Chapter 5: If You Can't Take The Kitchen...

Although the interior of the Lilcamp residence had a feeling of warmth and comfort to it, the courier still felt nervous crossing the threshold. The slight "old house" smell that lingered in the air brought with it far too many memories.

The pictures along the walls of the long hallway that lead past his parents offices and the living room still portrayed images of her father, only now there were new pictures, mixed in with the gaggle of other relatives. Here and there, between pictures of Miranda's paternal grandparents and pictures of her in school were pictures of Vivian and Bob together.

It gave the courier a mixed feeling to see a picture of her mother with her real father so close to the ones with Bob in them. They were sitting, arms around each other on the hood of her father's car, with him looking as though he'd been caught doing something wrong, and Miranda's mother looking on with her often used expression that combined annoyance with amusement.

"You okay?" inquired Misty, feeling Miranda's fingers squeeze her hand a little more firmly for a moment.

"Just thinking," Miranda quietly replied, glancing into the living room as they past by.

"Well, if you need to talk, you know what to do."

Miranda smiled sadly. "Thank you," she said simply, hearing her mother's murmured voice a short distance away, followed by Bob's chuckle, "But I think we'd better get in there. Whatever he's making is starting to smell good!"

Near the end of the hall they reached the kitchen where the sound of boiling water met their ears and the pleasant smell of stew cooking made their stomachs react in anticipation.

Once the two had crossed the threshold, they found Bob standing behind a wooden counter that had been constructed like an island to give him more room to work. With one hand he was reaching over to the stove, gently stirring a huge pot with a wooden spoon, and in his other, the man was quickly and efficiently chopping vegetables with an accuracy that was almost frightening.

Behind him, the main countertop stretched from the door out onto the porch to the wall, before taking the sharp left turn and going the short distance to the gas powered stove. Above the clutter of half filled mixing bowls, jars of strange ingredients and other chefly paraphernalia, Bob had most of the cupboards at least half way open in his quest to create the perfect meal.

"Hey, guys!" he called without looking up from the huge tomb that rested next to the cutting board on the counter-island, "It'll just be taros stew for lunch, I'm afraid. But I'll be making lasagna for supper. Hope you don't mind!"

"After two weeks of granola bars how can we so no?" laughed Misty, exaggerating their plight and causing Bob close his eyes and chuckle as he somehow continued to slice the celery into perfectly even pieces.

"I keep telling her to take a cooking course," commented Vivian from the large, round wooden table at the opposite end of the room near the entrance to the kitchen.

"I tried once," Miranda replied a little dejectedly as her mother sipped her tea, eyeing the courier with a piercing gaze, "I just keep forgetting how long to cook things for."

"I saw her burn water once!" called Bob from the orderly chaos he seemed to be orchestrating.

"Did not," muttered Miranda shaking her head, giving her stepfather a look of mock wary annoyance as Misty tried not to laugh.

"Well you did melt the pot to the stove, dear," concluded her mother, motioning for them to sit with her.

"And that's why I'm not aloud in a kitchen anymore," sighed Miranda, pulling out two of the chairs and sitting down warily with her back to the wall.

"But at least I can count on you to do some shopping, right?" inquired Bob, suddenly scurrying from behind the counter over to where a number of dried herbs hung from the ceiling. He then glanced over at Miranda, who smiled and gave a nod as he carefully cut a few pieces off several of them, "Good! Cause we'll have quite a few guests this evening, and at least two have yet to taste my cooking..."

"And you just want everything to be perfect," finished Vivian, casting her husband a small smile, "You needn't worry so much. Frank will eat anything, and Miranda and her friend probably can't remember what real food is. And of course Laurna's far too polite to say anything, so even if you totally botch, everything will be fine."

"Perish the thought, Vivian!" exclaimed Bob, his icy blue eyes going wide with sudden fear.

"Not that you would," his wife finished with a quiet chuckle, hiding her smile behind her teacup. "So, dear," she said, her all knowing magenta eyes turning to her daughter, "Last time we talked you were in Saffron City. How'd it go?"

Miranda glanced around a little nervously. "Well, we had a little trouble with the deliveries we had to do, but-"

"No, dear," Vivian chuckled sagely, "I know you've been frequenting Gyms lately. Strange thing for a girl who once proclaimed that the entire Indigo League was a stupid joke and a waste of time."

The courier flinched, quickly forming a response that wouldn't hurt her beloved's feelings too much. "I said that when I was nine, mother," she replied in a level tone, trying to seem interested in the colourful snowflake shaped glass ornament her grandmother had once made and hung in the far window, "I hadn't truly 'found myself' yet and I was just lashing out at the world."