Chapter 8: Differences

As strange as it may sound, I had never actually cooked before. I had never had the chance to even try. I mean, most girls my age could probably cook fairly well, but then again, I didn’t really talk to any other people my age, anyway. So how was I supposed to know?

As a young child, I vaguely remember we used to have people to cook for us, serve us during meal times in a fancy dining room, on a table that was far too big for just three people. Now, at the orphanage, Sooyoung and a woman in her mid-fifties would cook for all the kids. Since there wasn’t an awful lot of money, we were given very basic food that tasted rather bland. But no one complained, we had nothing else.

So this was a first, and I wasn’t exactly sure if I had been doing the small jobs Tiffany had given me correctly. When I gave her a confused look, she would demonstrate for me and say, “Now, you try.” with an encouraging smile.

I did try and mimic her to the best of my ability, but really, I just failed miserably.

I was glad that she had given me the easy job of stirring the stew she had put together. I couldn’t possibly get this wrong. I inhaled the meaty essence of the bubbling pot as the steam wafted into my face. I hadn’t smelt food this good in a long time.

I glanced over at the cake she had started decorating, smearing the white icing over the fluffy sponge that had a golden brown texture.

“I remember doing this with my mother.” She said randomly, her tone was pleasant as if she was playing a very fond memory inside her head. I looked at her expression, her eyes still concentrated on spreading the icing evenly, a warm smile on her face.

I stayed quiet waiting for her to go on, watching her delicate and graceful work on the birthday cake.

“I used to do the mixing, and she used to measure and weigh everything so I didn’t get it wrong. She would never let me crack the eggs though because I would always end up getting it everywhere.” She chuckled.

I nodded, a small and hidden smile creeping up on my face as I thought about my own mother. Even though it was painful to remember, it still made me feel warm inside.

“She used to scold me for the bowl, but I always did it anyway.” She continued in a far-off kind of way, that same warm tone coming through in her voice. “We used to bake all the time,” She expressed. “Even when I became a moody teenager, she would always find the time to force me to cook or bake something with her…” She trailed off slightly, her concentration never faltering, even in the slightest. “And I always ended up enjoying myself.” She let out a light laugh, it sounded happy on the surface, but had a sad and bitter undertone that surprised me slightly.

Tiffany seemed like such a happy person, someone that could see the good in everything and everyone and was able to find the beauty in the ugliest of situations. In general, she seemed very bright. She was…an optimist.

But by the way she was talking made me think that even though she was thinking and talking about good memories with her mother, that there was something sad and painful laced through it.

She had never mentioned her mother before. Where was she?

Things went quiet, and Tiffany continued her decorating as I simply stared into the pot before me, the sound of its bubbling filling up the space around us.

I spared a glance over at her as she began to cut up some fruit neatly to place on top of the cake.

I wet my lips, taking the wooden spoon in my hand and began stirring the pot slowly.

“Do you still bake with your mother?” I asked in a casual manner, not really considering what responses I might receive. As soon as I asked, I wish I hadn’t.

“Oh, my mother passed away when I was fifteen. That’s why my family moved here. But I still cook regularly…I just don’t bake as often.”

What she said had caught my attention. Her mother passed away?

When it came to my past Therapists, they never revealed anything about themselves, telling me to address them in a formal manner, creating a barrier between us. But Tiffany…she hadn’t held anything back from me so far. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all, but I still didn’t know her fully yet.

“What happened to her?” I blurted out.

“Uhm…cancer. She fought for as long as she could, but sadly she didn’t make it.” She stated.

I nodded slowly, never taking my eyes off of the pot as if it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.

“You do know that you can ask me anything.” She stated suddenly, finally looking up from her task at hand. “I did promise that I would let you know everything…leaving nothing covered.” She quoted. “You don’t have to feel bad or uncomfortable for asking.” She said giving a sincere smile, returning her gaze to the cake as she carefully began to place the fruit on top. “I’ll tell you everything if you want.” She said as if it was nothing, placing the last piece of fruit on top.

She gave a satisfied smile, placing her hands on her hips, looking proudly at her work as it sat on the counter. “Perfect.” She announced before turning her attention to the stew in front of me.

I scooted over a little so she could take a better look at the meat filled liquid. She took a big whiff, smelling it and taking the spoon to stir it a little, concentrating and searching for anything that she considered an imperfection.

“I think…this is done.” She said, turning off the gas on the stove. “Do you want to try some?” She said, looking at me.

I nodded quickly, momentarily stunned by her curious gaze. I felt my face heat up slightly, my heart rate speeding up when I noticed our close proximity. Our arms were touching