SIERRA'S LEONE

MODER YORD

Never in a million years did Jonas foresee himself walking the aisles of IKEA on a day out with Sierra. The man suspected the woman of harboring a cliché idea that IKEA was an ideal hangout for the Swedish. Jonas missed his country but not to the point of spending time in furniture wonderland.

"What do you think of this, Jonas?"

Sierra searched for boxes to stock the overflow of toys piling up in Leone's room, thanks to her prominent shopping syndrome.

"Yeah, they seem sturdy."

Leone sat silently in the baby carrier, chewing on his toy giraffe's head. The toy was efficient as it tamed the boy's crying outbreaks.

They arrived at the living room furniture chairs and sofa section. Sierra stopped in front of a rocking chair. Jonas gulped when he saw what retained her attention.

"Isn't it beautiful? I wanted to buy it for Leone, but it's five-hundred euros."

"It's handcrafted with the finest woods."

"Even so, like it's sold in IKEA. I mean, the maker is probably famous in Sweden for us he's nobody. Moder Yord, what does it mean, huh?"

"It means mother earth."

"Perfect, why aren't they affordable for mothers and parents in general, huh?" Sierra sighed, "I'm sorry about this, Jonas, but it just bothers me. There are a lot of Moder Yord products in IKEA, and they're all beautifully expensive. What's the point of making furniture like this and selling in here with a Christie's auction price? I guess I'll have to wait for the next trimestrial incentive to buy it."

Jonas did not say a word. He still tried to figure out why the product's retail price was so high. The man was unaware of how the products labeled Moder Yord found themselves with such price tags. Sierra's despair triggered his anger. Jonas thought he had all the details in the contract. What he saw seemed like a breach of it.

"I'm sorry about this, Sierra. I doubt the manufacturer is aware of the price practice here."

"Do you think so?"

Jonas hesitated whether to tell Sierra Moder Yord was his brand and that he provided IKEA with the products. Sierra already knew what his job was, and he doubted she would be impressed after what she said.

"You know this store used to be cheap, but in the last couple of years, you'd think it's the Roche Bobois of the North."

Jonas laughed at the comparison. The whole world recognized the French company's excellent craftsmanship. The Swedish furniture mogul did not even think of competing with it.

They went on to pick a few cushions, cutlery, bedspreads, and towels. Sierra's excuse was a household could never have enough of those things. When she said it, she thought of her father, who sometimes could not afford to buy such basic objects if not purchased in a cheap market or one franc shop, the French equivalent of one pound shops in England.

The bill at the end of Sierra's shopping spree was salty. Even Sierra's IKEA family card with its five percents here and there did not save her credit card from bawling.

Jonas bought some Swedish specialties in the food section, including salmon and the very cliché Krisprolls type toast.

They left the store and went to Carrefour, where Sierra psychically stood in the fruit and vegetable aisle for the first time in years. The woman bought her groceries online and frozen for the most.

Jonas took his time to pick the freshest sprouts of vegetables, "Sierra, help me choose."

"Jonas, do you want to live? Don't let me pick your food for you."

"It's not my food. It's ours."

The man turned to face her, "I thought we could cook together tonight."

"Pardon, Jonas, are you crazy. I don't make food; when I touch a pot, it's a potion that comes out."

The man chuckled, "I'll teach you. If you love food, then you'll love making it."

"Listen, Jonas; Vincent ran a restaurant. I mean, the man can cook MasterChef style, and he didn't manage to teach me anything, not even how to make basmati rice."

"Well, I'm not vincent. I promise you that you'll know how to cook rice and many other things with me. Trust me."

The man mentally knocked his head against the wall as he realized he made another promise. He was not bothered by what he said but by his wish to accomplish the deed. Jonas hoped to teach Sierra to cook and much more, but time was against him.

He promised Sierra he would leave and not interfere. He was a man of his word.

"Jonas, do you know you are risking your life by asking me that?"

"Come on, Sierra, please."

He lowered his head so they could be eye to eye. His sheepish stare made Sierra's cheeks rise in a blush.

Leone's giggle made them look away.

"Okay said sierra."

"Great," said Jonas while he resumed smelling and picking fruit.

They continued to the other aisles, where Sierra stopped in front of the fridges and ready-made five-minute preparation meals.

"No, Sierra, "said Jonas, who placed his hands on her shoulders to pull her away, "how can you not want Leone to eat processed and have an all processed diet?"

"Jonas, it easy. I pop it in the microwave, and it's done."

"No, let's teach you how to cook, so you don't need this rapid food shit."

"Oh my," Sierra gasped and placed her hands in front of her mouth, "Jonas, did you just swear?"

The man's cheeks tinted in light pink, "Sierra, please, I'm human."

"Gosh, and I thought you were the fruit of immaculate conception during all this time."

Jonas laughed warmheartedly, "Sierra, please. I don't know what to do with you," he shook his head in disapproval while Sierra walked to see the cheese and yogurts.

The day was pleasant. It looked like a family's day out, and that's how Jonas and Sierra lived the moment, which they enjoyed.

That evening Jonas sported the I'm a crazy chef apron to prepare the last memory and episode of that day.