Parental Pressure (4)

Soon, they put their orders, and Kyro chose Crimson Spine. He also ordered himself some coffee and got Iris a latte, after inquiring about her preferences.

"I'd suggest some dessert, but not in this place. Unless you have a taste for mould."

Iris instantly looked at the owner, who winced at that remark. "It was just one time…"

"Since I didn't order any again," Kyro said in a deadpan voice. "You think I didn't hear others complaining?"

The owner rolled his eyes and left their table. He didn't seem the slightest bit mad that his food was seen as below subpar.

When Iris looked questioningly at Kyro, he explained, "Billy cooks everything here himself, and is really proud about it. His meals have always been one of my favorite. But, he doesn't bake. He sees cakes and sweets as something only for kids, women, and weak men. That's why he only orders a few desserts from elsewhere and sometimes even forgets to check if they already got old before serving them."

Iris smiled as she listened. "What about you? Do you have a sweet tooth?"

"Do I look weak to you?" he asked with raised eyebrows, his voice challenging her to say yes.

She laughed and shook her head. "By the way, where did your mom go? Why didn't you take her back?" It was a question that was starting to bother her. Did he have his mother use a taxi just to avoid a confrontation?

"You didn't notice?" He picked the fork and started playing with it. "I guess you were already asleep. I called my aunt, mom's sister, and she took her. With me going to work, this was a much better arrangement."

"Agreed." Iris nodded with conviction, and they both chuckled. With how his parents were pushing him to marry, there would be hell to pay if they found out a woman was living in his house.

She then asked about his father, and his expression became a bit more serious. The situation had stabilized and his father would be fine, but it wasn't a permanent solution. His arteries were clogged, so even though they had brought him back this time and dissolved the large piece that had made his heart stop for a few seconds, there was no guarantee they would be able to do the same next time.

A lot of medicine was prescribed which would help some, but none of it was magical solve-it-all. Part of the problem was due to age and nothing could be done about it. Drugs could slow the progress, but not cure him.

"Age? How old is he?"

"Seventy-two," Kyro answered. "He'll get better now, and that's what matters."

"Of course," she swiftly agreed and changed the topic.

If he just wanted to relax and not think about important stuff for an evening, then she was more than happy to acquiesce. She was, after all, in the same boat.

When the food came, Iris found out that 'Golden Flight' was chicken wings inserted into a pile potatoes, which probably acted as the chicken. The wings were raised up in an imitation of being extended in preparation for flight.

The presentation wasn't exactly appetite inducing, but she had to admit it was memorable. She hadn't seen anything this amusing before.

Kyro's meal was made in the exact same manner. Two pieces of ribs were placed against each other in an imitation of a ribcage while potatoes filled up the inside.

Iris remarked on how… remarkable the dishes were, and they joked about it for a moment. While eating they chatted about everything and nothing, discussing this mini restaurant, the owner, where Kyro had sat before and what had brought him here.

By the time they were finished, at least a couple hours had passed. With neither of them being in a hurry anywhere, time flowed past without anyone's notice.

At home, Iris was ready to go to her room, but Kyro stopped her. "We need to talk."

"About what?" she asked, her voice squeaking out like a mice. She didn't want to talk, not about anything serious. They'd just had such a nice evening out, so was it necessary to destroy it by bringing in the reality? She didn't think so. "Maybe tomorrow? I—"

"It's been three days," he said, his voice cold, and a shiver ran down her spine.

There was no longer any question in her mind regarding what he wanted to talk about. The deadline rushed back into her mind with a vengeance, and she had to steady herself against the wall to not betray the horror that rose within her. Had the dinner been more than just an expression of thanks?

Was it also a goodbye?