Scrambled (30 Hari Menulis #3: Fiksi Romantis)

Picture taken from vitalfarms.com

I wake up famished.

I look at my husband sleeping peacefully, and then carefully get my body out of the bed. I slip out of the room quietly, deciding not to close the door in case the sound of it wakes him up. He's a light sleeper, that one.

I go into the kitchen and open the fridge. There's nothing much left, since we went for dinner with our friends earlier in a fancy restaurant, celebrating their second pregnancy. It was a joyous night, but I just couldn't for the life of me understand why expensive food came in teeny-tiny portions. Did they think we were dwarves?

That may explain why I'm feeling super ravenous right now, I could eat a horse. I glance at the kitchen clock--it's a little past two in the morning. I consider just drinking milk and going back to bed, but I don't think that's going to be enough. So in a quick, familiar motion, I ready the pan and start scrambling some eggs.

"Whatcha doing?"

I shriek, utterly startled by his voice coming from behind. I didn't hear his footsteps at all!

He laughs. "Sorry. It smells so good, though. Eggs?"

"Yeah," I reply. "You know I can't cook anything else."

"I know." He comes closer, and looks at the food. "That looks way more appetizing than what we had earlier at the restaurant, though."

"You're just flattering because you want some."

Again, he lets out the most adorable laughter ever known to mankind. "Hey, I'm just telling the truth. But yes, please."

I smile. "I made enough for the both of us, anyway."

I finish cooking. Before I can put the eggs on two different plates, he swiftly takes the pan off my hand and pours the content into one big bowl. "Let's go eat this while watching whatever's on TV," he says. He's already walking toward the living room anyway, though.

We sit in front of the TV, quietly chewing while not really focusing on the action movie playing on the screen. He nudges me a little. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"You're just so quiet."

"I'm eating."

"But it's an action movie. You haven't complained at all about how fake and majorly dramatized it is."

I smile weakly. He knows how much I dislike action movies. Actually, he knows so much about me. He practically knows me better than I know myself, probably. It's sometimes a bit scary to think about. "I'm fine... just, you know. Thinking."

"About what?"

"About how I'm a bad cook."

He lets out a small laugh. "You're pretty great at making scrambled eggs, though."

"Yeah, but that's all I can make. I can't even properly do household chores. I don't know how to properly, like, sweep the floors, or wash your car, or clean the toilet. I can't even... I can't even give you children..."

I'm surprised at my own tears and words. I didn't realize that ever since our friends announced their second pregnancy, I'd been feeling lost. Less of a woman, somehow. I know we got into this relationship--this marriage--fully knowing that reproduction is not an option because of my condition, but sometimes it still bothers me. I didn't think it bothered me this much, though.

He puts our plates away, and envelops me in his warmth. "Hey, silly," he whispers. "You know we've talked about this." We have, many times. He seems to understand that I need some reassuring though, so he continues, "You're a great carer, okay? Those kids in your daycare love you, even a stranger can see that. Okay? You're also a great writer. Those kids love your books. Have you seen how big their eyes get whenever you read them aloud?"

I stifle a giggle. It's true, they're so animated it's adorable. Recalling it already makes me feel a little better.

"You're also a great egg-scrambler."

I laugh. "Is that even a word?"

"It is to me," he grins, and then it turns into a soft smile as he loosens his hug and looks at my eyes properly. "You're an amazing woman, you know that, right? I didn't marry you because I wanted someone to wash my car, or take care of the house while I'm gone. I married you because I wanted you every day in my life."

My eyes water again, but the blur doesn't hide his blushing face. He's probably really embarrassed after saying stuff like that, because we normally don't say anything romantic ever. I smile to myself. That's true, we don't declare our love every single day, but we do show it with how we treat each other. I feel so silly. There was nothing I should have been worried about.

"Besides," he says, after I calm down and we finish eating our food, "I really like your scrambled eggs."