, dinner didn't have to be perfect to be just what they needed.