A silver spoon filled with some kind of yellowish goo was inserted bravely into a mouth. The bottom lip was quivering obviously though.
Gulp.
TANG!
"Dear God!"
With a drop of the spoon on the plate, the man clamped a napkin over his mouth and spat silently into the fabric. He wiped his tongue clean as he rid his oral cavity from the awful taste. He almost gagged but decided against it to reserve some face for his apparently appalled wife. His only child who was sitting on the chair on both knees was already laughing openly.
The child rested his elbows on the dining table.
"How was that, Dad?"
Ryūken crumpled his forehead and stared incredulously at the boy's direction, earning yet another giggle from him.
"Ne, dear, how was that?" the slender lady asked timidly from across the table. The man did not reply. He knew his reaction was answers enough. And he mentally scolded himself for being so crude about her cooking. But really, this torture had got to stop.
She sighed dramatically to herself.
"I thought the dish was perfect."
WHAT? PERFECT?
"Eh, you know, you don't really have to slave yourself in the kitchen," Ryūken interjected hastily. He must discourage her from continuing this life damaging hobby of hers. "There are shops down the streets. And – and stalls and they sell a wide variety of food –"
"YOSH!"
Ryūken flinched at her sudden outburst. His wife tugged her apron free from her neck and balled it tightly with her fist before her set of fiery eyes. She seemed to be all geared up for another round of unearthly experiment in front of the kitchen counter.
"YOSH!" she repeated vigorously. "I am so going to come up with the greatest original invention from the Ishida's kitchen! This will be called SOUL FOOD! Just wait for Mom's most delicious cooking ever, Uryū!"
She glided towards the kitchen, humming random melody from the chorus of "Sugar Pie Honey Bun".
Ryūken exhaled wearily.
"Can you believe that, Ur –"
A little finger came out of no where and jabbed lightly into the tip of his nose as if it was an elevator's button.
"What was that for?" Ryūken asked sulkily, rubbing his nose with his index finger.
"Mom said," the boy stood on the chair and placed a foot on the table. He clenched his fist and punched in the air twice. "THIS IS SOUL FOOD! WAIT FOR IT, URYŪ!"
He got off the table at his father's raised eye brow.
"I've passed my 'turn' to you, Dad! You have to eat for me when Mom's done cooking! G'night!"
With that, he ran off to the stairs, not wanting to stay in the vicinity so his father would not have the opportunity of returning the 'turn' back to him.
Ryūken prodded his glasses up his nose.
Why is it always me?
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About a month later, when it was near autumn, Ryūken was seen muttering a flow of curses as he took off his shoes at the door. Apparently his detour to the construction site (a famous franchise was rumoured to be setting another branch there) turned out foully, literally.
"Welcome back, Dad!"
Ryūken stemmed his swearing.
"Hello, Ur –"
"Eww… what's that smell…"
The boy pinched his nostrils and instinctively searched his father's body as though it was emitting the terrible stench.
"Dog crap!"
The boy zipped three paces back, one hand still firm on his nose and the other sprawled like a web by his side. Ryūken ditched the contaminated shoes to a corner and entered the hall (his son was still positively adamant in remaining two meters away).
"That's not very nice, Uryū," Ryūken said as he loosened the knot of his tie, "It's dog dropping, not crap. Where do you learn such a word anyway?"
The child relaxed his grip on his nose.
"Not only that, Dad! I've learnt new words from you when you were mumbling stuff just now! Like shitbag and assh –"
Ryūken clasped a palm hurriedly over his young son's mouth.
She's going to kill me for this.
"So, I'll be looking forward to this! I know I'm enjoying it a lot!"
"The pleasure's all mine!"
"I'll see you sometime soon."
"Sure! Good bye!"
The voices erupted suddenly from the corner. They belonged to a woman whom he knew was his wife and another unknown male. When the owner of that masculine tone emerged, he found himself quickly appraising the man from almost about every aspect.
Good looking, young, tanned… what's he doing in my house?
The man returned the glance and both appeared to be exchanging unspoken words only the male species are capable of doing.
What are you doing in my house?
Mind your own business, oyaji.
Hands of my wife, punk.
Hn, may the best man win, then.
"Welcome back, dear. How's work?"
Ryūken turned his attention back to his all smiling love of his life. Sounding somewhat hurt, he asked, "Who's the guy?"
To this, she chuckled lightly.
"Ooh, that's a secret, isn't it?"
Uryū tore his father's hand from his lips and shouted grudgingly at everyone present.
"Dad, you stink!"
A muffled chortle was turned professionally into a cough from the stranger. Sensing hostility, he walked away without even bothering buckling his shoes.
Ryūken's pride had never reached below water's freezing point as of today.
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A fortnight later, the high profile "A1" bakery shop in the Ishida's residence area was officially opened. There was a long queue since noon and Ryūken had to stand under the blazing sun for two hours for a simple box of cheesecake. But he felt it was all worth it when the cake was sitting happily on the rear seat as he drove back home that afternoon.
"I'm back!" he announced his return brightly.
"Dad!"
Little feet were heard jogging through the hall to the main door. Uryū smiled at the sight of his father and his grin grew broader at the sight of the cake.
"Shh…"
The boy was only seconds from yelling "DAD BOUGHT CAKE!" to the whole household.
"Don't tell Mom about this," Ryūken whispered to his son. "At least we won't have to starve ourselves when we deny Mom's dinner tonight."
The boy nodded.
"Yeah, I saw chocolate sauce and wasabi in the same basket on the counter. Not sure what Mom wants to cook tonight."
"Well, just so you know Uryū, chocolate and wasabi don't mix."
A piece of paper was shoved briskly under his nose.
Ryūken, slightly taken aback by this, traced the hand holding it to its wielder – his wife was just about to blow to bits with suppressed excitement. He took the paper from her and scrutinised it, only to have his eyes widened at the zeros scrabbled on a corner of the cheque.
"Ten thousand? Ten thousand?"
"YES! Isn't this GREAT?"
"GREAT?" Ryūken groaned. "Honey, how severe is the poor fellow's condition?"
She blinked in confusion.
"Whose condition, Ryūken?"
"The poor neighbour who sampled your food. How critical is his condition – ow!"
He nursed the arm which was just slapped indignantly by his wife. He put his briefcase down and handed the cake to Uryū before planting a kiss on her cheek.
"All right, I'm sorry. So who gave you ten thousand for something I'm sure you haven't done?"
That cheekiness merited him another slap to his other arm.
"I sold my original recipe to 'A1' bakery and they offered ten thousand US dollar for it! Isn't it great dear? I've heard they started baking the cheesecake and it's sold in the new bakery shop down the street –"
Ryūken turned swiftly to his son… and to the box of cake in the little one's hand.
His wife turned to her husband, then followed his eyes to their son, and apparently to the box of cake in the little one's hand.
Their brows disappeared behind fringes.
I just spent half of my wallet's content and a barrel of sweat for my wife's CAKE?
Uryū who had already dipped his forefinger into the cream can only comment, "Mom's improving."
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Advice #1: Never laugh at anyone's dreams.