Recipe for disaster

There was an appealing beauty in structure. Or, as Odysseus liked to put it: chaos couldn’t build anything beautiful in a kitchen.

He deliberately followed every single step. He knew the recipe completely by heart at this point, but he still kept the old cookbook open in front of him. He wanted precision. He wanted perfection. He wanted the element of surprise kept to a bare minimum. His kitchen was his paradise, his element, his sanctuary.

His kitchen was also... currently crowded.

Aunt Lor was here. And with her, came total chaos.

She was his favorite aunt—the one who had chosen to nurture him, feed him, and care for him. To Odysseus, Lor wasn’t just an aunt; she was a mother figure. She knew him better than he knew himself. But right now, his paradise was under siege. Beside his pristine cookbook lay her messy art brushes. In his favorite dish—yes, he had a favorite dish—Lor had blended random acrylic colors. His crisp, white apron was now stained colorful, and his favorite mug was currently filled with cloudy water and soaking paintbrushes.

But that was Lor. He adored the woman, even when she drove him completely crazy and made the artery in his forehead pop from sheer nerve.

“Lor,” Odysseus said, deliberately using her name because the word ‘aunt’ was strictly forbidden. “We are out of milk.”

“Odi, a cat was starving in the middle of the night and I had to give her something!” Lor replied defensively. “She would never appreciate the beef Wellington you made for lunch yesterday, so I gave her your milk. I’ll buy you more when I return from my pottery class.”

“Lor, I still can’t believe you’re going out to teach pottery to youngsters.”

“Odi, you sound old. You should check that, it’s bad for your health,” she teased, waving a paintbrush. “Speaking of youngsters... Mar is coming to live with us.”

Odysseus froze. “Mar? Who the hell is Mar?”

“Odi, I told you yesterday! A student of mine. A hidden gem,” she said, exasperated. “I met him at the pottery class. Don’t you listen to me when I’m speaking to you? Let’s take it from the top: his name is Martin. He’s twenty-one years old, he’s a really talented artist, and he is in need. Do you remember what I’ve been telling you all these years?”

Odysseus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Lor. ‘Helping a friend is helping yourself.’ I remember.”

“You don’t, though,” Lor said, her voice dropping into a softer, more perceptive tone. She looked at him closely. “Where is your fire, Odi? Has something happened?”

Odysseus stared at the recipe book, his throat tightening. What was he supposed to say to her at this point? That he was one step away from ripping his apron off and walking out of the restaurant he’d given a decade of his life to? That his head chef was a devastating, hellish prick who was slowly crushing his soul?

Before he could answer, she started talking again, her voice cutting straight through his defenses.

“I raised you with colors, but you’re still hanging onto black and white. I raised you with rainbows and sunshine, but you want clouds and rain, Odi. When you told me you wanted to be a chef, I said, ‘Thank God, he is going to be a doctor of the soul.’ And you did it. But somewhere in the making, you lost your own soul.”

“Lor, don’t be dramatic,” Odysseus muttered, refusing to look her in the eye as he wiped down an already spotless counter. “I haven’t lost my soul.”

“It’s been ten years, Odi. Ten years from the exact moment you walked into that restaurant.”

“That restaurant is what puts money in the bank,” he countered sharply. “And it buys those new paintbrushes for your passionate soul, Lor.”

“Odysseus, don’t speak to me like I don’t know what is going on,” she said, her tone dropping the playful edge completely. Her eyes softened, filled with a fierce, protective warmth. “I know your sacrifices, and I adore my brushes. But most of all, I want my little boy to be happy.”

“I am.”

“You are not.” She paused, crossing her arms. “When was the last time you got laid?”

“Lor!” Odysseus choked, his face flushing hot. “I am absolutely not going to discuss my sex life with you.”

“I am not asking about your sex life—that you should discuss with your chef,” she countered smoothly, dropping a absolute bomb into the quiet kitchen. “I am asking about your love life. Because that man is not good for you, boy.”

She was right. He wasn’t a good man for him. He was a convenience. He was two cheap shots of tequila on a Tuesday night and a pounding hangover from a happy hour cocktail. He was a habit Odysseus couldn’t seem to break, a toxic recipe he kept cooking even though it tasted like ash every single time.

Odysseus swallowed hard, the truth scraping against his throat. He opened his mouth to finally admit it to her—to admit that he was drowning—but instead, his defenses locked right back into place.

“I am fine,” he said.

“You are a living, breathing corpse.”

“You are exaggerating,” Odi muttered, trying to deflect the heavy weight of her stare. “But I still love you.”

“You are making excuses for him,” Lor countered softly, her gaze unyielding. “But I still love you, too. Remember, though... a little chaos in your life is not going to be the end of the world.”

Odysseus looked around his crowded, paintbrush-stained kitchen and sighed. “Lor, you are bringing enough chaos into my life. To be honest, more than enough.”

“Odi, a little more is not going to be the end of the world.”

Before Odysseus could reply, the front door swung open, and the air shifted instantly.

“Lor?” a voice called out. It was young, slightly breathless, and completely unbothered by the late hour. “I brought the extra clay, but the bag ripped in the hallway. Also, I think I accidentally stepped on a cat outside?”

Author's Note:

Welcome to Recipe for Disaster!

And just like that, the peace has officially left the building. Can we all take a collective moment to pray for Odi’s blood pressure? Between his unhinged (but deeply correct) Aunt Lor, a toxic chef who is definitely a tequila-hangover mistake, and now a 21-year-old tracking ripped clay into his pristine kitchen... he is about to go through it.

What are your first impressions of Odi? And who else is ready to see Mar cause absolute mayhem in Chapter 2? Drop a 💀 in the comments if you’re already hooked, and don't forget to add this to your reading list so you don't miss the next drop!

xoxo — Elena K.