Happy meal

“Get out of the pantry,” she screamed. “Just go sit down!”

Her screaming didn’t help Rocco’s mood, and she knew it. She also knew that when he got home from practice that he needed to eat right away or he’d get hangry. She would scream at him, and he would normally scream back. Things would start all over again until dad stepped in and made them both feel better.

Of course. Her husband had been shifted to nights a few weeks ago. Rocco never got to see him during the week anymore. He would only glimpse the man that everyone said Rocco looked just like. They were mostly right. Rocco already stood taller than his old man, but they did have the same light brown hair that spun into tight curls on his head. Everyone said that father and son had the same smile and build. Rocco even followed in his father’s steps onto the football field. Both of them had quarterbacked their high school football squad.

But Dad wasn’t here.

“Mom, I’m starving. Can’t we just go to The Burger Place and get a burger and fries?” He pleaded

“No. We are not going to eat that filth,” she said. Although a fast-food burger was okay in a pinch, she didn’t want her baby to be eating that processed food, even if it would be so much easier to get than what she had planned. 

She didn’t know what had happened between them. Raising her baby, she had promised that she would be patient and calm with him. She didn't want him growing up as she had. She had her mother hadn’t gotten along very well either. They still didn’t. They would yell at each other whenever they were around after an hour or two. Everyone had said they were too much like one another, but she felt more like they were flint and steel. 

Or fireworks and matches. 

It wasn’t until last year that things between them had grown tense. She couldn’t put her finger on what had happened, but it felt like he either ignored or yelled at her these days. She had known when he was young that he would grow apart from her. She just hadn’t realized how quickly it would happen and how much it would sting. Still, she tried to keep it from happening.

But more often than not, she just made everything worse. 

“I’m going to make you something real good,” she said and moved to the fridge, scouring the nearly empty box to find something to make for her child. She prayed that there would be something there that she could make him. Something that would prove that she didn’t want to fight with him all the time. 

She could feel him rolling his eyes at her. She didn’t even have to see him to know how far back his eyes rolled. This time they went nearly to the top of the eyelid.

“We don’t have time for that. I have a game tonight,” he bemoaned. 

“I’ll be fast. Just sit down,” she pleaded. She knew that he would, but he would be disgruntled. He would whip out his phone, even though she would try to talk to him. He would just ignore her or give her one-word answers while she would carry the conversation herself. 

“We don’t have time!” He nearly shouted as he forcefully grabbed a chair at the dinner table and whipped it away from the table. He sat down, his phone in his hands as he forcefully scrolled through his feed. 

She had to control the rage inside herself. While she had been right about everything her son would do, she didn’t like that he felt so outraged. She wanted to nip it, to lash out at him and tell him that acting like he was just made them both appear foolish. She knew that if she said anything else, he wouldn’t listen. He would just hold it like ammunition, just like she did.

“Can you put that thing away and talk to me?” She asked, withdrawing a carton of strawberries stacked on top of a pack of ground beef. She put them on the counter and then returned to the refrigerator for some zucchini, carrots, and mushrooms. She sniffed each item for quality control. Some of these had been in the icebox for longer than others. Each of them passed the sniff test.

Meanwhile, he ignored her. She glared at the device in his hand and cursed that the device had ever been created. Sure she loved getting onto TikTok and scrolling through the videos that made her laugh, but she hated how much it stole away everyone else. Still, she needed that release at the end of the day. 

She opened the cabinets below the cooktop and pulled out the skillet her mother had given her when she moved off to college. Just like their relationship, the pan had warped over fire and time. It still looked mostly round, but no top could fit on it. 

She still remembered that fight. Her mother had arrived after she had unloaded the moving truck, of course. She and the movers had done all the hard work, and then her mother showed up. Her mom didn’t say how much she liked the place. She simply looked around the room and found all the issues with her new place. As her mother looked around, she started to unload the kitchen boxes. 

She wanted to get settled in, but she knew that hunger would set in soon. Fixing a meal for herself and her mother has been the first thing on her list to do, so she wanted to get the kitchen set up to make a simple meal. She got the pan out and placed it on the stove. 

“Why are you using that skillet?” Her mother sneered. 

“It’s the only one I have.”

“Didn’t I throw that one away?”

“You gave it to me, mom.” Their next few words weren’t pleasant. Her mother accused her of leaving her on purpose, which was true, along with a few other things that weren’t. They didn’t talk for months after that. 

But she still loved the skillet. It cooked better than any other she had, and whether her mother had meant to give it to her or not, it kept them attached. 

A pot started to boil, and she poured in some rice. She turned to cut vegetables. The silence between them lingered like a bad-tasting marinade. “Is Warner playing tonight too?”

He looked up from his phone. “I supposed so. I’m not the coach.” His anger had turned to annoyance. Even that felt like progress. 

“So he hasn’t been practicing hard?” She asked. She didn’t even wait for the response before continuing on. “I always liked him, but I just can’t see him getting serious about anything. He always took everything with a joke.”

She felt the shrug, barely catching a glimpse of him going through the motions out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah. We aren’t really friends anymore, Ma.” The frustration came back. 

His entire interaction felt like a gut punch. The fact that she didn’t know enough about his life to know that his best friend from high school wasn’t his friend anymore. The tone of disappointment in his voice cut her like a scalpel. 

“Why not? What did you do?” Her mouth moved before her brain processed what it said. The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she had ignited a bomb. She didn’t even know why she thought it would be something that Rocco said. Maybe all the bad moods and tension between them had made her think that. Or that Warner had also projected a sunny disposition. Whatever, she wished that she hadn’t said it. She closed her eyes tight and prayed that her words wouldn’t hit him like she thought they would.

She forced her eyes open and felt frozen in time. He looked frozen in place. She willed herself to move her finger just to make sure that she hadn’t developed the power to control time.

“I didn’t do anything,” he started to stand up. “I don’t understand why you never take my side!” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she pleaded. 

“You always do this!” His voice rose. She could see his eyes had changed. She knew that look. Rocco didn’t get everything from his father. She and her son had the same eyes and facial expressions. 

She needed to control this, or things would turn even worse than they already are. She couldn’t let him talk to her like that and get away from it. It didn’t matter what she had said. She was the parent, and he was the child.

“Always?” She asked. She took the skillet off the heat and let the meat she had been chopping and seasoning rest for a minute. 

“Always!” He screamed back. “You always take everyone else’s side! I’m your son, and you never seem to think I’m worth anything!” 

“My son would never talk back to me the way you are.” She hated herself in that moment. She couldn’t believe that she had walked down the same path as her mother had. Did all parents make these mistakes with teenagers or was it just her family? Did she set herself up for all of these fights? 

Her barb had stung him. He sat back at the table, but he couldn’t look at her. Instead, he turned away, his right elbow resting on the table and his chin resting on the palm of the same arm. His hand covered his mouth as he muttered insults under his breath. 

She wanted to go hug him. To just wrap her arms around him and apologize for everything. She wanted to take all his pain away, to make him forget about the fight they had, and to make everything right between them. She wanted to tell him that she only thought that way because of the way that they interacted. But she couldn’t do it. If she tried to wrap her arms around him, especially right now, he would probably think that she was trying to squeeze the life out of him.

Instead, she did what she could. She scooped a cup of rice into a bowl, then carefully, artfully, placed the sautéed vegetables into the bowl. Once satisfied with the presentation, she added the ground beef and sauce she had whipped up. 

She smiled at the plate. She might not do too many things right, but she could cook. She wished that she could make a plate that could heal them, but she didn’t have the recipe for it. This bowl of bibimbap would have to work for now. 

She placed the bowl in front of him and then sat across from him with her own bowl. She wanted him to know that they could be in the same room without fighting. Maybe if they kept their mouths full of food, they wouldn’t be able to fight. 

“Here,” she said. For the longest time, he didn’t want to turn to face her. He kept looking off in the distance. She didn’t care. She looked at him and how strong and independent he had become in such a short time. She felt proud that he could stand up for himself, and while she had said some awful words to him, she knew that it was as much her fault as his. 

She took a bite of her food and waited. She knew that he would crack after a minute or two. She just hoped that he understood how much she loved him. 

And that she would do anything for him.

He finally turned to his bowl and lifted the fork. “Thanks,” he uttered.

“I love you,” she said as she watched him lift the fork to his mouth. He took a bite, turning the taste over in his mouth for a moment before donning a big smile. 

She might not be good at talking, but she could cook.