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Anaxa has a dilemma.
Not the kind of dilemma where he wants to rip out his hair, like when his coworkers are being particularly stupid in their suggestions during meetings. Nor was it a dilemma where he feels like walking out of the room and never coming back, like whenever Aglaea walks into the same establishment as him. It’s not even the kind of dilemma where he can sense a headache coming on, which usually happens whenever Calypso or Hyacine nag him about his health.
(He knows they mean well, and he can’t fault them for just looking out for family, but still— he doesn’t need a whopping four people constantly hounding him for skipping another meal.)
No, it’s the type of dilemma where he can never refuse something.
Now those moments are typically reserved for his family only, usually for two pairs of wide blue eyes that stare up at him in expectancy. And this time was no different.
“You know I can’t,” are the words he says, but his mind yells at him to just accept his fate and say yes.
“But Papa…” his daughter stares up at him with those big navy blue eyes of hers. Must’ve learnt it from Phainon. “I really want to learn.”
Of course she would use that kind of wording, knowing how much he loved— still loves, really— to teach people, despite him having a corporate job. But Anaxa won’t fall for it this time.
He sighs, ruffling his hair as he crouches down to her level, “Philou, you know as well as I do that your Papa can’t cook.”
Little Philoumene very obviously doesn’t like that answer, her lips pursing as her gaze falls to the floor— Anaxa thinks he almost sees tears pool in those big sapphires. It’s not often she gets rejected, after all, even with him, her puppy eyes (that she definitely picked up from Phainon) usually enough to make the both of them yield to all of her wishes.
They really do spoil her rotten sometimes, don’t they?
Not that it’s ever been a problem.
“Why don’t you ask Dad?”
Philoumene vehemently shakes her head, “I wanna learn from you.”
“But Dad’s much better at cooking than me.”
”It can’t be Dad.”
”Grandma Calypso?”
“She lives too far away!”
”Auntie Hyacine or Castorice then? They should be in town.”
”No.”
”Philou…I really can’t cook.”
His daughter worries the bottom of her lip with her teeth, not sure why Anaxa was so against her idea, and Anaxa’s confused as to why it has to be him. Well, it’s not like she was around to see his…culinary endeavors at their peak. Phainon had banned him from the kitchen on more than one occasion— even back when they were only dating— at least until he could boil water without somehow making the pot explode.
“We can learn together then!”
Ah, curse Philoumene’s stubbornness. Now that she’s definitely gotten from both of them, which only meant that she was even more against taking no for an answer, even if she was far more soft spoken compared to her dads.
Never mind the fact that it physically pained Anaxa to refuse her every time.
He gives a long suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he gets up from the ground, gently pushing Philoumene’s back towards the kitchen as he wordlessly grabs the stool from the dining room.
“Alright, I suppose I can teach you some things…”
Like hell is he going to let her near the stove, though. Anaxa and fire do not mix whatsoever. Maybe he could just teach her how to cut some vegetables… If there's anything in the kitchen that he can do, it’s using a knife. It’s not too different from using a scalpel, at least from what he can remember back when he was still studying the natural sciences.
Philoumene’s expression immediately lights up, a rare smile coming to her face, and it makes something warm surge in Anaxa’s heart.
He really can’t say no to her, at the end of the day.
“You hold the knife like this, Philou,” Anaxa moves behind her, gently taking her small hands into his and readjusting her fingers so that they’re not under the blade anymore. “Don’t cut your fingers off.”
His daughter’s face contorts into laser sharp focus as she adjusts her grip, following Anaxa’s example, “Like this, Papa?”
A proud smile easily comes to his face, and he gently pats the top of her head, “Perfect, try cutting this.”
He hands her a potato, already cut in half so that she wouldn’t have to deal with it rolling all over the cutting board. Philoumene, already excited to finally start cutting something, raises the knife just like Anaxa had taught her—
“No, no,” he immediately swoops in before she brings the blade down dangerously close to her fingertips, “Remember what I told you? Curl your fingers to hold the vegetable in place.”
“Oh.”
They continue like that for a while, Anaxa handing Philoumene pre-cut vegetables for her to cut into smaller pieces. The kitchen mostly remains silent, save for the occasional corrective murmurs Anaxa would tell his daughter. A carrot here, another potato there, some celery; they work in perfect tandem together, almost to a point that it isn’t as though Philoumene just learned how to hold a kitchen knife a few minutes ago.
“How about we don’t try cutting the rolling carrot,” Anaxa deadpans at some point, gently taking the knife from Philoumene’s hands. “You want to make a flat edge somewhere first.”
He smoothly cuts a small strip of the carrot off, turning the vegetable over so that it remains steady on the cutting board. Philoumene watches him with sharp interest, always eager to learn.
”Got it?”
She nods determinedly, and Anaxa can’t help another smile coming to his face. Still though, there’s something that’s bothering him a little bit.
”Why did you want to learn how to cook anyways?”
His daughter’s hand stops from where it was about to cut the carrot into small circles, and she looks up at him with wide eyes as though just realizing she never gave him any explanation. Anaxa simply stares back at her with a hint of amusement in his gaze.
”It’s a surprise for Dad,” she murmurs softly, cautiously looking around as though she were sharing some conspiratory secret, “Since he always cooks for us, I wanna make something for him.”
Anaxa hums in response, watching her return to her cutting for a little bit longer before he throws a glance to the bedroom doorway.
”Did you catch that, Dad?” He asks smoothly, swiftly catching the knife that Philoumene drops with an embarrassed squeak. “Careful now.”
”Loud and clear, Papa,” Phainon chuckles, finally making his presence known as he leans across the countertop, “Little Philou wants to become the new chef of the house? Is it for when Dad isn’t home?”
Philoumene, always the bashful one, has her face go tomato red, “I thought you were gonna sleep more…”
After all, he did just come back after half a month of being away from home, his flights traveling across the country and severely limiting contact with his family. To say that Phainon was exhausted would be a severe understatement— he was knocked out cold the second he hit the mattress— and even Anaxa was surprised at the fact that he was still able to get up at a somewhat decent time today. So it wasn’t completely unreasonable for Philoumene to assume that Phainon would be out of commission for the entire day until dinner.
Phainon hums in faux-thought, “I was, but then a little whisper in the wind woke me up at the window and said our little dove wanted to do something a little special today.”
Meaning: I heard you talking to Papa earlier.
“And now that you’re fully awake, why not help your dear daughter in her new kitchen?” Anaxa raises an eyebrow, now that he finally has the opportunity to call Phainon out on his idleness, “You know that I’ll blow up the kitchen if I so much as turn on the stove.”
His husband throws back his head in laughter as he rolls up his sleeves, pushing off the countertop and already grabbing a couple pots from the cabinet.
”Well, if my love insists,” Phainon presses a kiss to Anaxa’s temple, “Wouldn’t want the house to burn down, after all.”
Anaxa smiles while Philoumene giggles at their antics, already turning back to her vegetables to continue chopping them.
”Those are some very nicely cut carrots!” Phainon beams with pride as he looks over her shoulder at the rough carrot circles and uneven potato chunks, ruffling their daughter’s hair while Anaxa hums happily in approval.
”Papa taught me,” Philoumene smiles sheepishly.
Anaxa rolls his eyes at that, unable to completely fight the grin off his face when Phainon leans in to peck at his cheek.
”Did he now?” Phainon looks to Anaxa in mock-surprise, “Well, your Papa always did have mad cutting skills.”
And just like that, despite having a walking disaster, a new learner, and a house chef all in the same kitchen, the three of them easily fall into rhythm with each other. It’s in the small gestures: Anaxa steadying another vegetable in Philoumene’s hands when it’s too big for her small fingers to wrap around, Phainon brushing Anaxa’s hair out of his face, Philoumene wordlessly handing the bowl of cut vegetables to Phainon who pours them into the waiting broth.
It’s a rhythm they’ve always managed to find themselves in. Even when Anaxa and Phainon weren’t married, but instead mentor and intern in the same workplace. Even when they were still navigating their relationship, working through the complexities of depending on another person after having been independent for so long. Even when Philoumene was just a baby adopted by the newly married couple.
Maybe it’s because they all yearned for that dynamic of having a family, after each having lost their own in different ways.
Phainon, whose parents and best friend died in an earthquake that crushed his hometown, leaving him with nothing but the clothes on his back and his name. Anaxa, who couldn’t remember his parents’ faces before they died in a car crash, whose sister was taken away by an illness, way before he was taken in by Calypso and before he could call Hyacine his little sister. Philoumene, who was found in an abandoned baby carrier in a park, not even a note or name to her while Phainon and Anaxa rushed her to the hospital.
All of them, losing one family, but then finding and building another. Their own.
And in this small pocket of time, in these idyllic moments, the three of them couldn’t have been more grateful that they found each other.
Phainon makes a sound in pure delight when he takes the first bite of the soup they had made together.
”Amazing job, Philou!” He enthusiastically throws a thumbs up to their daughter, which she shyly returns, “You really nailed it with the seasoning.”
He throws a playful wink across the table.
”Y’know, I bet even Uncle Mydei would be jealous of your cooking skills.”
Philoumene immediately shakes her head, “No way— Uncle Mydei’s too good.”
Phainon waves his hand, “Psh, it took him years to get to that point, while you only took a couple hours.”
”Dad…”
”I’m serious!”
”Well, at least we know that we have two capable chefs in this house,” Anaxa huffs, taking his own bite and relishing in the blend of spices. “You two have fun in your culinary endeavors.”
”Come on, love, we just need to teach you,” Phainon nudges his shoulder, “You’ll catch up to us in no time.”
”Yeah Papa,” Philoumene looks up at him with stars in her eyes, “Maybe I can teach you which flavors to use!”
“As repayment for teaching you how to cut things, hm?” Anaxa leans on his palm, a grin coming to his face, “I do enjoy a good moment of equivalent exchange.”
His daughter’s little nose scrunches up in confusion, the words a little too big for her head to wrap around, ”Equi…what’s that?”
”Anaxa…she’s only nine.”