The onions sizzle in the pan. Mom stirs them with a wooden spoon. Steam rises from a pot of boiling water. Mom empties a bag of pasta into it. Pasta. I like pasta. I'm happy we're eating that tonight. Sometimes I ask what we're having, and she tells me cheesy cauliflower. Or asparagus pasta. Yes, I like cheese. And I love pasta. But that's not going to make the vegetables disappear by magic. Honestly. So, I take the risk. Pasta and? She looks at me. She smiles. I'm worried. Guess.
I stay still. Staring at my plate. I keep my hands under my thighs. Because I don't want to eat, and also because my hands are cold. Mom's fork keeps dipping into her plate again and again. She seems to be enjoying it. I don't understand. Brussels sprouts. Why ruin pasta like that? I sigh. I lift my right hand... I think, or maybe the left... and I pick up a piece of pasta with my fork. Mom hasn't always put so many vegetables on my plate. It seems like it's since I became friends with Max. His mom is very pretty. She talks a lot too. Every time mom drives me to school, I see them talking while I play with Max. But she doesn't talk the same way. Not like she talks to me, or like she talks to dad. When she talks to me, it's either jokes or warnings. When it's to dad, it's often complaints. But when it's Max's mom, she's all nice, all smiles. A bit like when grandpa and grandma are here, but less stressed out. Sometimes I wonder if she's shy. She acts a bit like me when I speak in front of the class. She lowers her eyes and plays with her hands. Max's mom talks with her hands. They flutter, going from her hair, to her mouth, to her necklace around her neck. Her nails are always painted. But when we come back from seeing her, mom quickly gets in a bad mood. Her nicely untied hair is immediately braided. She doesn't smile anymore. Like she's angry. Like I just told her I got a bad grade. Except the grade would be glued on the mirror. If dad tells her she's pretty, she rolls her eyes. She doesn't really believe it. As if he made a bad joke.
Sometimes, before we leave for school, mom tells me to put on my shoes, to grab my backpack, do I have all my notebooks, do I have my lunch, all so she can have some extra time to do her hair a bit better. At home, she often has her hair tied up. But when we go to school, she lets it down and sometimes even extends her eyelashes. Like Max's mom. Except mom doesn't wear dresses as often. And Max's mom has orange hair, like Max. Except it doesn't suit him as well. Once, she even wore a caramel-colored dress. With her hair down, she looked like a big candy. But one of those expensive candies. Like the pralines grandma brings at Christmas. They're always beautifully wrapped. But sometimes, grandma forgets to tell me, and some of them have alcohol in them. I don't really like those. I leave them for mom. She likes them. But she always has to refuse before eating one. Well, just one then! I wonder if she holds herself from eating them because that's what Max's mom would do.
Mom clears my plate. She seems lost in her thoughts. I wish I could go there too. Instead, I'm stuck with Brussels sprouts. No more pasta. Make an effort. Easy to say ! Just because Max eats vegetables doesn't mean I have to. What's with this trend? Although, if it's Max's mom who told her... I can understand. When she talks, she looks in the eyes. But without breaking away. Mom can't really do that. It's like they're having a staring contest, but mom would lose every time. And she would lose quickly. With Max, we can last at least thirty minutes, that's for sure. At least! Yet, Max tells me that his mom can't beat him. She always lowers her eyes before him. She's a sore loser - she gets distracted by her phone. He's definitely lying! Considering how mom won't take her eyes off me just so I finish my plate. Impossible then, if his mom is just as focused . He says it's because she gives up quickly. So, mom, if I lose? I eat... But if I win? Goodbye Brussels sprouts! She agrees. She smiles. Like when I asked her what we were having. She pulls out a chair. Slowly. She sits down. Slowly. I smile too. She puts her hands on the table. Like a lion resting I saw from the documentary at school. I put my hands back under my thighs. Let's do this.
With a sigh, I stick my fork into a Brussels sprout. What are we having tomorrow?
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