Baffling Tales

Dinner's Ready

Mom always loved to cook.

I still remember the assortment of different smells every time I'd enter the kitchen. Chicken dumplings, carne asada, roasted turkey. All perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked, and arranged nicely on white plates.

I didn't always help her in the kitchen, mostly because I was too small to be of any real use. But I'd watch her handle the meat, wishing I possessed as much talent in me as she held in her finger tips. I could learn, of course. Mom was a great teacher. To me, she was the epitome of motherhood.

I grew up in a loving home. Dad wasn't so much a cook as he was a cleaner. He and mom got on very well, although we were always in silence. He loved Mom's cooking, too. His favorite food was spaghetti with homemade meatballs. He would eat them so quickly, rave about the exquisite taste and Mom would blush, thank him, and eat her own food as well.

It was odd, though. She went grocery shopping at weird times. I'm assuming it was because she was a stay-at-home mom that she went to get groceries whenever dad and I were out of the house. We never knew how she made the food so good.

Dad went missing after a while. No notes were left. All his clothes were still in the house. The only thing missing was his car, car keys, and phone. He must've gone on a trip. Those were normal for him, though. They normally didn't last for very long.

The day after he went missing, I was walking into the kitchen, where mom normally was. She was cutting apart bigger pieces of meat to cook. Being that she used to work in Grandpa's butcher shop, I'm not surprised at how comfortable she was butchering the meat. She was probably making steaks.

The counter was bloody. She must've spilled some juices off the plate of meat by accident. 

She must have heard me, because she turned to me and smiled.

"Hey, there. Your dad's gonna be here for dinner," she chirped, and I grinned excitedly. He must have really missed mom's food.

When I asked if she needed help, she declined, a smile still on her face as she sliced the bleeding meat. So, I left her to her activity, even though dad never did come home to eat with us.

That very night, I found Dad in the basement. Even though it was only his head, at least I knew where he was.

I didn't tell anyone. It was best to let her be happy, and I always humored her in eating her food. Her food was always good.

I always loved to eat, and Mom always loved to cook.