My Kind of Perfect (20 page)

“Kayla...”

She didn't answer so I finished, “That's all I want to say.”

And with that, I left the two of them. There, I felt proud of
myself. From now on, John would be eating well and he would grow up strong. I
happily skipped along back to my grandmother's house. And from afar, I saw my
grandmother walking down the road, carrying my box of pizza in hand.

It was then, in my dream, that I realized I already knew
Dorothy from before.

“We’re home!” announced Dorothy.

“I feel exhausted. I’ll just go up and take some rest,” said
John, sliding the backpack he was carrying off his shoulders and letting it
slid to the floor.

“Can I die now?” I muttered to myself.

“Not yet, dear. We still have loads of work to do. Go put
your things down and change your clothes. We’ll start your other lectures
today.” Dorothy, despite her given age, still had sharp ears.

“Can’t we have a day-off today? We just got home!” I
protested.

John, on the other hand, only yawned, stretched his
shoulders and headed upstairs—leaving me behind to the care of his ‘deadly’
grandmother. How heartless could one person become? It was as if he had already
attained the last step towards the highest degree of being indifferent.

“What about him?” I asked, pointing to John and feeling a
sense of injustice rumbling inside my head. If I had to do this, so did he.

“It’s not stated in the contract that he has to learn
household chores, too,” answered Dorothy. “He’s the husband in the story.”

“Our world now practices equality for men and women.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And why do I even have to learn all this? It’s not like
I’ll be staying here or anything after the contract. This will all end up in
vain, I tell you.”

“We’re doing this to let time pass by wisely,” answered
Dorothy. Then turning to Janette, she uttered, “Get the kitchen ready. I’m
going to teach Kayla how to prepare meals.”

“Let’s just have some take-out.” I was certain that they
could afford it. And they had a freaking hotel whose food was not below the
exquisite standard. They could have one of their men-in-black deliver it here.
Or we could all eat at the hotel. They got a car. And really, the only meal I
knew how to prepare was sandwich, with all the ingredients bought from the
supermarket.

“That is very unhealthy,” she said back.

‘The hotel,’
I wanted to say.
Aside from ordering take-outs, there was still the hotel. Surely, they must be
maintaining the quality of food being served there.

But the sharp look in Dorothy’s eyes told me that our
discussion was over. Walking to the kitchen’s direction, giving her bag to
Nate, and talking some more to Janette, it all had been said and implied clearly.
And so, having no other choice, I followed her to the kitchen. There was no
given hint that I was going to be let off for the day. And it was such a
beautiful day outside to make use of my life productively.

Clearly, it wouldn’t happen here.

“Wash your hands first,” Dorothy said as soon as I entered
her comfy kitchen. First thing I noticed was that it was spacious—big enough to
handle a party inside. I did see her kitchen before. I just never noticed
anything back then.

I spotted the sink at my right and went to it. I did what
was told, still couldn’t believe that I was even doing this. My mom, for the
last twenty-eight years, hadn’t succeeded in making me her apprentice. And here
was Dorothy, with just a single her out of her mouth, making me do as told.

“Here,” said Janette, handing me a red apron.

“Oh, okay. An apron,” I muttered.

Dorothy, I noticed when I looked at her direction, already
got one wrapped around her. She was preparing something on the smaller island
with gray granite countertop. Janette then went back to where and helped her
with what she was doing. In another minute, they transferred everything to
where I was.

“Well, what are you standing there for? Go and get some
plate,” Dorothy said as soon as she saw me.

“Plate? Where exactly?” I looked around.

“Janette, do something else for now. We can take it from
here,” said Dorothy. If she’d like to have a decent helping hand, I’d suggest
that Janette should stay.

And speaking of Janette, she noticed that I was having some
trouble locating the plates. She didn’t speak that much but I kind of got what
she was thinking. I followed her movements with my eyes and saw her opened the
kitchen cabinet near Dorothy. That explained a lot why I wasn’t able to notice
it. I was kind of looking at the side where Dorothy’s presence wasn’t shown.

“Oh, look, there are the plates,” I said as Janette got two
out.

“Where do you think are the plate? In the cabinet of course.
Why are you looking at the stove?” Dorothy said in her all-knowing voice.

Doing what Janette was doing, I grabbed a pile, tiptoeing
along. The prettiest ones were up in the uppermost deck. This was the first
time that I’d be learning how to cook so I might as well have the best the
situation could offer. But when I lifted the pile in mid-air, I never thought
it would be heavy.

Very heavy.

It was so heavy that I lost balance—lost it so bad that I
ended up gradually falling backwards. In slow motion with the whole world
stopping with me, I was falling. And I was still in the process of fighting the
fall, doing what I could. But a millisecond too late, I knew that any form of
struggle was pointless. And so I did something I knew Dorothy would never like.
Not to her pretty plates that surely did look quite expensive. Without further
warning, the plates literally flew up in the air.

So high that salvation was lost completely.

As I gained back balance, I hurriedly covered my ears with
my hands. The inevitable was soon to come. And like expected, the plates
shattered on the floor, banging around that piercing, breaking, and wrenching
sound.

“Those are from my great great grandmama!” exclaimed
Dorothy, her voice filled with shock, despair, and infuriation.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, really,” I said. And then
looking at the shredded pieces and seeing a still whole one, I bent down and
picked it up. One kind act of nature saved a piece from being broken. The last
memoirs of Dorothy’s great great grandmama. It was saved. “Look. This one is
still okay. Still not shattered.”

But as I stood up and was about to hand it over to her, I
noticed that all the only place where her eyes were fixated was on the pieces
of broken plates scattered all over the floor. Her two eyebrows twitched,
meeting together and creating lines in between. I mean, more lines in between.
With the sight, I suddenly thought about purposely ruining her whole kitchen to
get back at her. However, for the sake of great great grandmama’s plates, I
succumbed to be remorseful instead.

Janette came back to the kitchen with a broom and a dustpan
in hand this time. She started picking up the pieces, still not uttering a word
like always. It was Dorothy who finally spoke after a minute, “Put the pieces
in I will treat this as an accident. Let’s go back to what we were doing.”

She always had something to say in every situation.

“Okay,” I replied. In a low voice, I added a mouthful of,
“Sorry.”

“Prep the things,” she uttered, forcing her eyes to stop
twitching.

“You mean...” Prep? What did that mean again?

“Wash the vegetables and cut them,” she finished.

Okay. Whatever that meant. I did, like a good old apprentice
and for the sake of great great grandmama, what I was told. Setting the things
on the countertop beside her as she was doing something with the chicken and
the spices, I recalled the cooking shows I’d watched before and formulized the
best way to cut the unfortunate vegetables before me. And moments later, as I
looked at what was now currently on the cutting board, it wasn’t as I assumed
it would turn out like.

Was it the knife? Or the cutting board?

“What is that?” Dorothy sputtered as she looked at what I
had ‘prepped’ for her. She almost dropped the pepper shaker, only to steady her
grip before it slipped off her hand.

“The vegetables,” I answered plainly. Despite how it looked
like, they were still the vegetables. And with a cheerful resonance in my
voice, I added, “So should I get on with the meat?”

“Janette!” That was her answer. “When you’re finished with
the plates, please do the vegetables again.”

“It’s that bad?” I asked.

“I think you know the answer for that. You stand there and
watch Janette show you how it’s done.” She went back to what she was doing
after saying that.

I shrugged, making way for Janette as she put on some new
set of vegetables on the countertop. And when she was finished, not to mention
that she made it look so easy, she set the knife aside and looked at me as if
asking if I had any question. What was I supposed to ask now aside from
everything? And we used the same knife. It must be the vegetables that were the
ones to blame. They didn’t give me a chance to show off my slumbering knife
skills.

“It’s done,” said Janette to Dorothy in her timid voice.

“Boil half a pot of water, Kayla,” said Dorothy. “Come help
me mix this, Janette.”

Aside from being a former actress, a mafia boss, and TV
personnel, perhaps Dorothy was also a chef before. She was all over the place.

“I thought I would only be watching,” I muttered under my
breath.

“Are you complaining?” she questioned me.

“No,” I said. “Of course not. Why should I?”

Without saying a word or two again, I went to the other
side, where the stove was, bringing the large pot I managed to unhook from the
rack after I put in the water. When I placed it on the stove, I noticed the
newspaper at the counter next to where I was. A little horoscope prediction
might do me good during these trying times.

“Is the water ready, yet?” Dorothy asked.

“I’m on it.” I switched the stove to high and grabbed the
newspaper.

Look up at the bright skies outside and say that you are going
to have a great day. One way you can motivate yourself despite all the trials
you are going through is to believe that you can, you will, and you’ll get out
of the mess soon.

Hot. I felt something getting hot. Looking to my left where
it was coming from, I saw the other end of the newspaper getting burned. It was
really catching fire. My eyes widened in disbelief and utmost denial at what
was going on. And the sink was steps away from me!

“Dorothy...” I stuttered, looking here and there, not
knowing what to do. “There’s... a... fire...”

“A what?” Dorothy snapped at my direction.

“Fire?” I suggested, eyeing the yellow flame near me.

“Why are you burning down the house?” she answered in a
high-pitched, panicked-filled, exasperated tone. Then the sprinkler trickled
down the whole kitchen.

And a fire alarm went on.

What I want is someone who'll love me for who I am, who I was,
and who I will become. I only need that one person who will accept me even if I
will act weird, turns to a chatterbox, or have gray hairs someday. What I
long-for is someone who will see the real me and love it. One who will never
point fingers to my mistakes but accept me and help me become a better person
if necessary. If I ever get to see him, I will hold on to him and will never
let him go.

There was something else written at the end of the paper.
Beneath that overly romantic paragraph were some words that I couldn't believe
I’d written when I was younger. It must be some kind of forging—one that had
been thoroughly done that it looked a lot like my own writing. But it couldn't
be. There was no way that piece of idiocy was of my own.

“Crap!” I crumpled the paper that I was reading. It was
actually my own writing from way back when. I accidentally saw it when it fell
off from my diary as I was dislodging my bag earlier this morning. And as I
threw it away to the direction of the door, one uncalled for person came in
right on time.

“What the—” He dodged it anyway but was clearly surprised to
see a wrinkled paper being thrown at him. He must have had thought that our
constant bickering turned into something brutal and deadly. Well, hideous
crimes all started off with something like throwing crumpled papers or so. But
that wasn't the case since I was not really interested in getting handcuffs around
my wrists.

Not to mention Dorothy almost charged me with arson a few
weeks ago.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, turning my gaze towards the
window instead. Looking at the sun that was slowly shedding its glory across
the horizons, I realized that the day was starting off once more. I counted off
my horrible days inside this house. Today would be the last day of the first
month. Time sure did fly fast when you were up and running—I mean, ruining—a
house by yourself.

Or sometimes I also managed to pull Dorothy in wrecking her
own home.

Preparing horrible meals, multiplying a piece of plate into
hundreds, near poisoning the whole household by the things I put in the meals,
and occasionally yet unintentionally almost putting the kitchen into fire—those
occupied my days for the last few weeks. And in turn, hundreds of plates were
being delivered to this house every other day in place of the ones I
accidentally broke. Dorothy shed a tear. I knew that she did behind the privacy
of her room, for the ones her grandmama gave her that I broke first day of
lecture. And also, to make things more interesting, there was a fire
extinguisher that was accompanying me now in the kitchen if ever the sprinkler
and the alarm would not do their job.

So after some careful thinking and seeing that we were
getting nowhere, Dorothy had then decided to throw me off to the hotel. She
told me to assist his grandson and be the most sublime wife of the CEO,
explaining the corporate dress I was wearing because his secretary was having a
vacation and I was being thrown to her place. That for the money I was earning
with all this, Dorothy said that they better make good use of me.