The Cravings of Fate

Randal stood in the fluorescent glow of the supermarket, gripping the handle of his shopping cart as though it were a life raft. His eyes darted between the aisles, his mind a battlefield of logic and love.

Salmon. Mango. Cucumber.

Separately, they were fine. Together, they were an abomination.

And yet, Nadia had sent him on this mission with a fervor that brooked no argument. The woman he loved, the mother of his soon to be born child, had looked him in the eye her hands resting protectively over the swell of her belly and declared, “I need this, Randal. The baby needs this.”

How could he argue? He had learned the hard way that there were two forces in the universe a man could not fight: the tides of fate and the cravings of a pregnant woman.

He grabbed a pack of smoked salmon, ignoring the cashier’s puzzled glance. A perfectly ripe mango followed. Then a cucumber, firm and cool beneath his touch. With each item added to his cart, he felt the last remnants of his sanity slipping away.

As he drove home, he prayed. Not for strength no, that ship had sailed. He prayed that Nadia might take one bite and realize the truth. That she would see the error of her ways, abandon this monstrous craving, and return to the world of normal food pairings.

But when he walked through the front door, he was greeted by the sight of his wife, glowing with anticipation, her eyes alight with a hunger he could never understand. He chopped. He mixed. He plated.

Nadia took a forkful of the unholy creation, closed her eyes, and sighed in bliss. “Oh my God, Randal. This is perfection.”

Defeated, he sank into a chair, rubbing his face.

Randal sat across from Nadia, watching in stunned silence as she shoveled forkfuls of salmon, mango, and cucumber into her mouth with the enthusiasm of a woman who had just discovered the meaning of life.

Randal watched in horror as she devoured it, each bite more enthusiastic than the last.

His world was unraveling.

He had spent years believing in the fundamental laws of flavor, the sacred balance of sweet and savory, the natural order of food pairings. And yet, here sat his wife, gleefully dismantling every culinary truth he held dear.

"You like this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nadia looked up, chewing thoughtfully. "Like it? Randal, this is the best thing I have ever eaten."

He swallowed hard. "But... the flavors. The textures. This shouldn't..."

She leveled him with a look, one that silenced his protest before it could take form. "Denial isn't a good look on you, love," she said, pointing her fork at him. "This is happening. And you, my dear husband, need to embrace it."

Randal exhaled slowly. He had faced many trials in his life. The day he proposed, the day he found out he was going to be a father, the moment Nadia woke him up at 2 a.m. demanding peanut butter on pickles. But this? This was his greatest test yet.

A fork materialized in front of him, loaded with a perfectly balanced bite of salmon, mango, and cucumber. Nadia's expression softened. "Just try it," she coaxed. "For me?"

Randal stared at the offering, his heart hammering. He took the fork, closed his eyes, and placed the bite in his mouth.

Sweet. Salty. Fresh. Wrong.

And yet...

He opened his eyes. Nadia was watching him expectantly.

"...Well?" she prompted.

Randal chewed. He swallowed. He cleared his throat.

"...It’s not bad," he admitted begrudgingly.

A victorious grin spread across Nadia’s face. "See? I told you!"

Randal leaned back, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the turn his life had taken.