Just a pokefan

There was only one restaurant in Pallet Town. Well, a restaurant-inn, technically, since the first floor held the dining area while the upstairs rooms were reserved for travelers passing through.

Delia had inherited it from her mother, and like any business, the first few years had demanded an intense amount of work and constant presence. These days, she mostly managed things from afar, only visiting occasionally to make sure the quality and atmosphere she had once promised to preserve were still there.

Sometimes, she looked around the place with nostalgia, remembering the years when Ash had learned to walk between dining tables and kitchen pots. More than once, she had to drop everything because Ash had been surprisingly talented at getting himself into trouble, and she would end up rushing to the clinic with him in her arms after he had fallen down the stairs, grabbed a knife when no one was looking, or burned himself trying to reach a pot on the stove.

There was guilt there, too.

Because ideally, she should have been home raising him. But she had been alone, and the inn had been their only source of income. She couldn’t leave him with a grandmother who, for him, simply didn’t exist, nor could she take him to daycare when the closest one was all the way in Viridian City and she had no one to help with transportation.

Even if it hadn’t been ideal, she had been there.

And she questioned herself. All the time. Whether she had been enough. Whether she should have tried harder. Whether that had been an inappropriate environment for a child with far too much energy.

And yet, her Ash had grown up, and he had always been so grateful to her.

Now, as she walked through the inn, she saw mothers being celebrated by their children. Of course. It was Mother’s Day, and deep down, she couldn’t help but feel that maybe she could have done better.

But there was nothing left to change now.

After giving a few instructions to the staff, she left behind some chocolate-covered cookies she had baked herself.

“For your moms,” she said softly. “Take them home.”

Then she picked up her bag and started walking back toward the house.

There was already a smile on her face, because Ash would actually be home that day. He always tried to make it back to Kanto for important occasions, but somehow, he was rarely home for this particular one.

And, honestly, if she could wish for a gift, that alone would have been enough.

She would bet Ash probably didn’t even know what day it was. But it didn’t matter. Because even if he got distracted, he was there. With her.

…

When she got home, the door opened before she even had the chance to turn the key in the lock.

Ash was standing there with one of those smiles—the same one he wore whenever he wanted to show her he had won a new badge or caught a rare Pokémon.

“Hi, Mom!”

Delia smiled when she saw how excited he looked.

“Hi, Ash. How are—?”

But he didn’t let her finish. He took her bag and hung it on the coat rack before taking her hand and leading her to the living room.

“Everything’s good. Hey… I’ve got something to show you!”

The way Ash was talking to her, she could have sworn he had remembered—or someone had reminded him—that today was a special day. So she let him guide her into the living room.

And she wasn’t wrong.

On the coffee table sat a cake. A cake decorated with colorful chocolates and candy, scattered across it as if there somehow still wasn’t enough color already. And between them, letters that read: Happy Mother’s Day.

Something warm settled in her chest.

She hadn’t expected Ash to remember, much less to have thought about making a cake that clearly hadn’t been bought.

“Sweetheart, it’s perfect… you didn’t have to…”

And then she heard it.

“Happy Mother’s Day!”

But it wasn’t only Ash’s voice.

It was a chorus, several voices she knew very well.

She looked up, and then Ash’s friends began appearing from behind the staircase, from the guest room, from behind the curtains.

Misty and Daisy stood there holding balloons, and on the other side were Tracey and Gary.

The four of them walked closer.

Misty and Daisy with small smiles, Tracey with a shyer one and one arm behind his head, and Gary trying to preserve some dignity even though his cheeks were flushed.

“Guys… you…”

Ash gently guided her to sit down.

“Brock wanted to come too, but then he said it probably wouldn’t be a good idea because his own mom would charge him emotional damages.” Ash pointed at the cake on the coffee table. “But he left this for you.”

Delia looked at it for a few seconds. She knew Brock was a great cook, and she knew the excessive amount of sweets and decoration had been intentional.

“It’s… perfect.”

Then she noticed Daisy lightly elbowing her sister. Misty grumbled under her breath, then, with an embarrassed expression and flushed cheeks, finally started speaking.

“Well… we just wanted to thank you for… being there for us. For how you’ve welcomed us into your home… like we were part of your family and…” She looked down for a second. “I know you’re going to say it’s nothing, but… we talked about it the other day and decided we wanted you to know that, for us…” Her voice softened. “It means everything.”

Delia felt her own eyes betray her.

“Guys… you’re going to make me cry.”

“Wait! You can’t cry yet, we still have presents.”

Delia motioned for them to come closer, and the group gathered around her, squeezing together awkwardly on the couch.

Tracey was the first to step forward. He held an envelope, and inside was a piece of paper.

“I… wanted to thank you for making me feel like what I do matters. And, well… I made you a drawing.”

Delia already knew Tracey was an artist. She knew he could make incredibly realistic and detailed drawings, but this time, he had given her something that looked like a child had made it.

Little stick figures representing all of them, with her in the center and several Pokémon around them.

She looked at it like it was a treasure, running her fingers over each little figure, intentionally simple, all of them smiling.

It was a drawing of a family.

“Tracey…”

She couldn’t say anything else. Because she knew. She knew Tracey had wanted someone who would look at his drawings and tell him they were beautiful.

“I love it, it’s… exactly who we are.”

Misty took a deep breath before holding out the little gift bag with her present.

Inside was a picture frame covered in an excessive amount of glitter and sequins. In the photo were all of them—Delia, Professor Oak, everyone gathered in the living room with the huge Christmas tree they had decorated together in the background.

“It’s… from last Christmas.”

Delia looked at the frame like it was a treasure.

“I… wanted to thank you for… making me feel like part of a family. For teaching me things that only a mom does… for…” Her cheeks turned redder. “For treating me like a ten-year-old girl and not… like the Cerulean Gym Leader.”

Delia felt deeply moved.

In Misty, she still saw the same little girl as always, the one who constantly hid her fears and insecurities behind her armor, the one who cared for her son as if he were the most important person in the world.

Then Daisy stepped closer and handed her a gift envelope.

Inside was a macaroni necklace, painted with nail polish and covered in way too much glitter.

“I… always wanted to make one of these. I’m glad I get to give it to you…”

“Daisy, it’s… perfect.”

And she put it around her neck. And even if it was only a macaroni necklace, it was beautiful.

“I wanted to thank you for…”

Her voice cracked, and she looked away, fanning herself quickly so no tears would ruin her makeup.

“For seeing beyond appearances.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Thank you for taking care of me… that day when I was sick. I… didn’t know I needed someone to take care of me that badly for even just one day.”

Delia’s chest tightened, and she could no longer stop the tears slipping quietly down her cheeks.

Then Gary looked away as if showing what he felt was embarrassing.

“I… wanted to thank you for… caring about my achievements.”

He avoided her eyes, cheeks slightly pink. Speaking much quieter than usual for him.

“When we were kids… I didn’t know why I liked being here so much…” He looked down for a second. “And as I got older, I realized that… I never had to do anything to earn your approval.”

He handed her a jewelry box made of popsicle sticks, with perfectly aligned paper mosaics decorating it. She took it carefully in her hands, admiring it.

Ash looked at it and laughed.

“Gary, the idea was to make presents a kid would make.”

Gary raised an eyebrow, looking as arrogant as ever.

“I was always good at everything, even as a kid. Arts and crafts included.”

Delia laughed, and somehow Gary’s explanation felt completely believable.

“I’m sure you were.” She lowered her voice slightly, trying to catch his evasive gaze. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Finally, Ash handed her his gift.

It was a flowerpot covered in finger paint, and inside was a small Oran berry plant.

“You’ve always been there for me, even when you were tired, even when you had so much to do, and I still got to grow up with my mom by my side.”

“And I know I got really lucky.” He looked her in the eyes with sincere gratitude. “You have such a big heart… there’s room for so many people in it.”

Delia looked at all of them.

Those kids who spent entire afternoons at her house, emptied the refrigerator, and fell asleep on the couch during movies. Those children who were now young adults and had all come together to celebrate her on Mother’s Day.

“Guys…”

She was about to say something when Pikachu suddenly appeared holding a rose, and Psyduck waddled in carrying a berry he had taken from the fruit bowl simply because he had seen everyone else giving Delia presents.

“Psyduck, that’s from Delia’s fruit bowl…”

Delia laughed.

A laugh that came straight from her heart.

She took the rose and the berry, then held her arms open to everyone.

“Come here.”

She hugged the ones she could reach, and the others squeezed themselves into the hug anyway.

A tight, awkward hug on a couch that simply wasn’t big enough.

“I want you to know something. This house will always be your home. Always.” Her voice trembled slightly. “And whenever you need a mom… I’ll be here for you.”

Suddenly, Ash remembered something.

“Wait, wait! Brock sent this too!”

Ash stretched to grab an envelope that had been sitting underneath the cake.

Inside was a card written in Brock’s neat handwriting.

“Dear Delia: Thank you for always welcoming us, for taking care of us as if we were your own, and for making me feel like I can cook at your house because I want to, not because I have to. Happy Mother’s Day. — Brock.”

But that wasn’t all.

Inside were several photographs. Pictures of them as kids.

One of seven-year-old Brock standing proudly beside a Geodude. A small Tracey lying in the grass, completely focused on his sketchbook. A little eight-year-old Daisy holding a baby redhead with turquoise eyes. And a picture of Ash and Gary as children, back when they were still good friends.

And then she understood.

These children had never had anyone to give those gifts to. And they had made this day…Into something they had always wanted to have.

…

In her room, Delia looked at each of the gifts.

She imagined little Daisy making the macaroni necklace, little Misty with glitter all over her face proudly showing off the picture frame, little Tracey excited that someone was finally going to put his drawing on the fridge, little Gary pretending not to care while trying so hard, because compliments in his family had always been a luxury, and little Brock baking a cake because he wanted to, not because he had to.

And Ash… Ash had done this before. She already had several gifts from him like this.

And she felt so grateful.

From there, she could hear the laughter coming from Ash’s room, then Misty scolding them because they were being too loud and they were going to wake Delia up, then something that sounded like a thud, followed by more laughter.

The guilt she had felt that morning had been replaced by something warm, a feeling of fullness she couldn’t quite put into words.

She had had the privilege of watching her son grow up. But by opening the doors of her home, she had somehow gained many more children.

And even if she hadn’t been there for them when she wished she could have been, they were thanking her for having her now.

Not before. Now.

And Delia felt the love in every single gift.

In the simple drawing. In the glitter. In the nail polish over the macaroni. In the perfectly arranged popsicle sticks. In the finger paint. In the cake with far too many sweets. In all the little details that quietly said:

Happy Mother’s Day.