Yogurt And Dimples

Chicken out

The sun was sliding down the boulevard of slippery night. My thesis redone and attaining victor on COD warzone gave a boost to my mood. What more to make me feel the day almost perfect than coming up with the right excuse for the girl my mother expected to see by dinner time; the reason to be her having period or something. Girls should understand girls, and their pity situation to that so-called PMS would surely pass as the best excuse.

Thank you for this brain!

My giggles went on as I finished the gazpacho. As the product of Valencia, would having the tendency to like Spanish cuisine be something out of destiny? No? Maybe? After placing the blended tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, bread, peppers —just a pinch— and cucumber into a container, I set it into the fridge.

I moved on to make the next dish, tortilla; my mother's favourite. For countless times I tried to understand how could she still love the food on her honeymoon but claimed to have gotten over my father. Wouldn't it suppose to bother her? Like I was disturbed so much about yoghurt. I had the thought lingered while beating the egg.

"Be easy on the eggs, it might chicken out." My mother walked into the kitchen. I placed the bowl down and turned to her. "Get it? Chicken out because you're beating it?" She continued.

While chuckling, she opened the fridge and brought a finger to my preserved dish.

"No you don't!" I threw a piece of cut cucumber at her which landed soundly on her head.

Catching the piece of salad by luck, she munched on it like it was a biscuit. "Sorry, it's so tempting, " she said with a pout.

"It's for later. Don't ruin it, " I huffed. Although the dinner was technically just between us, anything related to food was sensitive to me. Every dish done with heart poured on it should be treated with respect.

"Okay chef. I'll leave it to you then. I'll make myself busy upstairs so I wouldn't accidentally sneak on it, " she uttered.

The pitter-patter of my mother's shoes got dimmer before it vanished entirely by distance. Under the peaceful grace, I started moulding the tortilla. But it lasted only for a few minutes before the doorbell killed my serenity.

Bunching one hand on the apron and the other on the knob, the door slowly swung open. "This better be something good... Or I swear—" My muttering died the second I lay my eyes on the unexpected guess.

"Oh, hello." The dimples adorning both cheeks melted along with a sweet smile, replaced with two bright eyes widening.

Awkwardly she reversed, stumbling at the last footing on the tread to the pavement but lucky to avoid falling. I had to hold myself from laughing at her clumsiness. Still gripping a container with one hand, she scratched her head with the other while inspecting my house. She looked lost.

"That's the mailbox. I think this is the house. Or... Gosh, this is embarrassing," she mumbled, looking at my mailbox then to me back and forth.

Red and bashful, she turned to leave, mouthing the word sorry when she accidentally stepped on one of my mother's flower bush. The girl was a total mess, but amusing. I just stood there lost for words, not that I even intended to make conversation anyway.

"Dear, you are early. Come in!"

A very high pitch voice came from behind me, pushing me aside as if I was in the way of a great find during bargain hunting. I practically kissed the doorframe as my mother flew, yes no kidding, she flew outside if it was possible.

"Am I?" The girl who looked even confused blinked at her.

"Yes, dinner," my mother uttered. With arm curled around the girl who was now showing dimples from a tense smile, she was practically pulling her inside.

Well, there went my PMS excuse. Turning the tables, the PMS became my problem instead; plan major safe.

"You just sit, let our big man finish doing whatever at the kitchen!" My mother exclaimed, beckoning the girl towards the sofa.

Puzzlement crammed me on my pace back to the kitchen. Why did the girl even appear so suddenly? Again I recognised the sound of my mother's slippers and the sound of her bedroom door clicking. When I spun, the dimples stood next to the island, putting down her container. I tried to ignore her, but my eyes docked forcefully on her face.

"Um... I don't know what's happening. But I was just stopping by to give your mother these" —she opened the triangle box's lid, revealing muffins in assorted colours— "I saw her crying yesterday so I thought it could cheer her up."

Her sweet smile pushed me on edge, certainly far from what she hoped to be the objective. With a scowl, I ripped my eyes away. "Just put it there and leave before she return, " I muttered with indifference. Somehow the words were tough to say.

"Ah, yes. But please tell her I have something important to do. I don't want—"

I groaned, interrupting her. My gaze was stuck on my mother's bedroom door, worry she might come out at any moment. "Yes, I'll tell her. Can you just go already?"

The glow in her eyes paled. She nodded, turning on her heels towards the door. At the time, something I didn't expect materialised inside of me. It was the same feeling each time I watched children hungry, or on every YouTube social experiment I bashed as a play but later found out was true. Pity and remorse hit me.

Feet moving on its own, I arrived at the entrance. But as I watched her walk away, my bravery depleted. Slowly I let the outside disappear behind the door closing. The damage had been done.

"Sorry, I ate too much enchilada, " my mother said as she stood at the top of the stairs. She looked around in search of the little happiness I had just sent away.

Under reticent, I pretended not to hear her and paced back to the kitchen. Each heavy step saying my refute against regret was meeting fault.

Doe on hand, I rolled, turning it flat for the right shape of the tortilla. Albeit, the round and puffy muffins sitting just a few inches away caught my attention more. Smile shapes were drawn on top. I grabbed one, smelling it to identify candy frosting.

Out of a sudden, a hand touched my shoulder. "Hey, what's wrong? Where's Bella? Did you two got in a fight?"

"Bella?" The muffin fell from my hand. Upon landing on the tortilla, the smile broke, smudged onto a grimace. Like a snap, a child's face came into my memory.

To be continued...