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Part 22

💫EDA POV💫

"Anne?" Kiraz asked, knocking on the door a couple of hours later. "Is Baba asleep? In the middle of the day?"

I laughed.

"Baba and I had a very long conversation this morning. Plus, I don't think Baba has been able to sleep well while he was away from us."

"Poor, Baba." Kiraz's belly rumbled. "Anneciğim, I'm starving," she stated dramatically.

I leaned down to kiss Serkan on his temple and got out of bed with Kiraz's help. At least this time, my child didn't call me an elephant.

As I prepared köfte, Kiraz watched me intently, trying to copy what I was doing from her spot on the kitchen counter. "This is so messy, mummy," Kiraz giggled.

It was exponentially messier because she was helping me. But my daughter would be six in a few days, and the only way for her to become a better cook would be with practice, even if it meant me cleaning up a huge mess afterward.

"What are my beautiful women making?" Serkan asked as he came down the stairs and into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around my swollen middle and kissed my neck.

"Köfte," I explained.

"Look, Baba. Mine are looking pretty good, too!"

Serkan was lucky Kiraz was enthralled with the mix in her bowl and didn't see the look of disgust on his face. He gave me another kiss and muttered a half-hearted response to her. Thankfully, Kiraz didn't realize it. 

"Can I bring you your slippers? I don't like it when you cook barefoot," He explained.

Asking rather than demanding? I could get used to this.

"That's a good idea. Don't want to burn myself when I fry them," I commented, and Serkan did a double take before he nodded and left.

I laughed at his reactions.

"Aren't we making Ayfer Hala's recipe?" Kiraz asked.

"Yes, we are," I confirmed.

"Then why did you tell Baba you'd be frying the köfte? Ayfer Hala does them in the oven!"

Because I wanted to provoke Serkan? 

"You're right. That's why we preheated the oven, didn't we? Mummy brain. My bad."

Kiraz nodded, proud of being proven correct.

"Are you finished with your mix?"

"Evet," she said, handing me her bowl. "I think they're too mushy," she acknowledged dejectedly.

"Don't mind that. We'll put your köfte on the fridge for a bit, and they'll get firmer. We can put them to grill on our second round," I assured Kiraz.

I was accommodating the skewers on a metal tray when Serkan returned to the kitchen with my slippers. His face transformed when he saw that I was baking, not frying, our food.

"Can I help you with anything?" I offered gallantly with a smile. 

"You could prepare us a good salad," I told him, and he quickly got to work.

Our meal was peaceful. Serkan and Kiraz caught up with each other. Eva had started to take her first steps. Kiraz had started riding lessons with Kemal Amca, who Serkan was just learning was a long-time friend of his mother and had recently reappeared and started frequenting her.

I wouldn't break the news that his mother was dating someone after 35 years over lunch and ruin a perfectly pleasant meal.

"Baba, my dress for my birthday is pink, and Ceren Teyze got my heeled sandals," Kiraz shared. "Anne says I cannot wear those sandals until my birthday. But she let me help her vacuum the carpets at Ayfer Hala's house wearing them."