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“No, Mami, it’s not… I don’t know what it’s doing,” Jaime mumbled into the phone held precariously between his shoulder and his ear as he stirred the large pot on the stove in front of him. It had taken him three tries to get the peppers roasted instead of flat out charred, and this was probably the sixth call to his mother since he started cooking. He was never again taking any kind of cooking advice from Khaji Da - the smoke alarm going off did not mean that food was ‘sufficiently cooked’.
To be fair, it wasn’t every day you celebrated your first anniversary with a boy from the future who came back to stop the space bug attached to your spine from taking over the planet for his alien masters. To also be fair, it wasn’t every day Jaime chose to cook one of the more complicated recipes his mother had just because he chose to make something special instead of the usual, more simplistic fare he went with. While his choice to learn tasks more traditionally associated with women in his culture left him with the ability to concoct his comfort foods of choice without having to rely on his mother or some local attempt at authentic cuisine, those very same skills didn’t seem to be any help when it came to making this particular dish.
“It’s not boiling. Is it supposed to be boiling?” Jaime asked, the soft Spanish rolling off his tongue as he continued to stir the ingredients in the pot. “No, no, I want to make this for Bart. I was going to make it into tamales, but I don’t know if I’ll have time now. No, I don’t need you to come help. It’ll take you two hours to get here anyway, and Bart will be home in in three.” Jaime laughed softly. “I can see why you would get Milagro up so early for holidays.”
He continued to stir, listening to his mother talk about how she was so proud of her boy for sharing his culture with his adorable, always hungry little boyfriend, until the contents of the dutch oven finally started to do something other than sit there. “I think it’s boiling, Mami? What? I don’t want it to boil? Simmer? What’s the difference? Okay, okay, no, I see, okay.” Jaime lowered the flame on the burner underneath the pot. “Okay, and next I let it sit?” Jaime glanced at the molcajete sitting on the kitchen counter - his mother’s housewarming gift to the two of them. “Yes, Mami, it’s going to get a lot of use today. No, I do use it for more than guacamole. Yes, I tempered it before I used it the first time.” He pulled the large, slotted wooden spoon from the pot, setting it into the sink before he put the lid over the pot and turned off the stove. “Okay, it’s sitting. Thanks again, Mami. You’re a life-saver. I love you, too.”
Jaime sat back, once again considering the merits of making the mole poblano into tamales, and once again he came to the conclusion that he just wouldn’t have enough time. Maybe next time. Assuming he survived this first time.
—–
“Hey, hermano, I’m home!” Bart called loudly from the living room as if Jaime didn’t hear him zoom in and practically slam the door behind him. When he didn’t get an immediate answer from the other boy, he zoomed into the bedroom, the bathroom, and finally the kitchen. Where he found Jaime up to his elbows - literally - in some sort of dark sauce. “Jaime are you, what are you doing?”
Jaime groaned but still offered the other boy a smile. “Hola, cariño. I… happy anniversary?”
Bart laughed, and in an eyeblink he was next to Jaime, leaning in to give the Latino boy a kiss. “Happy anniversary, babe.” There was a long pause - or what felt like a long pause to him - before he continued. “That smells amazing. What is it?”
“It’s supposed to be a surprise anniversary dinner,” Jaime offered, pulling away just enough to continue mashing the contents of the molcajete. Most of it was done. This was, thankfully, the last of the batch. “Mole poblano. Abuela Conchi’s recipe.”
“I’m surprised,” Bart said with a wide grin. He leans against Jaime, groaning lightly. “Your grandma’s recipe? Now I feel super spoiled.”
Jaime opened his mouth to answer, to tell Bart about how he was supposed to be done with all this, how Bart was supposed to come home to find the dinner table set, candles lit, and a romantic dinner waiting. But the words died in his throat when he felt a tongue licking up the side of his forearm.
“Bart… What are you doing?” he asked, glancing down at how his boyfriend currently had some of the mole from his arm along his lips… and the tip of his nose.
“You’re delicious?” Bart responded with a small smile. “I couldn’t wait for dinner? You should make this sauce more often because you taste even more delicious in it? Any answer that will get both you and this sauce in my mouth, preferably at the same time?” A brief pause. “How does Khaji feel about it? Does he like it? I wonder what it tastes like off him.”
Jaime shuddered at the thought of that, though how much of that was himself and how much of that was brought on by Khaji Da, he wasn’t sure. “Why don’t you let me finish here, and we can find out?” he offered.
Bart leaned in, giving Jaime’s elbow one last lick before he started laughing. Even if things didn’t exactly go the way Jaime had planned them, Bart was confident enough in his statement to declare it, even if it was a little premature. “Best. Anniversary. Ever.”