Solace (completed)

Chapter Twelve

Elias Salazar

I'm making her fideo.

Okay that's overselling it, I'm attempting to make her fideo.

Right now Alex is still knocked out on my bed, snoozing away. And Mateo is currently doing the same in Angelica's room.

We haven't been home for long, but I've checked in on him once already, just to be sure everything's okay.

Angelica practically drowned him in her blankets. Piling them on top of his small curled up body. I don't know if she realizes he's not an actual baby because she put two pillows on each side of him to make sure he doesn't fall off the bed.

She's gonna be a helicopter mom one day.

Once I was done making sure he was okay, I decided to make Alex some soup to feel better.

The best soup in the fucking world.

Okay maybe that's a lie, fideo and ramen noodles are tied for first place.

To be honest, I don't actually know if soup makes a person feel better when they're sick. I truly think that's some myth our parents tell us in order to get us to eat. Maybe they drug the soup with medicine and that's why we feel better.

Isn't that... illegal?

Oh well.

It was a bit scary seeing as how I'm not a professional chef, but after almost burning my goddamn skin off with boiling water, I'd say I got the hang of it.

I stir the pot with impatience and huff when I see some noodles that aren't cooked all the way through. How long does this shit take to cook?

I should just let the soup do it's thang, you know? The longer it takes to cook, the longer she gets to nap before I wake her up to feed her.

A cheesy smile creeps it's way onto my lips at the thought. The thought of taking care of her, the thought of making her feel better.

Maybe she'll let me put my hand on her belly again.

A man can dream.

My hands itch to put on some music while I cook, but I refrain. Partially because I don't want to wake anyone up, and partially because I don't Angelica to come down here and judge me for my music taste.

It's not my fault I can understand Spanish and she can't. She's a hater.

After a few minutes, I decide to taste this damn soup and see if it's ready. I scoop up a nice spoonful with more of the juice than actual noodle if I'm being honest, and blow on it to cool it down. I bring the spoon up to my lips and-

The front door slams open and the sound of Ma and Pa's footsteps make me choke on the soup that I managed to get in my mouth.

Fuck.

"Mijo! Vámonos! Ayúdame a traer las compras-" Ma stumbles into the house with bags of groceries in her hand and Pa following suit, her chanclas slapping against the wood floor. Her sentence pauses when she lets out a frustrated sound and huffs the fallen strands of hair out of her face. She sees me in the kitchen, "Que estas haciendo?"

(Son! Let's go! Help me bring the groceries-) (what are you doing?)

"Uhh..." Do I lie? Dumbass, she can fucking see you. "I'm making fideo?" I chuckle nervously and scratch the back of my head.