That morning, whose day and month were completely devoid of importance, Ren woke with a start because of the shouts or, rather, the shameless cackling of a rooster. The sound barged mercilessly into his rest. The annoyance was immediate on his part, though it did not reach his face because exhaustion had him too tightly trapped.
Remaining in bed beside Miya had never been easy.
No matter how many nights they spent together, Ren always ended up with the feeling of having survived something. In every encounter, Miya seemed to possess an inexhaustible energy, almost inhuman. Sometimes Ren even wondered, half-jokingly, whether she might be a perfectly designed robot built to crush him without effort.
"Another day…" he murmured.
Ren sighed and turned his head. Miya was sleeping deeply, lying there with nothing on, barely covered by the sheets that clung to her body.
Carefully, Ren got out of bed, moving slowly so as not to wake her.
In that new house, his role had changed without him realizing it. From being the one most cared for, he had become the caretaker. The domestic tasks that once fell to Miya were now his responsibility, and although he would never admit it out loud, at times he felt like a strange princess of the household. Especially when he put on that pink apron which, for some reason, had ended up being his.
As he swept, the morning light reflected him in the mirror, returning an unexpectedly dignified image. That respect for the glass was enough to keep mornings from being boring, or at least to make them entertaining.
When breakfast was ready, Ren carefully placed it on a tray and went up to the room. The food was nothing spectacular, but it served its purpose.
Feed.
"Here it is," said Ren, setting the tray beside the bed. "For you… and for our son."
Ren was already beginning to behave like someone mature, or at least that was what he was trying to appear to be. After leaving the breakfast, there was no rest for him. There were still tasks to fulfill, things that in the first days had felt clumsy and exhausting, but that he now did almost out of habit.
Going out to gather branches so the kitchen fire would not go out, choosing the right vegetables for meals, bargaining just enough without seeming like a city man, those were among the challenges.
After his outing, he returned with his left hand loaded with branches and small logs, and in his right a basket of fresh vegetables, obtained after an acceptable payment. It wasn't cheap, but it wasn't abuse either. At least that's what he wanted to believe.
With all that, Ren knew he had to prepare something that would truly please Miya. Over time, he had realized that if the food wasn't well made or didn't use good ingredients, she simply wouldn't touch it. At first he thought it was a whim; later he began to suspect she had an overly refined palate, or perhaps it was because of the child.
He didn't know, and he didn't want to ask.
In front of him, the hen awaited its fate. Ren took a breath and, with a confidence he didn't know where it had come from, raised his hand.
The cut was clean. Then another. And another. In a matter of seconds, the hen was divided into several parts, as if Ren knew exactly what he was doing.
"Every day I'm getting better…" he murmured. "Could it be that my true profession is being a chef?"
The idea made him smile, proud of himself.
Too proud.
When the stew was nearly ready to be served, Ren noticed something.
"The taste shouldn't be like this… right?"
Rigidly, Ren looked at the containers on the table and felt a chill run down his spine.
He had confused the salt with the sugar.
"I ruined it…"
Ren tried to think quickly. The only idea that came to mind was to start from scratch.
Just when he was about to dump the pot and give the dish up for lost, Miya's voice turned him to stone.
"It's my end."
Carefully, Ren followed the sound to the room. When he arrived, he found Miya reclining on the bed, focused on the knitting resting between her hands, as if nothing were happening.
"Ren, is the food ready?"
Ren avoided looking her in the eyes when he answered.
"You see… the food had a small problem."
Miya tilted her head slightly, without stopping her fingers.
"What kind of problem?"
"Well…" Ren swallowed. "I put sugar instead of salt in the stew."
Miya looked up. Her expression turned serious.
"Are you serious, Ren?"
"Yes, but don't worry. I'll make it again right now."
"No," she said. "Not anymore."
Ren blinked.
"Huh…?"
Miya brought a finger to her lips, thoughtful.
"I'm craving something else."
Ren let out a sigh of relief.
"What thing?"
"Fried chicken."
Ren's calm shattered. His eyes flew open wide, as if he had just received the worst fortune, since the entire hen he had bought had ended up in the stew, which by that moment lay somewhere down the drain.
"Uh… I don't think I'll be able to…"
Miya frowned slightly, confused.
"What do you mean you won't be able to?"
"There's no chicken left," Ren replied. "But I can make something else… maybe beef. What do you say?"
Miya stopped knitting. The movement of her hands ceased completely.
"Ren, please make me that meal."
Ren swallowed.
"Miya, there's no more. And even if I go out now, I won't find any because it's already late."
Miya took a deep breath.
"Ren, I'm asking you for a favor. I want you to cook that for me."
"But how am I supposed to do it if I don't have what's needed?"
"Ren, find chicken wherever and prepare it."
Miya's voice had changed. The earlier sweetness turned heavier.
"Miya, could it be something else like…?"
"Damn it, Ren," Miya interrupted. "I want my chicken. Now!"
Ren lowered his head and nodded.
"Alright… I'll do it."
He turned around and left the room. Miya followed him with her gaze and, before he disappeared, added in a lighter tone:
"Please."
Chapter 29: A Call