Henry's words resounded in my head all through the night. I felt so uneasy that I fought with my best friend - one that has always been with me even in chaos and brimstone. I made up my mind in the morning to stand up to her and vent myself.
"Dad," I stood up from the dining after having breakfast. "I'm ready."
My dad, who was coming from his room and trying to knot his sleeves, asked me, "Wow. That was fast. Are you sure you ate something?"
"I did, Dad. The pancake, bacon, and eggs were delicious."
"You see, someone appreciates my cooking skills in this house," my sister chimed in.
My dad retrieved his truck keys from the dining table and teased, "Honey, your culinary skills are only excellent when you cook American dishes. When you try to cook something else, it's like drying clothes in a microwave."
"You know what? Dad will cook dinner. Not just an American dish but a Mexican dish," my sister challenged.