“Let me see,” he said, gently lifting up my foot onto his lap, unlacing my sneakers and taking a look at my foot. “Your ankles are a bit swollen, you’ve been on your feet a long time, darling.”
“I know, you’d think a ballerina had more endurance wouldn’t you?” I chuckled as he stood up. “Where are you going?”
“Give me a minute I’ll be back,” he assured me before disappearing for a solid five minutes down the busy street. When he came back, he had a plastic bag with him from a shoe store.
“Oh my God, bro.” Cahya palmed his face. “There’s no way.”
“Prince Charming,” Soleh teased. “Honestly, I don’t know anyone who puts up with Yesoh’s dramatics as well as you do.”
“You didn’t have to…” I smiled as he unboxed a pair of brown sandals and delicately put them on my feet.
“I want you to be comfortable,” he insisted, holding eye contact with me. “Let me carry you home?”
“My brothers would never let me live that down, Wyn.” I blushed, covering my face.
“Forget what they think.” He smiled, crouching down so I could hop on his back. I turned and saw Soleh and Cahya too lost in conversation to care and so I quickly hopped on. “There we go.”
“Thank you,” I whispered in his ear and kissed his cheek. “You always have my back, Wynnie.”
“Well you’ve always had mine, consider this me leveling out the playing field,” he assured me.
“Everyone ready to head home?”
“Yeah let’s go!” Soleh agreed.
Later that night Wynter stood in the kitchen looking uncharacteristically serious as he leaned over the mortar and pestle enduring a cooking lesson from my mother. He had an apron on and flour dusted on his cheeks, he lookedadorable.
“Don’t just mash it like that,” Mummy barked, standing to his left with her hands on her hips. “This isn’t a boulder you’re trying to crush. You have to blend it! Smooth, like a paste.”
Wynter paused, adjusting his grip on the pestle. He leaned forward again and gave the mixture a determined twist. He looked so painfully at home here in my mother’s kitchen, making such a grand effort to learn my culture and in turn learn more of me.
“Better,” Mummy said, her voice sharp, but there was an approving glint in her eye.
“May I never be this astronomically down bad for someone that I’m sitting on a kitchen floor in the middle of Indonesia,making food I know nothing about.” Soleh cringed, and my mother threw an apple at his head. “WOAH!”
“Careful with your tongue, you say this now but soon you’ll be here telling me you’ve eloped to some Malawian gamer,” my mother scolded. “Oftentimes you don’t choose love, love chooses you.”
Love. Hearing that word in reference to Wynter and I sent a shiver cascading down my spine. Is that what this looked like to the world? This once secret thing that was only between me and God, the bond that we now shared, did it now look like love?
“Wynnie, darling,” I mimicked his accent from the doorway, “they’re saying you look pathetic, doting on me this way.”
“I don’t mind looking pathetic in my pursuit of you, it’s what you deserve after all,” he assured me and my heart fluttered.
Cahya was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a bemused smirk plastered on his face. “This is entertainment,” he said, watching Wyn struggle to balance brute force and finesse.
Wynter, to his credit, didn’t rise to the bait. “Do you ever help in the kitchen, Cahya?” he asked, not looking up from his task. “Or just pass snide remarks?”
“Help?” Cahya laughed. “No. I supervise.”
“You’re terrible,” I muttered from my seat at the table, where I’d been watching the scene unfold. Wyn caught my eye for a second and smirked, a flicker of warmth amidst his focus.
“Alright, stop,” Mummy said, waving Wyn aside. “Let me see it.” She inspected the spice paste in the mortar, giving it a critical sniff.
“It’s acceptable,” she said after a moment.
“High praise,” Cahya quipped, earning a glare from Mom. “You never compliment my skills like that, Mummy.”
“Dont annoy me, Cahya. Don’t test me,” she warned, pointing a wooden spoon at him.
