Picasso's Promise

Episode 25| Disappoint

A/N: Ten more chapters till the end of the book!

I'm thinking about writing a sequel within this book. Yay or nay?

song above - BLEACH by Brockhampton

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⚠️read with caution
mature content⚠️

Thanks to Mrs. Hazari, Noora's mother, I could make one dish without scorching the entire kitchen into a heap of ashes and without glancing at my phone for every single direction. If I were blind folded, I was certain I could make it exactly the same.

Alright, so maybe that was a stretch, hyping my skills more than they deserved. I was good, but definitely not that good.

Had I not had her mother's adamant interest in teaching me one of their popular Desi dishes, I would only have eggs-made in ten different ways- in my back pocket for memorized meals. But it was ten minutes till seven o'clock, meaning eggs were inappropriate to have for dinner.

"I smell something good." Martin's voice could be heard from where I stood ahead of the stove, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. "Oh, it's you. I didn't think you'd be making food."

I searched the space behind him, hoping for a sighting of Picasso. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah, Picasso dropped me off and left." He dropped his duffle bag on the floor, kicking it to the side of the fridge. "Were you expecting him to come in?"

"He told me he was coming back," I uttered into the steam wafting from the fried onions. Even softer, I said, "I guess he meant much later than now."

"You sure about that? He was talking about driving up to Santa Clarita, staying up there for the night."

My steering stopped, losing the drive to continue what I had started on.

"Sydney?"

Martin came up beside me, studying the food I had prepared for the two of us in the hopes for it to be an extension of my apology. I went to separate stores, searching for the right ingredients. I'd gone to other side of the city so that I could pick up the remaining things I had to incorporate into the meal.

"What's those white cubes?" Martin inquired.

"It's tofu."

"Ew, that's gross."

"Have you ever had tofu?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it's gross?"

"I don't want to eat substitute meat."

I rolled my eyes, "It's not supposed to be considered that in Desi food."

"Dezzy food?"

I cracked a smile. "Do you want to try some before you impose your rude assumptions on the food? Tofu is good; it tastes like cheese."

"It looks like shit I ain't touching with a tongue or a ten feet pole."

"You shouldn't say that about food, Martin."

"This isn't prison. I can pick what I want to eat."

"You know, they used to serve lobster to inmates, and they hated it. It was only ever seen useful for fertilizer. People called it the roach of the sea and a poor man's meal."

"Poor man?" he echoed after me. "That changed. I've never had lobster because of how high they price it."

I shrugged. "It's not worth it. I mean, it's okay, but I like swordfish more because it reminds me of stake. It's a heartier fish with a meaty texture."