Chapter Text
Thick slices of acorn squash lined the oiled baking sheet in haphazard rows. Morty slathered generous spoonfuls of honey on top of the vegetable slices before sprinkling sea salt and freshly cracked black pepper on top. He slid the tray into the oven and bumped it shut with his hip before leaning over the stove to stir his chicken marsala and sniff delicately at the steam.
“Morty, ohh my god it smells so good in here.” Summer and her friend strolled into the kitchen from doing homework in the other room, and Summer appreciatively inhaled the aromas filling the small warm kitchen.
“When’s dinner?”
Morty scooped up some of the curry with a spoon and offered it to Summer as he held his hand beneath the food. “N-not for another forty minutes…but would you like to taste?”
Summer eagerly clamped her mouth around the bite offered and closed her eyes in satisfaction as the flavor burst onto her tongue in waves of decadent, spicy perfection. She instantly felt energetic and lively and opening her eye she grinned down at her little brother. Morty’s cooking wasn’t just delicious, it was so good it inspired powerful emotions with the very first bite.
“Morty, me too!” Summer’s friend pushed Summer aside and clapped her hands together, “My brother is gonna be so jealous when I tell him I had your food for dinner tonight!”
It’s true: Morty Smith was locally known for how insanely good his cooking was to the point that people regularly begged for invitations to their house just to eat the home cooking of Morty Smith. He had won contests, been featured in local news stories and even offered special chef internships, but Morty had a different dream job in mind.
Bustling through the kitchen, just home from work, Beth rubbed Morty’s shoulder affectionately as she sniffed the food and smiled, “Mmm, Morty, smells great.” She chewed her lip nervously, “Is it alright if we have one more guest tonight?”
Morty frowned, “Mom I-I-I don’t know, Summer, and Courtney are here too, so I guess it depends who…I’ll have to make another place setting and make sure I have enough dark chocolate and black cherry mousse to—”
"It’s your Grandpa Rick. He’ll be over around 6:30.”
Whirling to face his mother, Morty’s eyes burned with interest, “Rick, is coming!?”
“Yes, he called just—oooh!”
Morty shoved his mother out of the kitchen, clucking his tongue, “Mom, out-out-out-out, I have to prepare!”
With his mother out of the kitchen, Morty retied his bandana around his forehead, breathed deeply and sprang into action. Annoyed that he hadn’t been warned earlier of Rick’s future arrival, Morty rushed around the kitchen at a fever pace. Rick almost always waited until the last minute to announce he would be joining his daughter and her children for dinner.
Rick’s visits used to be a lot more infrequent when Jerry was around, but after Beth and Jerry’s divorce several years ago, Rick had begun to visit more often. It wasn’t until Morty discovered his incredible knack for cooking when he was in middle school that Rick began asking to come to dinner more often, increasing his dinner frequency to once or twice a month, but never establishing any sort of pattern much to Morty’s consternation.
Morty wiped his brow with his forearm and sighed as he quickly whipped up a spinach and artichoke salad, not that it was exactly Rick’s fault…Being the famous master chef of the most exclusive intergalactic restaurants in the universe had to be a busy job. With the food mostly complete, Morty laid a pale yellow table cloth down, and arranged the plates and utensils with care. He placed crystal water glasses beside each plate (a birthday present from his mother) and placed crystal serving dishes in the center of the table.
The oven timer dinged and Morty rushed to take the acorn squash out of the heat, setting them on the counter to rest as he turned the heat down on the chicken stew and flipped the spinach salad one last time. As he began to transfer food to the table, and fuss with the presentation, he could feel his heartbeat begin to race with anticipation.
Hopefully everything looked good enough…if only he had more time to prepare for—
"Morty—”
“Mom, give me just oooone second, I have to—”
“But Morty—”
“Please!” Morty spooned curry into a large serving bowl as he threw a frantic look over at his mother standing in the threshold. “I only have a couple minutes to finish getting ready before—”
“Ahem.”
Hearing the unmistakable rasp of his grandfather behind him, Morty nearly dropped the serving bowl, but maintained enough composure to finish scooping and turn around with a smile on his face and the bowl cradled in his palms. Rick was leaning against the opposite doorway with his arms crossed and his bright blue eyes darting around the room in careful perusal.
“Hey Ri—”
"What is the wine selection tonight?”
“I’ve chosen a bottle of dry chardonnay from New Zealand with notes of citrus and mel—”
“Dessert?”
“Dark chocolate and black cherry mousse with—”
“Thank you.” Rick straightened and stalked over to the table where he glared at Morty’s place settings silently. “As u-usual Morty, your settings are unorganized at best and chaotic at worst. The crystal glasses are nice, but you’re only using them to draw attention away from the fact that you’re mixing two sets of silverware.”
“Dad! God, give him a break!” Beth furrowed her brow at her father, but Morty turned and glared at her unexpectedly.
“Mom I’m fine, he’s teaching me!” Glancing up at Rick, Morty pulled a chair out at the head of the table and gestured, “W-would you l-like to sit down while I get you a glass of wine, Rick?”
Slumping into the chair, Rick reached out and grasped Morty’s elbow as the teenager started to walk off. Stopped in his tracks, Morty felt a flush start in his cheeks as he looked down at Rick’s stern face.
“Wipe your face before you come back.”
Morty rolled his eyes, “Okay.”
Beth snorted at the exchange, but Morty ignored her and left the kitchen to get the wine from the basement. Rick raised his eyebrow over at Beth, “Y-y-y’know I’m not too hard on him, Beth.”
“Dad, Morty is good. He’s great!”
“It’s just sloppy, raw talent, Beth. He needs to refine it.”
Beth rolled her eyes, “Food isn’t everything dad.”
“Correct. Science is.”
She had a sharp retort ready but at that moment Morty sailed back into the kitchen, having somehow switched his tank top for a fresh one, washed his face and returned with a cold bottle of white wine in five minutes.
He walked straight to Rick and hovered politely beside his right shoulder, “May I?” Wordlessly, Rick picked up his glass and held it aloft for Morty. Uncorking the bottle, Morty splashed a small amount into the glass. Rick brought the cup to his nose and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he let the scent fill his nostrils and linger against the back of his tongue, before he tossed it into his mouth, savored briefly and swallowed.
“Mmm.”
Morty shifted on his heels as he watched Rick’s mouth twitch as he considered the flavor. Did he not like it? Holding aloft his glass again, Rick turned his fierce eyes to Morty as he calmly intoned, “Good. However, I hope you have planned a sweet element of tonight’s meal to balance the dry undertones of this wine.”
A soft, breathy gasp slipped out of Morty’s mouth and he quickly shut his mouth again in embarrassment before giving a curt nod and filling Rick’s glass, “I-I-I’ll g-go g-g-get Summer.” Turning to his mother he held the wine forward, “Mom, can I pour you a—”
“Just give me the bottle and get your sister.”
“O-Okay!” Beth rolled her eyes and filled her wine glass to the brim. Her son’s stupid little “chef crush” on her father would be fine if her father didn’t take advantage of it. Whenever he came to the house, Morty dropped everything and would wait on Rick hand and foot, blushing and stuttering like a lovesick first grader while Rick cussed and drank and ate and lectured Morty on cooking techniques before dragging Morty outside to stand with him while he’d chain smoke cigarettes and lecture Morty some more.
Waltzing back into the kitchen with the girls, Morty beamed as he said his favorite words: “Dinner is served!”
The food was magnificent. Rick was having a hard time maintaining his scowl. Morty’s food over the past couple years had been getting better and better, but this…this was incredible. Bringing his napkin to his face pretending to wipe food away, Rick grinned like an idiot into the cloth. Fuck, Morty’s food was utterly delicious.
Placing the napkin back in his lap, Rick abandoned pretences and attacked his food with a little growl of delight. He needn’t have worried as everyone else around the table, bent their heads to the task of ravenously tearing through stewed meat, sweet and salty squash, dry wine, and juicy salad.
“Beth, honey, I need to ask you for something.”
It was hours after dinner. Morty was curled up on the couch playing his 3DS while Rick and Beth sat on the loveseat and passed their sixth wine bottle of the night back and forth trading sips.
“Yeah, Dad?”
Rick leveled his electrifying gaze at his daughter, “I want Morty to come work at the restaurant.”
“YES!!”
Beth’s eyes flashed to her son who had leapt up from the couch, 3DS in hand, face flushed and twinkling eyes.
“Mom, Mom, I would come home every Sunday and w-w-well y-you know I have to work on holidays, because those are major for restaurants, and I’ll call every single day—”
“Morty, no-no-no-no-noooo.” Beth grabbed the wine bottle from her father and scowled, “Dad he’s sixteen.”
“Mom, please.” Morty was standing in front of his mother with his hands clasped beneath his chin trying to look as pathetic as possible, “You would have let me go on those internships if I had wanted!”
“W-well, yeah…” Tilting the bottle back, Beth swallowed more wine before pinching the bridge of her nose and stammering, “D-d-dad you’re so demanding and hard on Morty!”
“Beeeth,” Rick reached over squeezed his daughter’s knee, “C-c’mon you’re breaking my heart. You know I’m not mean, just strict. You just wanna baby him.”
“Because he’s my baby!”
“Oh my god, Mom!” Morty leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, “I l-love you Mom but you know I gotta do this.”
Beth handed the wine bottle back to her dad and threw her arm around Morty’s neck, yanking him against her chest in a slightly drunk hug. “Every Sunday, plus birthdays, plus every so often just come home and surprise me.”
Hugging her back, Morty nodded against her shoulder, “I promise! Don’t worry I won’t stay away.” Disentangling himself from his mother after a few moments, Morty whirled on Rick and demanded, “When do we leave?”
Rick snorted and took a long sip from the wine bottle before glaring up at Morty, “F-fuck off, Morty, y-you know that when I come for dinner, afterwards is my bonding time with your mother.”
Morty huffed, “Bonding time? You guys just sit there and get sloshed on a dozen bottles of wine and then rant in Spanish at each other.”
“Dooon’t you talk to your grandfather that way, young man.” Beth grabbed back the bottle and gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Why don’t you go pack.”
“Oh, that’s actually a great idea!”
As Morty ran off, Beth scooted closer to her father and leaned against his shoulder. The stale, burnt smell of cigarettes mixed with the sugary scent of buttercream frosting wafted from his clothes and she smiled at the familiar scent. “Just…promise me you won’t be an ass all the time.”
Rick threw his arm around his daughter and sighed, “Okay, okay, jeez, Beth, I promise I will hug him once in a while.”
“That’s all I ask.”
By the time Morty finished his frantic packing, Beth was passed out on the couch, and Rick was swaying back and forth, portal gun in hand as he waited at the bottom of the stairs for Morty.
“R-r-reelch-ady, Morty?”
“Should I wake Mom or Summer up to say goodbye?”
Rick shrugged, “Sunday is three days away, it’s not like you’ll be gone long.” Shooting his portal gun at the wall, beckoned with his finger and turned toward the glow, “Time to go.”
Feeling his heart thudding in his ears, Morty nodded, grabbed his bags, and marched through the portal after Rick. Pushing through the elastic-y boarder of the portal, Morty found himself inside Rick’s apartment for only the second time in his life.
The smell of marshmallows, frosting, and chocolate assaulted Morty’s nose and he wrinkled his nose in surprise at how strong the aroma was. Cakes and cupcakes and pastries lined almost every surface of the cavernous kitchen. Gigantic whiteboards lined the walls beneath cabinets and stood on stands, covered with notes and measurements. It was half French bakery, half mad science lab, and Morty could only stare and salivate.
“H-hey, wanna –uurp-try something?” Rick was carrying cakes in his arms and briskly walking over to Morty as he puffed on his newly lit cigarette. Setting the cakes down on the counter, Rick pulled out a fork, loaded it up with a gigantic piece of pink frosted yellow cake and stared pointedly at Morty, “C’mere!”
No need to say it twice—Morty practically ran to Rick’s side, with a smile, “Yeah I wanna try!”
Rick held the fork forward and Morty opened his mouth wide before chomping down on the soft cake. Strawberry and raspberry flavor washed over his tongue with a violent rush. Morty’s eyes widened and a muffled squeak escaped him much to his surprise and embarrassment. Rick nodded and raised his eyebrow haughtily. “Enjoy it. T-tomorrow is your first day in the kitchen and it’ll be hell, Morty.”
Swallowing, Morty grabbed the fork from Rick and picked up a cake, “Are you gonna eat cake too, or…?”
Rick found another fork and picked up a cake of his own, “So the cake you’re eating right now as the concentrated flavor of five or six extremely sweet strawberries per slice.”
Morty nodded vigorously, mouth full of pink cake, and frosting stuck to his lips. “Mmm-hmm, con-fin-yuu.”
“And mine,” Rick removed his cigarette and stuffed his face with cake “iff carah-mel bacon whii-choc-late cake.”
Morty gazed at Rick as he chewed his cake, and sighed happily at the dawn of a brand new adventure.