The Art of Unopulence

13 | blow

I present a neatly plated pancake, one that's more decently shaped- like an artist's colour palette, with an enthusiastic grin.

Nathaniel eyes it weirdly and retracts his hands from the table top slowly.

"Is this supposed to be a—"

"Pancake. Yes, looks lovely doesn't it?" I enthuse, smiling hopefully, "It's this simple recipe I saw on an Instagram reel yesterday and I'm so glad to see that it's turning out so well. Go on, dig in and you can ask for more. I'm making extra."

Wordlessly, Nathaniel exercises his fingers for a few seconds and picks up a fork from the silverware stand in the middle of our small dining table. I quickly pour another round of batter before turning around to watch as Nathaniel takes his first bite.

He cuts out a generous portion before making two halves. Piercing one half with his fork, he dips it generously in the honey he's opted to eat it with and elegantly bites it off without closing his lips around the fork.

He chews hastily, glancing up at me with an encouraging smile before quickly eating the next portion.

Taking that as a sign of gratitude and encouragement I make one for myself before turning around to offer another one.

"I don't think I'm hungry enough to eat another one." Nathaniel shakes his head quickly just as I open my mouth, wiping the edges of his mouth and glancing down at his plate, "Thank you."

I frown slightly.

"Boys your age normally eat a lot more, but ok."

Shrugging my shoulders, I break a piece of my pancake and pop it into my mouth without any topping as Nathaniel gets up to wash his hands and rinse his plate in the sink so that he can go up and get dressed.

My features twist into a weird expression as I chew. Clearly, exteriors can be deceiving. And smells. My pancake tastes more like a milk tortilla-like flat bread and is far too sweet. It's not exactly inedible, per se, but I'm sure I'd prefer milk and cereal over this thingy I've made any day.

I tear out a piece from the second pancake I've made for myself just to be sure, before setting down the plate and turning to Nathaniel.

"Fucking hell, Nathaniel!" I cough, bring my fingers up to cover my mouth, "Why didn't you tell me that it tasted bad?"

He casts a sheepish smile my way, scratching the back of his neck, "You just seemed so excited, I didn't want to be the one to rain on your parade."

I throw my hands in the air, and shake my head, "Jeez, that doesn't matter. You're lucky that my cooking isn't awful enough to poison you. You do realise that constructive feedback is a thing right? And as my friend it is your duty to tell me when I'm in the wrong."

"And you're telling me that you wouldn't feel bad if I did?"

"Well, I would at first. That's kind of a given but at least I won't go around making the same mistake." I roll my flatbread-slash-pancake into a roll and stuff it into my mouth, "Right, that's the next lesson in your Art of Unopulence 101 class. Speaking your mind."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"A simple ok will suffice. Eloquence is unrequired, although it is a nice change from all the incessant cussing around me."

"Ok."

"Cool." I give him a thumbs up, "I should really finish getting dressed properly before we head to school then."

I jog up to the top floor briskly. I've got used to the climb now and my calf muscles don't burn as much. I wouldn't be surprised if they started showing proper muscular intonations soon, they would definitely work wonders for my skinny legs.