LXIX

In a quaint little house in the Town of Goodwell, a small family of three was snuggled together on a single bed adorned with embroidery of the sun and moon. Leon stirred, pushing his blanket aside as his eyes fluttered open. The dim light of early morning barely filtered through the curtains, but it wasn’t the light that woke him. It was the soft, almost musical sound of footsteps.

To his left, his mom stood holding a small birthday cake. The single candle perched atop it danced with a warm, flickering flame, its shape unmistakably that of a five. Leon blinked sleepily, his young mind already processing what that number meant—he was five today.

On his right, his dad approached, holding a pair of sparklers that hissed and crackled with tiny bursts of light. Both his parents wore ridiculous, brightly colored pointed hats. Leon’s eyes widened, his sleepy expression replaced with startled realization.

“It’s… It’s…!” he stammered, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and confusion.

But then a thought struck him, and it was as if lightning had ignited his imagination. He gasped. “It is the end of the world!”

Without hesitation, Leon bolted upright and made a break for it. “Aliens replaced my mom and dad!” he cried, attempting to escape the bizarre scene.

His dad, quick and laughing, caught him mid-flight and gently pinned him back to the bed. “Calm down, buddy,” his dad said in a soothing voice, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

Leon squirmed under the blanket as his dad tucked him back in, his wide eyes darting between his parents. It didn’t feel like the end of the world anymore, but he wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t.

His mom and dad exchanged a knowing glance, each suppressing laughter. Then, with synchronized deep breaths, they began to sing.

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, dear Leon, Happy Birthday to you!”

Leon froze. His little heart pounded as the melody washed over him, bringing with it an unfamiliar mix of emotions.

“Blow out the candle and make a wish,” his mom said, holding the cake closer.

Leon leaned forward and blew, extinguishing the flame with a single breath. But he wasn’t satisfied. He blew again, harder, as though he could blow the candle clean off the cake.

“Chill, buddy,” his dad chuckled, placing a steadying hand on Leon’s shoulder. “You’re good to go.”

Leon huffed, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “I’m a big guy already. Stop babying me,” he muttered, though the slight pout on his lips gave him away.

His dad laughed and hoisted him up despite his protests. “Big guy or not, you’re not walking away from this birthday breakfast.”

Leon found himself deposited on the round wooden table that often served as his battlefield for knights and castles. His jaw dropped as his gaze swept over the spread before him: spaghetti glistening with sauce, golden fried chicken, crispy fries, creamy fruit salad, and even a steamed fish delicately garnished.

His round eyes grew impossibly wider. “Whoa,” he whispered, swallowing hard.

His mom ruffled his hair affectionately. “Dig in, birthday boy.”

Leon was a smart kid. He knew exactly what he liked and didn’t like, especially when it came to food. His eyes scanned the feast laid out before him, and with practiced precision, he ignored the bowl of plain white rice sitting innocently in the middle of the table. It didn’t stand a chance against the mountain of spaghetti and fried chicken he eagerly piled onto his plate.

The steamed fish sat nearby, its glistening surface tempting no one except his mom. Leon avoided even looking at it. Picking out the tiny bones was a hassle he didn’t want to deal with.

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“Hey, you should eat some fish too,” his mom said, her voice warm but firm. Before he could protest, she began dismantling the fish with expert movements, removing the bones and leaving a neat, flaky portion on his plate.

Leon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his guilt bubbling up. He knew his mom meant well, but no matter how much effort she put into making the fish more appealing, it wasn’t happening. “Thanks, Mom,” he muttered, staring intently at his spaghetti as if it could save him.

He hesitated for only a moment before diving in with the enthusiasm only a five-year-old could muster. Of course, he ate the fish in the end… It tasted… okay…

His dad, noticing his tension, decided to change tactics. “Hey, buddy, try this. It’s called a puto.”

Leon picked up one of the small, muffin-like treats topped with a slice of cheese. He took a cautious bite, and his eyes lit up as the sweet, fluffy texture melted in his mouth. “Mmm!” he hummed appreciatively before grabbing several more and placing them on his plate.

“How about you have some of this, Leon?” his mom said, holding up a spoonful of something new.

“What’s that?” he asked warily.

“It’s mashed potato,” his dad answered, leaning in with a grin. “It’s got carrots, corn, gravy, and of course, potato.”

Leon grimaced, suppressing a shudder as he turned his head away. He wasn’t falling for that. Mashed potatoes weren’t supposed to have things in them.

His mom shot his dad a glare. “You’re sabotaging me.”

“What? No, I’m not!” his dad replied, though his mischievous grin suggested otherwise.

“Leon, eat something healthy,” his mom insisted. “How about trying some okra?”

Leon froze, his fork hovering over his spaghetti. He turned to his mom with wide eyes, his expression a mix of horror and betrayal.

“You’re lucky it’s your birthday today,” she said with a sigh, spearing an okra for herself. She bit into it with the kind of vengeance that suggested the vegetable had personally wronged her.

Leon watched her chew and couldn’t help but recall the concept of debt. A few kids in kindergarten owed him snacks, and he imagined his mom felt the same way about the okra—like it had to pay her back somehow.

Meanwhile, his dad was happily digging into the mashed potatoes, a look of satisfaction on his face. Leon shook his head. Adults were weird.

Returning to the safety of his spaghetti, Leon twirled a forkful and took a big bite. His mom, clearly done with her okra, reached for the other pasta dish—creamy, white spaghetti that Leon vaguely remembered was called carbonara. She scooped a generous portion onto her plate, her eyes twinkling.

Leon watched her for a moment, then focused back on his plate.

Birthdays were weird, too, but as long as he had his spaghetti and chicken, he could survive anything.

“So, how’s kinder? Making any friends?” Leon’s dad asked, his voice casual as he twirled a fork in his spaghetti.

Leon nodded, his mouth too full of chicken to answer right away. After swallowing, he replied, “Yeah.”

His eyes, however, weren’t on his dad—they were fixed on a golden-brown cylinder sitting on a plate nearby. Its crisp, flaky surface glistened slightly under the warm light of the dining room.

“What’s that?” Leon asked, his curiosity piqued.

“A spring roll,” his mom answered, passing him the plate.

Leon grabbed one with his fork, inspecting it like a treasure. He bit into it cautiously, only for his eyes to widen as the flavors of melted cheese and savory pork filled his mouth. It was a revelation. The spring roll was incredible, especially when paired with his spaghetti.

“Do you want more cheese on your spaghetti?” his dad asked, grinning.

“Yes, please!” Leon said eagerly.

His dad pulled out a block of cheese and a grater, then began sprinkling fresh shavings over Leon’s plate. Leon watched with rapt attention, a spring roll in one hand and a chicken drumstick in the other, as his dad grated away.

“Tell me when to stop,” his dad said.

“Never!” Leon declared, his voice muffled by a mouthful of chicken.

His dad laughed but eventually stopped, leaving Leon’s spaghetti buried under a blanket of cheese. Leon didn’t mind. He feasted with gusto, alternating between bites of cheesy pasta, crispy spring rolls, and juicy chicken.

Soon, however, he realized something alarming—there was no more chicken on the table. His fork hovered mid-air as he turned to his dad with a suspicious glare.

His dad raised his hands in mock innocence. “What?”

Leon squinted, his young mind racing. He knew his numbers well enough to count to ten, and he was certain he had eaten at least three drumsticks. That meant there had been more. His dad must have eaten them.

Before Leon could voice his grudge, the kitchen door swung open, and his mom appeared with another plate of spring rolls.

“Eat!” she said, setting them down with a flourish. “There’s more where that came from!”

Leon’s attention was immediately diverted. The fresh spring rolls looked just as golden and crispy as the first batch.

“Thanks, Mom!” he said, grabbing another one.

Unbeknownst to Leon, the spring rolls were fifty percent vegetables—grated carrots, cabbage, and green beans cleverly hidden among the pork and cheese. He didn’t suspect a thing as he devoured them with relish, pairing each bite with his spaghetti.

The chicken, in Leon’s opinion, was still the best thing on the table. But the spring rolls weren’t far behind. They had a satisfying crunch and just the right balance of savory and cheesy flavors.

Leon leaned back in his chair, his small belly full and his face smeared with traces of sauce. He might not have gotten all the chicken he wanted, but with a feast like this, he decided it didn’t really matter. Birthdays were pretty great after all.

~069