Prompt #36: Sometimes, you just need some really unhealthy comfort food.
Glacia sat stiffly in the chair in the kitchen of Phoebe's childhood home. It wasn't that she was uncomfortable; the house was incredibly inviting and more homely than she thought possible for a dwelling on the slopes of Mt. Pyre. But even with welcoming chatter all around, Glacia still felt as if she was intruding somehow.
She knew it wasn't the case. Phoebe had been the one to invite her over for the League's short recess. Short enough that there wasn't time to make the trip back to Sinnoh, but long enough that the younger Elite felt it was important for Glacia to get out of the empty halls of Ever Grande for a spell.
"So, dear, how long have you been in Hoenn?"
It took Glacia a second to realize Phoebe's grandmother had asked her a question. The elderly woman was happily preparing the evening's meal at the nearby counter.
"Oh, um, about five years now."
"My, that's quite a while. Do you get much time to go back to see your family?"
A small frown flitted across Glacia's face. "Not as much as I would like."
"Mm," Phoebe's grandmother sagely nodded as she began kneading the dough of whatever dish she was currently working on. "Well, I know it won't be a true substitute, but hopefully we can be your home away from home, if you'd like."
Glacia felt a bit of heat rise in her cheeks at the woman's sincere smile. She hadn't really thought about feeling homesick. Her mother would chide her if she outright admitted to it. Sinnohan women were strong and able to stand on their own two feet. But admittedly, she was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the warmth of the kitchen and the sound of the matronly voices, and the smells of the food...
She quickly rose and excused herself. She needed to get some fresh air, lest her composure crack in such an inconvenient place.
Phoebe watched Glacia leave the kitchen with a worried expression, but her grandmother just chuckled and began to heat a pan on the stove. "She'll be fine, leilani. Your mother was just as proud when it came to her independence. Independent or not though, there's one thing no one can resist..."
Wide-eyed, Phoebe realized what her grandmother's cryptic words referred to, and the older woman gave a sly smile.
As Glacia stepped back into the house, she was met with the smell and sound of crackling oil wafting through the air. She poked her head cautiously into the kitchen just as Phoebe's grandmother was lifting the last batch of fried dough from the pot. Golden brown and puffy, the dough bites glistened with hot oil before they were patted dry and dusted with powdered sugar.
Phoebe giggled at how Glacia was unable to tear her eyes away from the sugary treat. "These were always my favorite growing up. Grandma's zeppoli are the best."
Glacia watched as the plate moved from stove to table, and the memories flooded back, unbidden. Except this time they were filled with warm fondness of cozy winter mornings gathered around the table, digging into her own mother's donuts, the familiar smell, the sweet taste of the icings, the sticky fingers that reached for another when her back was turned.
Her smile melted through, and Phoebe's grandmother returned it knowingly, offering her the plate.
Daintily picking one of the warm treats and bringing it to her lips, Glacia's eyes closed as she took a bite.
"It... it tastes just like home."