He had stepped into this kitchen a million times. But never to cook. The thought of cooking for the very first time excited him. Doing it all on his own seemed so deliciously tough. His heart skipped a beat at the enormity of this challenge.
So what should he cook?
“I don’t need something fancy!” she tried to explain last night. “Just something. Anything. No matter how simple, how small. Just a little gesture to show that you care. Is that too much to ask?”
Something simple then. He leaned against the door of the fridge and looked around him. What simple thing could he cook? His eyes landed on the jar of her favorite coffee. He remembered how she loved to spend a moment just smelling the coffee before she spooned it into the coffee filter. It always brought a smile to her face. She saved this coffee for special occasions.
He in the kitchen was a special occasion!
Coffee then.
With cookies maybe?
First things first. He dragged a chair toward the cabinet and stepped on it. He understood that it was her favorite coffee. But what was the need to store it in the topmost cabinet? Of all the things available to steal in the house nobody was going after her coffee! Women!
He stretched toward the coffee jar. His fingertips grazed the cool glass. Almost there. He raised himself further on his toes and stretched a little more. With his index finger he pulled the coffee jar toward him. A little more. He watched as a bit of the base of the coffee jar peeped at him from the edge of the shelf. Just one more nudge.
The jar wobbled dangerously and then toppled off the shelf. He was quick to pull it toward him. Dropping the jar of her favorite coffee today would be a complete disaster. He twisted the jar open and spooned some coffee into the filter. Just like he had seen her do it. Add some water. How much water exactly?
He was beginning to think this cooking was not so much fun after all. Especially if you had to do it all alone.
He poured some water in a coffee mug and then proceeded to pour that mug full of water into the coffee machine. He managed to put half the mug of water into the machine and spilled the other half on the countertop. He repeated the process again. He turned the coffee machine on and then stared at all the water spreading across the wide countertop. Mess.
He reached for the dishcloth and threw it on the water. That water ought to clean itself.
While the coffee he brewed, he pulled out the tray. He laid his favorite blue dish on it and then piled on four cookies on it. The ones with big chunky chocolate? They were delicious. This was turning out to be one awesome breakfast!
He waited patiently for the coffee to get done and then poured it into her mug. He picked the mug and then dropped it back. It was hot. He blew gently over his fingers. He fetched a fresh dishcloth from the drawer and picked the mug and placed it in the tray.
Now to wake her up. He balanced the tray gently to the door of the bedroom. He nudged the door open with his butt and walked backward into the room. All his focus was on the tray. If he dropped it, this breakfast was ruined.
He made it to the bed and placed the tray on the small table next to it. She hadn’t woken up yet. He was feeling bad about the fight last night. She has been exhausted. She had spent the day at work, then cleaned the garden, then walked the dogs, then looked into homework and just when she was ready to call it a day, his dad had walked in announcing that he had invited friends for dinner. Especially to taste her special chicken curry. The one which required to be marinated and cooked for four hours. That is when they had fought. His dad and her.

Did he care about her day? Did it cross his mind to help her out? Why was it her responsibility to cook? Every time. He should make the chicken pie this time! Forget the chicken pie, if he could only make dinner. Or even the breakfast for the next morning! When was the last time he had made anything for her? Just for her. So that she could get a break. Never. Why could she not get a break?
And then the fight has escalated. He wanted to intervene but he did not.
He did not stop the fight last night but he could do something about it today.
“Mommy?” he nudged her. She looked at him sleepily and then sat up wide awake.
“What happened love? Are you okay?” She pulled him on the bed and hugged him close to her. She checked his forehead. His temperature seemed normal. “Why are you up so early?”
“I made you breakfast!” he pointed to the table next to her bed. On a tray sat four chocolate chunk cookies in a minion plate and hot cup of black of coffee.
“This is the best breakfast in bed!” she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. She kissed his forehead. “The best ever!”