Accidentally become a father-Chapter 25: The Definition of Home
---
I woke up about thirty minutes later.
Yuna was already sitting at the low table.
Her hair was combed. Her clothes were neat. Her small watch was placed perfectly straight beside her.
---
In front of her—there was no food.
She was just sitting there.
Waiting.
"Have you been up long?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Why didn’t you eat?"
"Waiting for Papa."
"I never asked for company while eating."
"But it’s polite."
---
I walked over to the kitchenette.
I opened the fridge. Inside:
eggs, sausages, last night’s leftover rice, a carton of milk.
"Are you hungry?"
"A little."
"Statistic for ’a little’?"
"Three out of ten."
"Okay."
---
I took out two eggs.
Just as I was about to crack them straight into the pan, Yuna stood up.
"I can help."
"Yesterday your statistic was nine out of ten."
"Today it might be a ten."
"Whatever."
She stood beside me.
I handed her an egg.
She carefully cracked it against the edge of the bowl.
The shell split cleanly. Not a single fragment fell in.
---
"Statistic... ten out of ten," she said quietly.
"Too soon to tell, that’s only one."
We cooked in silence.
She didn’t say much.
The eggs were finally done.
I moved the pan to the table.
Usually, I ate straight from the pan.
It was practical.
---
But before I could sit down—
Yuna had already taken two plates from the dish rack.
She set them down carefully. Brought out the chopsticks. Scooped the rice onto each plate in nearly symmetrical portions.
I watched her.
"Are you running a restaurant?" I asked.
"No."
"Why so neat?"
"It’s normal."
"Normal according to whom?"
"According to home."
The answer slipped out unintentionally.
Her hands paused for a fraction of a second.
---
I sat down.
"You don’t need to do that here."
She stared at her plate.
"If it isn’t neat, it’s a mess."
"Being messy isn’t a crime, so it’s not a problem."
"Papa usually eats from the pan?"
"Yes."
"Isn’t it hot?"
"A little."
"Then you should use a plate. Using a pan isn’t elegant."
---
I picked up my chopsticks.
"This apartment doesn’t need elegance."
She thought about that.
Then she said quietly,
"But that’s too... impolite."
---
