| General Fiction posted July 17, 2025 | Chapters: |
...6 7 -8- 9... 
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Kitchen Talk
A chapter in the book Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate
Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate: 8
by tfawcus
| Background Dmitri is recovering from PTSD after losing his twin sister, Mira, in a bombing. He is transferred to a clinic, then, for further rehabilitation, to Elena's hunting lodge, where he meets Leila. |
Elena stood at the stove, leaning over a cast-iron jam pan, and stirring a bubbling mixture with a wooden spoon. The windows were steamed up, and the air was thick with an overpowering aroma of boiling sugar and ripe fruit.
‘Sorry I took so long,’ Leila said.
Her cheeks were flushed, and her braid slightly loosened, a stray curl clinging to her temple. She hefted the wicker basket onto the kitchen table and let out an exaggerated breath.
‘Phew! That was heavy.’
‘Nonsense, girl. You don’t know what heavy means.’ Elena stood back from the stove and wiped her brow. ‘You can start by rinsing those and cutting them up. Keep some of the stones to one side. I’ll need them for pectin.’ She pointed at the dresser. ‘There’s a muslin bag in the top drawer over there.’
When Elena turned back to the stove, Leila stuck her tongue out. Who does she think she is? Ordering me about like a servant. A cap of white netting covered Elena’s hair, and from behind, Leila thought it made her look like a cauliflower. She giggled.
‘What’s so funny?’ Elena had grown used to Leila’s irreverent humour, and it lightened her mood. ‘Come on, spill the beans.’
‘I bumped into Dmitri on the way back. He was lunging in all directions, like he was trying out for a part in a Kung Fu movie.’
‘That would have been the Tai Chi exercises I gave him. It’s good to hear he’s using them.’
‘He looked so funny. Not at all what I expected. He’s usually so serious and intense, as if something is simmering under the surface.’
Elena turned back to the jam pan and started skimming the white scum off with a slotted spoon. ‘He’s come a long way.’
‘I think he’s carrying a lot of guilt,’ Leila said, more softly now. ‘Like he’s afraid of moving forward, because it means leaving something or someone behind.’
‘Yes,’ Elena said quietly. ‘That’s exactly what it means.’
‘He’s lucky you’re here for him. He might never have made it otherwise.’ Leila wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘You’ve been amazing with him. Honestly. I wouldn’t have had the patience.’
Elena turned the heat off and joined Leila at the kitchen table. ‘We need to let that cool a bit before putting it in jars.’ She picked up one of the freshly picked plums and halved it with a practised flick of the wrist. ‘He didn’t want to be saved. Not at first. He needed to be given time.’
She unhooked a pair of oven gloves and transferred a tray of sterilised jars to the worktop next to the stove, then continued, almost as if she were talking to the jam, ‘He likes you, you know. Even if he pretends not to.’
Leila studied her. ‘Are you all right with that?’
‘It’s strange being part of someone’s healing and knowing you won’t be there to see them whole.’ Elena gave a tired smile. ‘It was always going to happen. I just didn’t expect it so soon. You’ve seen more of him in two days than I have in two months.’
That hadn’t occurred to Leila, and she didn’t know how to respond. They both withdrew into themselves and focused on cutting up the plums.
‘Yes, I’m all right with that,’ Elena said at last, ‘but be careful. He’s not ready yet. He’s only just begun to live again.’
Leila's hands stilled. ‘Careful!’ Her voice became much quieter. ‘I’ve spent a lifetime being careful. Watching every word, every step. At some point, you have to stop apologising for being alive.’
‘Where did you learn that?’
‘From my mother. She used to say we were like reeds. Bend, but don’t break. I think it came from my grandmother, or maybe from the Qur'an, I never asked.’
‘Oh? Was she religious, then?’
‘No. Just scared, most of the time. We moved a lot. Refugee camps. Hostels. Sometimes we slept with our shoes on in case we had to run.’
Elena hesitated before asking, ‘And your father?’
Leila’s hands stilled on the dishcloth. ‘I… we've lost touch.’ She turned to rinse the cup, the splash of water in the sink cutting off further questions.
Elena remained quiet.
‘But my mother loved stories. Tales about desert lions and ancient queens. She called me her night star.’
‘Leila,’ Elena murmured.
‘Yes. That’s what it means. “Night.” Maybe it suits me. I’ve spent a lifetime in hiding. Being invisible. But not any longer.’
Elena nodded. She returned to the stove and began ladling jam into the jars. ‘Be a dear, will you, and start putting the lids on for me. But be careful. The jars are hot. Oops! There I go again, telling you to be careful.’
The next few minutes were a flurry of activity. Eventually, all the jars were filled and sealed. ‘Now for the labelling,’ Elena said.
Leila carried the tray of jars across to the kitchen table. ‘What on earth are you going to do with all of this? There’s enough here to last a lifetime, even without the next batch.’
‘I shall sell it to raise money for the clinic, and I shall give some away to people who need a little extra sweetness in their lives.’ Elena sighed and added, ‘There’s never quite enough to go round.’
‘You’re such a kind person. Really, I mean it—even if you are a bit bossy at times.’
Elena paused, then said, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be, but sometimes I get tired. There’s so much that needs to be done.’ She passed some labels across to Leila. ‘But I meant it when I said be careful. I know Dmitri better than you do.’
Leila’s brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Caring is dangerous. It makes you hope. And when you lose people you care about, it hurts.’
Leila placed the palms of both hands on the table. ‘I’m not trying to take him away from you.’
‘I know. That’s what makes it harder. You’re not a cruel person. You’re kind. Funny. Alive. It’s not your fault you remind him of someone he lost.’
Leila felt a chill run through her body. ‘Do I?’
‘Oh yes,’ Elena said, returning to the labelling. ‘Uncannily.’
‘Who?’
Elena didn’t answer immediately. The heat in the kitchen was oppressive, and she dabbed her cheek with a corner of her apron. ‘His twin sister. Mira. They were inseparable.’
Leila went still. She was thinking back to the chess game and Dmitri’s drawing. ‘That explains... a lot.’
‘It complicates things for him. And maybe for you, too.’
Leila nodded slowly. ‘So, he’s not really seeing me; he's seeing her. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Not necessarily, but sometimes Dmitri’s memories get in the way of what’s real. Just take care.’
Leila met her gaze and held it. ‘Are you warning me off?’
Elena shook her head. ‘I’m warning you not to expect too much.’
A long silence stretched between them.
‘Don’t pity me, Leila. Just be kind. To him. To yourself.’
‘I will,’ Leila whispered.
Elena nodded, but her expression was far away. ‘Thank you.’ She felt hollowed out, like a tree that had weathered too many storms.
Leila pressed the last label into place. It curled slightly at the edge from the steam, as if refusing to stick. She smoothed it down with her thumb, unsure whether it would hold, then she glanced up at the woman who was the centre of Dmitri’s world, and she wondered if she was ready to step into the role. Or even if she wanted to.
 Recognized |
#4 July 2025 |
British English spelling and grammar.
Thank you for reading and reviewing. I welcome honest, constructive criticism.
Photo by Valerie Sidorova on Unsplash.
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