Title: passion and pursuit

kitchen and tension

As I leaned closer to the door, curiosity bubbling inside me, I suddenly froze. My heart thudded faster, like a drum beat out of rhythm. I was about to peek outside to see who was coming when I Jammed Mary.

Mary, who is the househelp of the Macsween family, whose routine is only to cook lunch from Monday to Saturday, when I am at the restaurant but beyond that, her responsibilities were limited.

Most of the household chores fell on me. The Macsween is my aunt’s surname by marriage, so my aunt, Diana, was known as Mistress Macsween after her marriage to Arthur Macsween.

As Mary stepped into the kitchen, her eyes darted around, taking in the chaotic scene.

The air was thick with smoke, and her expression morphed from confusion to alarm. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth, only to quickly cover it with her palm, trying to stifle her surprise.

“Angel, what happened?” she mouthed silently, her voice barely a whisper.

Coughing, she turned to escape the smoky haze, but I grasped her arm, pleading,

“Don’t go out! If Diana sees you coughing, she will know something is wrong.”

Mary hesitated, then stepped back inside, where the smoke was just bearable enough to withstand.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts, and then I answered the question she asked earlier, replying,

“I didn’t realize the timer wasn’t working.

I only noticed when I checked the time on my phone's home screen and saw that the time was ten-fifty. I explained, my voice tinged with panic.

We stood there for a moment, staring at each other, the weight of the situation hanging in the air.

The pot on the gas was a charred mess, The beans had burned to ashes. Mary looked at me, her brow furrowed with concern.

She later broke the silence and said,

“Angel, we need to act fast. Time is not on our side. What should we do?”

She urged, urgency creeping into her voice.

I felt a wave of uncertainty wash over me. Should we cook another pot of beans? That would take at least two hours.

Or should I confess to Diana what had happened? The thought of her reaction sent a chill down my spine. The house would surely become chaotic if I told her, and I dreaded the consequences.

Could we take that risk?

After what felt like an eternity of silence, I finally mustered the courage to suggest,

“Let’s just take the risk and cook another pot of beans.”

Mary nodded, determination flickering in her eyes. “We should,” she agreed.

I felt a tightness in my chest as I shrouded my shoulder, glancing nervously at Mary as she carried the bowl to wash another batch of beans.

While I struggled to scoop out the burnt remnants from the pot with a spoon, I realized that the remaining beans had stubbornly stuck to the bottom.

Frustration bubbled up inside me, so I decided to soak the pot in water, hoping it would loosen the burnt bits later. I carefully tucked it into a corner of the kitchen, making sure Diana wouldn’t spot it when she walked in.

After that, we grabbed another pot and filled it with fresh beans, turning the gas to maximum heat to speed up the cooking.

The kitchen was thick with tension as we waited in silence, the only sound being the bubbling water.

I sat there, my legs fidgeting restlessly, their rhythmic clapping against each other reflecting my impatience.

I could hardly contain my eagerness for the beans to cook quickly. We needed to finish before either Diana or Arthur caught us.

We waited for two hours with two of us making slight movements so that the house wouldn’t suspect anything going on in the kitchen. Mary silently worked into her room to tidy up her things.

I waited in the kitchen for the beans because my room is located upstairs, so I couldn't take an inch so that it wouldn't get burnt again, and they wouldn't even come out if I went upstairs.

I kept silent. The water remained small to dry up from the beans. When Mary came back to the kitchen the water was about to dry up. Finally, we were happy and excited that we were not caught. We started having a conversation.

My body was filled with happiness, I started dancing as I was opening the lid with the spoon in my hand while checking the level of water and the softness of the beans I said,

“Finally the beans are about to be ready”

Mary interrupted “Angel don't shout they might be hearing your voice upstairs” she urged me but I disapproved of her statement and replied,

“Mary, they can never hear us. My words sounding with certainty

She asked, “Why did you say that?” Her face showed eagerness for a response

I replied to her “I have noticed that several times when Diana usually has a conversation with her friends downstairs I don't usually hear any sound”

“That means the building is soundproof” she approved my response

I replied “Yes” with a nod

“Mary, let me see the water level “ I stand up and open the lid. The water has finally dried up, and the food is ready.

I jumped up with happiness with my two hands handling up while I put the beans down on fire and Mary brought the dishes down for putting in for serving on the table for breakfast.

The bowls of cooked beans were set aside, and the bowl of smashed avocado was used for Avocado toast.

Mary was putting all the food inside each bowl while I was picking the bowl for her. Mary noticed one bowl remaining

“Angel, it remains the bowl for toppings”, she speaks as she serves.

I turned everywhere in the kitchen looking for the suitable bowl to pour toppings of poached eggs. I later realized the bowl beside the sink so I took them and handed it over to Mary.

So I stood beside the open kitchen door, turning slightly to the sides because all the bowls had occupied kitchen space.

When I focused on what Mary was pouring into the bowl, my sideways exposed to the doorway. As we focused, a soft breeze drifted in through the slightly ajar door, ruffling our clothes and bringing a hint of fresh air.

We were so absorbed in what we were doing that we didn’t notice the figure outside. Suddenly, without warning, a hand reached in through the door and slapped me hard across the left cheek.

The sound of the slap echoed sharply in the kitchen, breaking the peaceful silence. My eyes widened in shock as I instinctively placed my hand on my stinging cheek, my mind racing to understand what had just happened.

As I leaned closer to the door, curiosity bubbled inside me, and I suddenly froze. My heart thudded faster, like a drum beaten out of rhythm. I was about to peek outside to see who was coming when I jammed Mary.

Mary, who was the house help of the Macsween family, whose routine was only to cook lunch from Monday to Saturday, when I was at the restaurant, but beyond that, her responsibilities were limited.

Most of the household chores fell on me. Macsween was my aunt’s surname by marriage, so my aunt, Diana, was known as Mistress Macsween after her marriage to Arthur Macsween.

As Mary stepped into the kitchen, her eyes darted around, taken in the chaotic scene.

The air was thick with smoke, and her expression morphed from confusion to alarm. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth, only to quickly cover it with her palm, trying to stifle her surprise.

“Angel, what happened?” she mouthed silently, her voice barely a whisper.

Coughed, she turned to escape the smoky haze, but I grasped her arm, pleaded,

" Don’t go out! If Diana sees you coughing, she will know something is wrong. "

Mary hesitated, then stepped back inside, where the smoke was just bearable enough to withstand.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts, and then I answered the question she asked earlier, replied,

" I didn’t realize the timer wasn’t working. I only noticed when I checked the time on my phone's home screen and saw that the time was ten-fifty." I explained, my voice tinged with panic.

We stood there for a moment, staring at each other, the weight of the situation hung in the air.

The pot on the gas was a charred mess. The beans had burned to ashes. Mary looked at me, her brow furrowed with concern.

She later broke the silence and said, "

Angel, we need to act fast. Time is not on our side. What should we do?”

She urged, urgency creeped into her voice.

I felt a wave of uncertainty wash over me. Should we cook another pot of beans? That would take at least two hours.

Or should I confess to Diana what had happened? The thought of her reaction sent a chill down my spine.

The house would surely become chaotic if I told her, and I dreaded the consequences.

Could we risk it?

After what felt like an eternity of silence, I finally mustered the courage to suggest,

“Let’s just take the risk and cook another pot of beans.”

Mary nodded, determination flickered in her eyes. “We should,” she agreed.

I felt a tightness in my chest as I shrouded my shoulder and glanced nervously at Mary as she carried the bowl to wash another batch of beans.

While I struggled to scoop out the burnt remnants from the pot with a spoon, I realized that the remaining beans had stubbornly stuck to the bottom.

Frustration bubbled up inside me, so I decided to soak the pot in water, hoping it would loosen the burnt bits later. I carefully tucked it into a corner of the kitchen, making sure Diana wouldn’t spot it when she walked in.

After that, we grabbed another pot and filled it with fresh beans, turned the gas to maximum heat to speed up the cooking.

The kitchen was thick with tension as we waited in silence, the only sound being the bubbling water.

I sat there, my legs fidgeting restlessly, their rhythm clapped against each other pace, reflecting my impatience.

I could hardly contain my eagerness for the beans to cook quickly. We needed to finish before either Diana or Arthur caught us.

We waited for two hours with two of us making slight movements so that the house wouldn’t suspect anything going on in the kitchen. Mary silently worked into her room to tidy up her things.

I waited in the kitchen for the beans because my room is located upstairs, so I couldn't take an inch so that they wouldn't get burnt again, and they wouldn't even come out if I went upstairs.

I kept silent. The water remained small to dry up from the beans. When Mary came back to the kitchen, the water was about to dry up. Finally, we were happy and excited that we were not caught. We started having a conversation.

My body was filled with happiness. I started dancing as I was opening the lid with the spoon in my hand while checking the level of water and the softness of the beans. I said,

“ Finally, the beans are about to be ready. "

Mary interrupted," Angel, don't shout. They might be hearing your voice upstairs." she urged me, but I disapproved of her statement and replied,

" Mary, they can never hear us. My words sound with certainty

She asked, “Why did you say that?” Her face showed eagerness for a response.

I replied to her, “I have noticed that several times when Diana usually has a conversation with her friends downstairs I don't usually hear any sound.”

“That means the building is soundproof” she approved my response.

I replied, “Yes,” with a nod. I suggested,

" Mary, let me see the water level. "I stood up and opened the lid. The water has finally dried up, and the food is ready.

I jumped up with happiness with my two hands handling them while I put the beans down on the fire and Mary took the dishes down to serve on the table for breakfast.

The bowls of cooked beans were set aside, and the bowl of smashed avocado was used for Avocado toast.

Mary was putting all the food inside each bowl while I was picking the bowl for her. Mary noticed one bowl remaining.

"Angel, it remains the bowl for toppings," she spoke as she served.

I turned everywhere in the kitchen looking for a suitable bowl to pour the toppings of poached eggs into. I later saw the bowl beside the sink, so I took it and handed it over to Mary.

So I stood beside the open kitchen door, turning slightly to the sides because all the bowls had occupied kitchen space.

When I focused on what Mary was pouring into the bowl, my side was exposed to the doorway. As we focused, a soft breeze drifted in through the slightly ajar door, ruffled our clothes and brought a hint of fresh air.

We were so absorbed in what we were doing that we didn’t notice the figure outside. Suddenly, without warning, a hand reached in through the door and slapped me hard across the left cheek.

The sound of the slap echoed sharply in the kitchen, breaking the peaceful silence. My eyes widened in shock as I instinctively placed my hand on my stinged cheek, my mind racing to understand what had just happened.