I Like Eggs and Toast

I wonder if I’ll miss my family once I move out in two months (edit: i mistakenly wrote 'weeks' and had to change it to 'months'). Not my extended family… just my mom and dad.

Some days, when I wake up late from my afternoon nap at midnight or after coming home late from a long day playing with friends, I’d go into the kitchen to find my mom cleaning up. Maybe there were leftovers from her meal she cooked at noon, or she also just got home late and started prepping. With a tired groan and sigh, I’d rummage through the fridge asking if there was any food. Some leftovers again didn’t sound appealing and I would be too lazy to cook for myself. I would be fine just going up stairs and sleeping the hunger away or easily making instant ramen for quick fix. The warm yellow tones of light would glow on my mother’s face when she would always suggest, “Do you want eggs and toast?” It’s not the most appetizing meal, but the words she would say after, always made me change my mind. “I’ll cook it for you.”

After the first question, it’s obviously implied that she’d cook it for me, but the way she offers to do it for me makes it impossible for me to ever refuse. She always notes it in a happy tone; that she’s happy to cook me a simple meal, that the idea of putting in work to cook for me is something she’s excited for. By that time late at night, most of the house is asleep and it’d be just me and her in the kitchen talking. While the pan is getting hot, I’ll tell her about what I dreamt about or what my friends and I did that day. She’d be scurrying around retrieving eggs from the fridge, frozen month old toast in the freezer, and searching the backs of the fridge if we have any old sausages. At the same time, I’d follow her all around the kitchen on the back of her heels like a baby duckling to its mama duck. She’d make her way to the toaster oven and I’d be right at her side to show her all of the silly faces my friends and I made to the camera. When she was at the countertops chopping up an old, already-opened can of SPAM, I was on the other side standing and gossiping to her about new drama that’s happened with our other family members cities away or back in Vietnam.

Once the eggs are cracked into the oiled-up scalding pan, that’s her cue to shoo me upstairs, She’d tell me to change clothes and wash my face, and by the time I’m done, the food will be ready. She was never wrong. It was always perfectly timed. It was eggs sunny side up (just how I liked) with crispy edges (just how I liked) and a very runny and creamy yolk (just how I liked). By the time I’d sit back down at the dinner table, the plate would already be waiting for me and I’d see my mother putting on the very last touches. It’s interesting to note how she’s always a clumsy person and never fails to accidentally pop one of the eggs when transferring them from the pan to the plate. She’d scream it out and cry that it was the spatula’s fault (although I never had that problem when I made my own eggs).

Due to all the noise, my dad would wake up and also make his way to the kitchen. He’d find my mother and I laughing, and that’s when my mother would offer to make him a plate as well. My parents would talk to each other in Vietnamese, so that was my sign to shut up and dig in. With the crunchy exterior of the baguette, I’d puncture the middle of the egg to find the velvety yolk ooze out. I’d touch it up with a bit of sprinkled pepper salt and soy sauce, and soak the liquid gold onto my piece of bread before popping it into my mouth. Since the pan was already hot and all the ingredients were already laid out on the counter, his plate would come out in no time, followed by my mom’s. We’d all eat and talk together at that dinner table, occasionally needing to remind ourselves to quiet down for the other sleeping family members.

After everyone finished their plate, my dad would fight my mom to wash the dishes. It was an easy battle really (I don’t think my mom was putting up much a fight), and that would leave my mom and I at the dinner table continuing our talks.

I think I’ll miss the day when I can’t have my mom’s eggs and toast anymore.