The Boy I Fed Came Back To Claim Me

My Nanas memory was shot.

Shed forget Id already eaten and still dish up a massive bowl.

I genuinely couldn't handle the extra food, so Id try to distribute the bountya spoonful to the stray dog. A scatter of grains for the chicken wandering by. I even looked up at a kid passing by and asked, Want some?

The kid blinked, surprised, then nodded, face flushing.

But right after he finished, he passed out.

I froze, ready to scream for help.

Then, the glowing text appeared.





1

I was ten years old.

My parents, both too busy with their high-powered jobs, decided to send me out to the country to stay with my Nana in her small Midwestern town. She was supposed to look after me.

Nana was the bestgentle, kind, and devoted. She worried about me constantly. But she had that one flaw: the older she got, the worse her memory became. She was always forgetting Id eaten.

Id just finish a huge serving of her slow-simmered pork ribs and noodles, and the next moment, shed forget and whip up a massive bowl of her famous Egg Fried Rice.

I stared at the golden, fragrant mountain of rice in my hands, shimmering with three or four fluffy eggs.

I just sighed.

I knew this was her love for me, pure and unfiltered. But too much love doesn't just make you complacent; it makes you plump.

I cupped my own ridiculously chubby cheeks and couldnt help but groan.

Nana didn't notice my inner turmoil. She beamed at me. "Skylar, darling, Nana is going out to the garden now. Be a good girl, okay? Ill bring you back some sweet raspberries for dessert.

With a final pat on my head, she grabbed her trowel and headed out.

I sat on the porch step, spooning the heavy bowl. I couldnt eat another bite, but wasting food was a sin in Nanas house.

My eyes landed on Big Yellow, the neighborhood mutt, ambling past.

I scooped two generous spoonfuls into his empty metal dish. Big Yellow ate it all, then promptly stretched out on the ground and began a contented afternoon nap.

No help there. I looked toward a passing hen.

A chickens appetite, however, was even smaller. One tiny peck, and she squawked and ran off, the mountain of rice barely grazed.

I was at my wits end.

My gaze drifted to a kid walking down the dirt lane. He looked maybe a year or two older than me, wearing a faded T-shirt that had been washed threadbare. He was walking with his eyes straight ahead, clearly trying to slip past unnoticed.

I called out, holding up the bowl. Hey, want some?

The boy slowly turned, pointing a hesitant finger at himself. Me?

I nodded emphatically. Yeah! You!

Hearing my confident, city-kid tone, the dullness in his eyes instantly lifted. But he was still shy. He stood rooted to the spot, fidgeting awkwardly.

I got impatient.

I grabbed his hand and tugged him down onto the small, smooth stone bench next to the porch, setting the heavy bowl in his lap. Hurry up and eat! Egg Fried Rice isnt nearly as good when its cold!

I leaned in conspiratorially. Im telling you, my Nanas Egg Fried Rice is the best in the world. Its seriously amazing.

He watched me, half-believing, half-skeptical. Then he picked up the spoon and took a small taste.

Then a big bite.

Then he started devouring it, scarfing down the food like he hadn't eaten in days.

Watching him eat so hungrily, a wave of deep satisfaction washed over me. Phew. No waste.

I sat there, watching him scrape up the final grains of rice. I was just about to ask him how he liked it.

But the next second, his body went soft, and he slumped sideways, sliding onto the ground.

My jaw dropped. What?

Allergy? Egg Egg Fried Rice allergy? Id never heard of such a thing!

Terrified, I was about to bolt for the fields to find Nana when a cascade of brilliant, luminous text exploded in front of my eyes.







I scanned the buzzing wall of text, but only two words registered: Carb Coma.

Okay. No emergency then. Phew.

But he couldnt just sleep there. Nana always said your belly button shouldn't get cold.

I ran inside, my little legs pumping, and grabbed a small, knitted blanket from the living room. Just as I managed to cover him, he shifted.

The boy opened his eyes a slit, staring up at me with a confused, hazy look. He reached out and grasped my hand.

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