Can I Call You Mom?
The morning sunlight pried my eyes open with a gentle nudge. “Haaam…”
I’d pulled an all-nighter working behind Joshua’s back, so the desire to burrow back under the covers was overwhelming. Still, I had to move. Normally the clatter of Joshua making breakfast would have woken me, but I couldn’t ask a patient to handle chores.
I stroked the head of the silver-haired girl who was fast asleep, arms wrapped tightly around me, then slipped out of bed with the caution of someone defusing a bomb. The last thing I wanted was to wake her.
“Porridge it is, I guess?”
It had been over a century since I’d been sick myself, so deciding what would be best took some thought. I tied on the apron embroidered with butterfly patterns. Vegetable porridge seemed safest. This world came from a Japanese game, yet rice was the staple even in a fantasy setting. As a Korean who’d grown up with rice bowls too, it was one of the few things I’d adapted to instantly.
I stepped into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and rolled up my sleeves. It had been three whole years since Joshua declared the kitchen her territory and banished me from it. The knife, the apron, even the familiar view felt strangely nostalgic.
“Just wait, Joshua. I’m going to make you the best breakfast you’ve ever had.”
Was cooking always this fun? I hadn’t even started, yet the tickle of excitement in my chest had me raring to go.
That enthusiasm slammed into a brick wall right at the beginning. Three years of kitchen exile had turned the pantry into hostile territory.
“Where did I put the vegetables…?”
After turning the entire kitchen into a disaster zone, I finally located them. I washed the potato, carrot, and onion, peeled them with care, and sliced them into perfect cubes. Then I lit the fire with a quick spell, dropped the potatoes into the pot, and began to sauté them.
“Good. Now water…”
Once the potatoes had softened, I added water, tossed in the rice, and stirred. Soon the pot was bubbling merrily, fragrant steam rising in lazy curls. I added the carrots and onions, poured in more water, and let it simmer.
“It’ll be boring if it’s too bland. Just a pinch of salt.”
The result wasn’t Michelin-star worthy, but it was perfectly edible. I ladled the porridge into a bowl, set it on a tray, and carried it toward Joshua’s room with the concentration of someone transporting nitroglycerin.
“Joshua, are you awake?”
She still seemed lost in dreams. When I opened the door, the sight of her hugging a pillow in my place instead made me smile before I could stop myself.
I set the tray on the table and fell into a happy dilemma over how best to wake her. If I waited too long the porridge would get cold. I gave her innocent cheek a gentle poke.
Maybe I should let her sleep a little longer.
“Mmm…”
The touch must have reached her. Her eyelids fluttered open. She squinted against the sunlight streaming through the window, stretched like a cat, and sat up. I greeted her with a warm smile.
“Did you sleep well? Good morning.”
“Estelle…?”
Still half-asleep, she rubbed her eyes. The moment she registered the sunlight and me standing there in an apron, she bolted upright as if lightning had struck her.
“I’m sorry! I’ll hurry and make breakfast—!”
“Whoa, whoa. Calm down. You’re still a patient, remember?”
I placed my hands on her shoulders, steadying her. She’d struggled so hard yesterday insisting she was fully recovered that I suspected she really was. Still… hehe. Joshua, you should realize that waking up this late already counts as a transgression.
I brought the bowl over and gave her my most confident grin.
“I made breakfast today, so just sit nicely. Also, all housework is strictly forbidden.”
“Ehh!?”
“Why do you look so shocked? I handled everything just fine before you came along.”
This girl could be surprised by the strangest things. I scooped up a spoonful of the steaming porridge, blew on it gently—hoo, hoo—so it wouldn’t burn her, then offered it with a playful smile.
“Say ‘ah~.’ Come on. Ah~.”
“I can eat by myself…”
She was blushing. Adorable. Her face flushed scarlet as she reached for the spoon, but I simply lifted it higher, easily evading her.
“Broom entering~ Whoosh whoosh~”
“Really… I’m not a little kid anymore…”
Perfect opening. I’d worried she might keep her mouth shut, but reacting to every silly sound had made her open it without thinking. I seized the chance and fed her the spoonful.
“……How is it?”
She chewed thoughtfully. I waited for the verdict, nerves suddenly tight. What if she said it was bad? If she lied and said it was good anyway, that would hurt even more.
The sound of her swallowing seemed deafening.
After she finished chewing and met my eyes, Joshua finally spoke.
“It’s…”
“It’s…?”
“…delicious.”
She turned her face away, cheeks burning, as if my gaze was too much to bear. I let out a huge sigh of relief. Three years without cooking had left me more anxious than I’d realized.
“Really? You’re not just saying that, right?”
“It’s true.”
I could tell she meant it, but some mischievous part of me wanted to keep the conversation going. Here was the girl who always tried so hard to act mature, now showing me this embarrassed side. It was too cute to resist.
“Then which part did you like best?”
“The… carrots.”
I was glad I’d remembered her saying she liked carrots during our all-night conversation. Score one for attentive motherhood.
“Want me to do the broom whoosh again?”
This time I loaded the spoon with as many carrot pieces as it could hold.
“Estelle. Um… Could we maybe skip the broom sound?”
Her face was crimson now, practically steaming with embarrassment. Had she always been this shy? I could feel my inner wicked-witch switch threatening to flip.
“I’m a witch, you know. When someone begs me not to do something, it makes me want to do it more.”
“Euuut! I really, really hate it!”
Ehehe. She was obviously lying. If I teased her any further she’d probably vanish under the blankets, so I switched tactics.
“Fine, no more broom sounds. Just say ‘ah~’ for me?”
“Ah… ah~.”
“Good girl. Good girl.”
One bite. Then another. Eventually I stopped saying “ah~” and simply fed her at her own pace, wiping the corners of her mouth whenever porridge tried to escape. When the bowl was finally empty, I handed her some water.
“Shall we take a bath together now?”
“Th-that’s something I’ll do alone!”
Her embarrassment meter had clearly hit maximum. She wrapped her arms around herself and dove under the blankets. Maybe I’d gone a little too far…?
“Just so we’re clear, taking care of the patient is also forbidden today.”
“Huh?”
While I dried Joshua’s hair with a gentle drying spell after her bath, I delivered the most important rule. If she thought about why she’d gotten sick in the first place, the reason should have been obvious. Whether she understood my worry or not, she gestured for an explanation, so I added another condition.
“No hovering around the cauldron either. I’ll handle everything today.”
“But you said it was my responsibility.”
My mind hadn’t changed. Saving the last remaining person was still Joshua’s role. However, even if that man woke up, there were additional precautions we needed to take. The excessive potion use meant he’d probably wake with physical abilities strong enough to wrestle an orc and win. We still had no idea what kind of person he was or where he came from.
If he regained consciousness while I was away and tried to hurt Joshua…
A terrifying scenario flashed through my mind. Better safe than sorry. We needed a safety measure.
“I’m doing this because I’m worried about you, Joshua.”
I finished drying her hair and pulled her into a hug from behind, wrapping my arms around her. A pleasant scent rose from her silver strands.
“In exchange… I have a condition too.”
“A condition?”
She hesitated, clearly struggling with the words. After a moment she steeled herself and turned to face me directly.
“Um… please don’t laugh, okay?”
“Of course not. I promise. Should we make it official?”
I offered my pinky. She hooked hers with mine without hesitation.
“Pinky promise.”
Why was she acting so strangely? A condition not to laugh? Had she touched my chest while we slept? She was at that curious age, and with breasts as large as mine right in front of her, it might have been quite the stimulus.
While I was busy with my own wild imagination, Joshua kept her pinky linked with mine and finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.
“Can I… call you… Mom?”
Huh?
The words hit me like a truck. Something warm and overwhelming flooded my chest—different from anything I’d felt before, something I couldn’t put into words. Through our linked pinkies I could feel the weight of all the nights Joshua must have spent agonizing over this decision. She was gripping my finger with surprising strength, as if she never wanted to let go.
“Was it that bad!? Estelle, please don’t cry. I-it was a joke! So… so…”
While Joshua panicked, convinced she’d overstepped, I touched the tears spilling down my cheeks. I was crying. Why? It didn’t hurt, yet the tears refused to stop.
“Estelle, I’m sorry!”
Why was this child apologizing? Seeing her desperately trying not to cry—as if she hadn’t been hurt, as if it had all been a joke—I pulled her even tighter against me.
“Joshua~ Joshua~~!! Joshuaaaaaaa~!!!!!!!”
It felt like I might float away. I couldn’t think of any words except her name.
“Say it again? Quickly!”
I loosened the hug just enough to meet her eyes once more.
“M… Mom?”
“Yes. I’m Mom. Mom! My beloved daughter.”
I hugged her with all my strength, over and over, until she asked me to let go. For someone who had only ever watched other people’s pure love from the sidelines, expressing this bursting feeling was incredibly, wonderfully difficult.