Out of the Fire into the Frying Pan

The smell of burnt bacon filled the kitchen. 

“Luke,” said his mother in an exasperated tone. “How many times have I told you that you don’t have to cook for us anymore?” 

“Counting this one, 14 times,” his little sister chimed in.

“You’re actually keeping track, aren’t you?” asked Luke, half annoyed and half impressed. “Don’t worry, Mom, with a little more practice, I’ll get the hang of it.”

“But you don’t need to get the hang of it,” said his mother. “You know I’m perfectly fine with preparing breakfast for you guys.”

“I know, Mom,” said Luke with a small smile. “But, you know I like to cook.”

He filled up his plate with bacon and sausages, the ones that nearly got burnt to a crisp, and started to cover them with hot sauce. 

“You’re gonna get a stomach ache,” his sister warned, looking at his plate in disgust. 

Luke ignored her and took a big bite.

“What does it taste like?” she added curiously.

Chewing slowly, he started to stroke his chin as if seriously considering the question. 

“Tingly,” he replied after a moment with a wink.

She gave a look of disbelief and started to reach for the hot sauce but, a stern look from their mother made her desist. Luke smiled and looked down at his plate. A couple of months ago, he would have coughed and spat out such a grotesque combination after the first bite. Now, however, he poured hot sauce on everything; that’s the only way he liked eating. Burnt food also didn’t bother him. He watched from the corner of his eyes, his mother and sister loading their plates with his cooking. He was grateful that they ate without squirming or gagging, although he knew that they couldn’t possibly be enjoying a single bite. He wolfed down the rest of the contents of his plate, a tad forcefully, and then got up.

“Well, I’m off,” he said, checking his watch; it was five past seven. “I’ll be back right after school.”

“Wait, Luke,” his mother said hesitantly. “Are you sure you’re not going to back to the Debate Club? Miss Newman called me the other day and-”

“Mom, I already told you that I am done with the Debate Club,” he said calmly. “I’m not changing my mind, so give it a rest already. I’ll ask Miss Newman to stop bothering you. I’ll be home as soon as school ends and get started with dinner.”

“About that,” said his mother. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, your Uncle Tom and his family are coming over for dinner. And since I don’t have a shift tonight, it’d be better if er... I do the cooking.

“Uncle Tom’s coming? Why?”

“He didn’t say. To check on us, I guess. I mean, it’s been a month since your dad died.”

Luke shrugged. It didn’t matter; he liked Uncle Tom; he had an unusual sense of humor that only a precious few could appreciate, and Luke was one of them. He caught his sister’s eye, stuck out his tongue at her, and quickly turned before she could retaliate. He smirked as he heard her blowing raspberries at his back.  

Usually, Luke would take the bus to school but, ever since the accident, he had been unable to get on any vehicle. So, he walked. He didn’t mind much. It was the only time of the day he had to himself, away from friends, away from family, and away from pitying stares. He absolutely loathed that look in people’s eyes. They looked at him as if he was the one who suffered the greatest loss, when, in fact, he was the one standing in front of them with air in his lungs and a soul in his body.

It had been a tough month for Luke and his family. After his dad died in the car crash, their whole lives had been turned upside down. Luke had been in the hospital for two weeks; his injuries were not life-threatening, but severe nonetheless. After Luke got discharged, his mother went back to working as a nurse to support the family. The hospital mostly gave her night shifts, which meant she was tired throughout the day. Luke took over most of the household chores and taking care of his eight-year-old sister. It took him some time, but he eventually got better at dealing with his school work and other responsibilities, everything except for cooking.

When Luke’s dad was alive, it was he who cooked for the family. His father was a stay-at-home dad and a famous author. His job made it possible for him to help his wife raise the kids and do household work. When Luke was young, he was a very picky eater. He had a sweet-tooth and wanted pancakes with chocolate syrup for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His mother had the hardest time feeding him. It was then that Luke’s father had the idea of tricking Luke by making him flatbread and convincing him that it was a type of pancake. Skeptical at first, he tried the wrap presented in front of him, and, to his mother’s annoyance, he ate the entire thing without any complaints. Since then, it was either Luke’s father’s cooking on the table or a tantrum for pancakes with chocolate syrup.  

Growing up, Luke would often help his dad in the kitchen; it became their thing. At first, his dad would only allow him to wash the produce or sprinkle the seasoning on the food. That gradually evolved to stirring and sometimes flipping. Soon he was frying things, chopping vegetables with his very own knife set, and even baking. He loved the look on his dad’s face when something he made turned out okay. And the times he messed up seemed only to make his dad prouder. His dad always used to say that failing is the first step to getting better, and those who fail often are bound to be successful because it shows that they care enough not to give up. After hearing his dad say it a few times, it became a mantra for Luke for everything. Failing never deterred or dismayed him; it only inspired him to try harder. Even now, with his father gone, the words were ingrained in his brain. So much so that a fractured skull and a head trauma leading to anosmia could not stop him from doing the thing that made him feel closest to his dad. Even after losing his sense of smell, he was determined to cook for his family as his father once did.