A/N: This is from a prompt on weretheoneswhowrite's tumblr page about "Chores with Carchonne." This little prompt is continued in chapter 11 (Part I) of The Season of Light. Thanks for reading!
She sensed Carl's presence even before he reached the threshold of their sun-drenched kitchen. Keeping her back turned, Michonne vigorously washed her hands, pausing for a moment to look through the large casement window framing the farmhouse sink. Smiling, she glimpsed Rick chasing a giddy Judith through the flower beds she and Carl had planted several weeks prior; colorful blooms just beginning to erupt from the previously barren patch of earth.
For a moment, she considered calling out to them not to trample all their hard work. But the sweet sound of Rick's laughter, coupled with Judith's blissful squeals changed her mind. They could always plant more flowers.
Shaking her wet hands over the sink, Michonne pulled a clean towel from the drawer to her right, quickly drying her hands before hanging the damp towel on the hook beside the stove. Turning to face Carl, she took in his adorably anxious face.
"Gonna just stand there?" she asked, walking towards the kitchen's center island. "Enid's meal won't cook itself. You want to be a better cook, make it more 'fun' and less of a 'chore' right?"
Knowing how much this small, yet thoughtful act meant to Carl, Michonne gave him a moment to relax a bit. Her boy always wanted everything to be perfect. She'd do her best to make it so.
She watched as Carl slowly inhaled through pursed lips and nodded, before making his way towards her. Standing on the other side of the island, he reached down to pull out a stool from beneath the countertop, cringing slightly as its legs noisily scraped against the ceramic tiled floor.
"Ok then, let's get started on your first lesson," Michonne said, clapping her hands and gesturing for him to take a seat.
"Where do we start?" he asked.
All of this was for Enid. She was practical, like Michonne. But both also enjoyed those small, kind tokens of affection the men in their lives eagerly laid at their feet. Enid was grateful for anything he brought her and she always let him know.
It's nice to know you were thinking about me because, I was thinking about you too, she often said.
He looked up at Michonne, instantly finding in her eyes the calming salve he often sought there. She gave him a reassuring look before ducking down to pull out two large plastic cutting boards from a drawer under the island. Placing them on the countertop in front of her, along with two chef's knives, she created work stations for both of them.
"Lesson number one," she began. "Always wash your hands. I don't need extra seasoning in my food!"
Chuckling, Carl rose from the stool, making his way towards the sink.
"Before I forget, lesson one and a half is always and will forever be: clean as you go," she declared, turning towards him as he neared her side of the island. "You will not bring a mess to my kitchen."
"I know, I know," he mumbled. "We cook clean, we're clean cooks."
"Exactly," she replied, opting to ignore the dramatic eye-roll he gave her as he walked by.
Taking time to thoroughly wash his hands under a hawk-eyed Michonne, he theatrically held both up for her inspection. Satisfied, she handed him a fresh towel and waited patiently while he dried his hands, before beckoning him towards his assigned cutting board.
"Now what?" he asked, picking up his knife.
"Now we get organized," she said. "Put down the knife. That's lesson number three."
"Thank goodness for libraries with central European cookbooks," she stated, looking over the meat, vegetables, and spices neatly lined up in front of them.
Carl snickered, noting how ridiculous such a request must have sounded to the run crew. But Michonne had been adamant. Once procured, the two of them spent a few nights poring over recipes. Carl dog-earing the ones that sounded similar to what Enid had described, while Michonne figured out approximants for ingredients they didn't have and wouldn't be able to locate.
"C'mon Ma, can't you just do it and I watch this time?" Carl asked, peeking through the thick curtain of hair obscuring his face from her. "I want it to be perfect and I don't think it will be if I make it."
"And what do I always say about perfection?" Michonne asked, letting her knife hover over the cutting board as she gave him her full attention.
His affectionate 'Ma', a residual effect of Judith's incessant 'Mama' made her heart swell. It warmed her very soul.
"Perfection is the enemy of the good," he muttered, unconvincingly.
"Precisely!" she exclaimed. "You should know by now the best way to learn is by doing."
"I'm pretty sure I'm capable of learning by observation only," he said, stifling a grin.
"Says the boy who couldn't make his bed until I showed him five times," she retorted.
"That's because hospital corners are not a necessity," Carl smugly replied. "Even dad says so."
"And what actually happens?" Michonne smirked. "I still get your dad to do it anyway. Besides, if you want to make sure she knows how you feel, you put in the time, put in the effort. That's what she'll remember."
"But I'm no good at it," Carl said, laying his hands flat on either side of the cutting board. "You and dad said so, and even Judith gets an attitude when it's my turn to make dinner."
"Don't give me that," Michonne playfully huffed. "You know good and well we're only joking. And Judith? We all know our darling Judy-bear's opinions go wherever the wind blows."
"Yeah, she's not very loyal, is she?" Carl cackled, picking up his knife. "Well, maybe to you. She'd sell the rest of us out in a heartbeat, but you're safe."
"True," Michonne said, sharing his mirth. "This is about making an effort to do something meaningful for someone you care about. It's the little things, those small acts of kindness that bring some relief to a wounded heart. I'm proud you came up with this and Enid will be too."
"What do I do now?" he asked, thankful for her advice.
"Here you go," she said, handing him an onion.
Throwing the large sphere into the air with one hand and catching it in the other, he studied Michonne as she expertly began dicing the venison on her cutting board into perfectly even cubes.
"Should I really be the one chopping the onions? I'm working with one eye here. I'd be in a world of hurt here if we were suddenly attacked and I couldn't see…"
She snorted, looking up to catch the look of mischief playing across his face. Shaking her head, she watched Carl shrug and get down to business. They worked in silence for a few minutes, before Michonne looked up to catch a sniffling Carl use his sleeve to wipe his eye.
"Ok, ok," she said, pulling away from her cutting board and moving over to the sink to once again wash her and dry her hands before making her way to Carl's station. Carl dropped the onion into her open palm, before moving to the other cutting board.
Carl smiled to himself. He hadn't been that bothered by the onions. He just didn't want to do it.
"Oh, and don't think I don't know you're half faking it with the onions," she smugly stated. "And you see what I did there?" she asked, using her knife to point at the flawless cubes of meat she'd already prepped. "Don't mess it up."
"Didn't we just agree that perfection is the enemy of the good?" he queried.
"Touché mon ami," she laughed. "That was your perfection. You're not allowed to mess with mine."
"Tell me the story again?" Michonne quietly asked, watching as Carl pouring a few tablespoons of sunflower oil into the large stock pot on the stove.
"We were driving back to Alexandria when Enid got pretty quiet," Carl began, turning the stove to high. "She'd remembered it was the anniversary of her parents'… you know. Said this was the first year she hadn't started thinking about it weeks before. It threw her off."
Michonne nodded. You want to forget, yet you pray you never do.
"Her grandma, she called her 'Nagymama', lived with them since she could remember. On special occasions, she would make Enid this Hungarian dish she insisted was 'stew' but had beans in it. Anyway, it was a little bit of a family joke that it was actually 'chili', and Enid came up with the compromise to call it 'stili'. Enid kept telling me it was silly and she didn't know why she was crying over it, but I didn't think it was silly."
"Of course, it isn't," Michonne replied, stopping her chopping to come stand next to him.
"My mom would make chili when I was sick and had to stay home. She wasn't the best cook, but she made that dish right. She would put cheese on top. When she put it in front of me, it was always something fun. A smiley face, Mickey Mouse, something silly."
"Yeah," she murmured, watching as reminiscence caused his eye to mist. "Those are the things you want to hold close forever. C'mon, let's make a new memory."
Carl deliberately dropped handfuls of flour-dusted meat into the hot oil. He jumped back, expecting it to splatter, before using the wooden paddle Michonne had handed to him to stir the meat.
After he finished browning all the meat, he reduced the heat to medium and dropped onions, peppers, carrots, parsnips and spices into the pot. Once the onions were translucent and the vegetables had begun to brown, he returned the meat to the pot and poured Michonne's homemade stock into the pot until everything was covered.
He added the beans they'd soaked overnight into the pot and gave everything a final stir. Turning the stove to low, he took a deep, satisfying breath. The entire house smelled like heaven. Enid would love it.
"Nice work, but we're not done yet," Michonne said, turning and walking towards the dining room. "Time for lesson number four."
"What's that?" Carl queried, swiveling his head but staying put in front of the stove, watching as small bubbles appeared on the surface of the simmering pot.
"Setting the table. Can't have Enid enjoying your delicious meal without the proper accompaniment. We don't go halfway in this house."
She walked over to the sideboard where they kept the napkins and silverware.
"C'mon," she teasingly commanded. "You've still got much to learn!"
Laughing to himself, Carl placed a lid on the pot and walked towards her. Of course. There would always be something to learn with Michonne around.