What Remains Here

Chapter 4

October 15

We had our first harvest today!

I woke up in the morning to the sound of a pan sizzling and the air filled with the smell of food cooking, my stomach growling and my mouth salivating with the prospect of freshly cooked food. After spending the trip eating cold blocks of canned food, forcing down even the juices left behind on the bottom of the can, actually eating something real felt like a dream come true. There were even hints of garlic and scallion in the air.

The only issue was that the mustard greens were being cooked, something that I haven't really eaten before, and while everyone devoured their breakfast, I stared at the greasy, stir-fried greens with this sort-of apprehension. It's honestly a miracle that I've made it this far just eating foods that I usually eat, and somehow, I've been able to tolerate the cold, disgusting versions of foods that I'm alright with but couldn't stomach the thought of eating something brand new. I hate being such a picky eater.

"Neal," Dad said. "Eat up. It's your favorite food."

"It's not," I replied.

"It'll be. You'll probably be eating this until the end of your life."

"Hurry up," Mom added. "Your food is getting cold. And you need to try new foods. You can't be this picky in this–"

"I know, okay," I replied. "I'll eat when I'm hungry."

"If you aren't eating, then I will," May said, and Mom shook her head.

Pretty soon, I was the last person in the dining circle that hadn't touched my food, and just as I was about to spoon the lukewarm mustard greens into my mouth, I noticed everyone staring at me, putting me flat into the spotlight. So I said, "Can you guys not stare at me?"

"We're just marking the moment when you actually tried something new," Dad said.

"Can you guys not make this weird?" I replied. "Just go and do other stuff."

"Why do you need privacy–" May said, but Mom cut her off by responding to me with, "That's true. We've got a very busy day today. Once Neal finishes breakfast, we're going to come back together to work up a plan."

When everyone scattered into their own corners for a couple minutes of peace and quiet, I actually took a look at my breakfast. By then, the crispiness had faded and the greens were more soggy, but for some reason, I don't really know why, I did feel more inclined to eat the food. I guess it's that I really hate when people point out change or when change just happens in front of other people because I've always not liked change and to change a bunch will just, I guess, change the way other people see me. In this situation, it's not like I had an issue with the food (though I will still mourn the day that I will be forced to eat fruit-vegetables like eggplant or bell pepper), but I just couldn't change right in front of my whole family.

So I took a long look at my fork with mustard greens on it and took a long look around me to catch any peeping eyes before taking a tentative bite. To be honest, it wasn't terrible. It was a bit peppery but the garlic and oil covered it up, and as I shoveled the meager meal into my mouth, I realized that it actually tasted pretty good, kinda like soft, nicely flavored leaves. I also licked as much of the oil as possible from the bowl. Who knows when those extra couple calories would come into play.

I barely had time to breathe before Mom called a meeting, bringing out a whiteboard and markers and setting it against a wall as we gathered around her. It was pretty empty, except for two large words written on it: "Farming" and "Fishing."

"I've been thinking about this for a few days," Mom said. "And I know that it doesn't seem like much, but I didn't want to put all of my ideas onto the board just yet. All I've put down is a framework for us to work off of, so let's begin brainstorming."