Soup

       “What’s the magic ingredient Mummy? How’d you make this soup taste so good?”

             “It’s a secret. Hush. I’ll tell you one day.”

             “Please, tell me now! I want to cook this soup when I get older.” Isabella begged. Her Mummy smiled, and shook her head.

             “One day. Remember.”

             “Okay. Fine. Do you promise?”

             “Of course, I promise, hunny.”

                                                                     ***

             “Today’s special-Mum’s Soup!”

             “Woah! Charlotte, did you get to see the secret ingredient? Did you get to use it? Was it salt? Pepper? Herbs? What was it?” Isabella asked her older sister, who had cooked the soup with her Mum.

             “No, no, no, Izz. I don’t think I’m over the age, yet. Perhaps I have to wait one more year-to be seventeen or so. Plus, salt, pepper and herbs are part of a soup.” Charlotte sighed in disappointment. “You’re going to have to wait a few years. Five years to be exact.” Isabella grunted, but settled herself down at the table and inhaled the delicious soup.

             She drank in a spoonful, and warmness filled her. She felt tingly all over, and the flavor mixed together perfectly. The salt, the pepper, the herbs, it became one delicious flavor. Her heart fluttered happily in her chest. Memories of happiness swam into her mind, and if hate were a thing, she wouldn’t have known. It was like a peaceful meadow with the sun shining brightly, the birds chirping, and a deer chewing on some grass. Isabella gulped the rest down.

             “More? Please?” She held out her bowl. Mummy laughed, and left to get more soup.

                                                                                   ***

             “Mum, why can’t you tell me the recipe?” Isabella asked, annoyed. “I’ve been asking you for years and years-this ought to be the billionth time I’ve asked!” She was no longer happy, and no longer keen to wait anymore. She wanted to know-now. Mum sighed and shook her head. She muttered something under her breath, but Isabella didn’t hear here.

             Mum paused before she said: “You know the answer, I told you, you must wait until you’re older.” It pained her a little bit to do so, but she firmly said it.

             “But why do I have to wait? It’s just some-some…” Isabella was going to say the word stupid, but then she realized the recipe wasn’t stupid, and that it was a loving recipe. She felt guilty, and scowled. “Never mind. I’m sorry.” And she ran off to her room to find Charlotte.

             She knocked on the door and entered. Charlotte was busy hunched over a drawing. Charlottes room was big, and its theme was pink. There was a fluffy pink rug in the middle, and a white twin bed with light pink covers. The wall was decorated with Charlotte and her friends, plus a picture of the family. Charlotte was sitting at her white desk, which consisted of her computer, sketchbooks, color pencils, and just about any art supply you could image. In the corner was a white shelf with a dresser beneath. Isabella wasn’t a fan of Charlottes room, but she could live with it.

             “Yes? What do you need?” Charlotte asked, erasing a line on her drawing. Isabella quietly slipped inside, and sat on the pink fluffy carpeted floor. There was a bit of silence, before Isabella responded.

             “Why do you think Mum always keeps the recipe secret from us?” Charlotte paused, and gently placed her eraser down, and looked at Isabella with her dark cocoa eyes.

             “Well, Isabella. I think she wants to wait a little bit until we’re ready to know.” Charlotte said, turning around in her chair to talk. Isabella looked puzzled.

             “What do you mean?” But Charlotte had already turned around and resumed her drawing. Sighing, Isabela knew that once you disturbed Charlotte, you couldn’t disturb her again. She left without another sound and went to her room.

                                                                                   ***

             “That’s it. I’m done! All these years, I’ve been asking you ‘what’s the recipe? What’s the recipe?’ And what do you say? You said wait until your older! I am older, Mum! I am seventeen! Isn’t that old enough for your liking?!” Isabella glared daggers at her Mum. “’Wait until you’re older.’” Isabella mimicked in a baby voice. Mum sighed, but set a bowl of soup in front of Isabella.

             Isabella was angry. She’d been waiting all this time for Mum’s secret ingredient for her soup, and now her Mum was ready to forgot it all. Hate surged towards her Mum, and Isabella wished she would just tell her the secret ingredient. She was sick of her Mum just ignoring her and saying that she just had to wait. She’d waited long enough, hadn’t she? She was done. She had been patient enough, but her Mum had stepped over the line.

             “Try this soup.” Mum quietly said, handing Isabella a spoon. “Just try it.” Isabella snatched the spoon away from her Mum, and roughly shoved a spoonful of soup into her mouth. She swallowed it, and waited. No meadow feeling came over her. No sun shine, or bird chirping. It didn’t have that same feeling-that same taste. The same savory taste it had once before. Now, it just tasted like soup. Plan old soup.

             “Well? What?”

             “This is the soup I gave you. Does it taste different?” Her Mum asked, placing her hands on her hips. Isabella smacked her lips.

             “In fact, it does! It doesn’t taste like it used to. Why didn’t’ you add the special ingredient Mum?”

             “I did.” Her Mum said, retrieving the bowl of soup. “I added everything, and did everything the same.” Isabella wrinkled her nose in frustration of understanding. “I cooked it for the same amount of time, added the same amount of water. All that.”

             “So why doesn’t it taste the same?” Isabella wondered. “Where’s that…That feeling? The tingling feeling?” Her rage had now subsided, there wasn’t any in her left. There was just confusion.

             “Because of you.”

             “Me? Mum, how?”

             “The secret ingredient? It was love. And now? It doesn’t work because of your hate.”