Adam got up earlier than the others. The goulash still sat in his gut like a concrete foundation. He finally pushed himself out of bed, sat on the edge for a moment, and just breathed. The house was still quiet. Matúš and Jonáš were asleep. Adam saw that as an advantage. He wanted to shower before they came downstairs. The bathroom was small and narrow, and after yesterday he wasn’t in the mood for any more brotherly comments about how he barely fit in the shower. In the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror. Looking back at him was a big, broad-shouldered, large-eared man. His overstuffed gut. He grabbed it with both hands and gave it a slight shake. He smiled. Under the mirror cabinet, he spotted the scale. He nudged it closer with his foot and stepped on. The scale beeped. Three numbers lit up on the display. 134 kilograms. Adam stood there in silence, perfectly still. Just on Monday, he had been 130. He knew that exactly because he weighed himself every Monday morning out of habit. One hundred thirty on Monday. One hundred thirty-four on Saturday morning. After the goulash. After the bread. After the spread. After a night during which three grown men had eaten nearly eight liters of goulash. Without any trouble. Adam looked back at himself in the mirror, at his stomach, and let out an ironic breath. “Fantastic…”
He wanted to laugh, but when he inhaled, his belly pressed back unpleasantly. He turned toward the shower. The shower stall was old, corner-mounted, and designed back when nobody in this house imagined that three grown sons would one day grow to these proportions. Adam slid the door open and carefully stepped inside. Barely. His stomach brushed one wall, his shoulder rubbed the other, and his backside bumped the glass behind him. When he tried to pull the door shut, he first had to slowly turn sideways. Even that was a problem. His belly kept pressing against the wall in front of him, and every movement sent his elbows into the glass.
Eventually he managed to close the door, but only a tiny amount of free space remained. Every turn of his body required several small, careful adjustments. Turning on the water turned out to be surprisingly difficult. Adam sucked in his stomach, stretched out an arm, and only reached the controls on the second try. Once the water finally started running, he stood there for a moment. The hot shower helped at first. It loosened his neck, shoulders, and back. Adam dried his face with a towel and looked at the scale one more time. 134. He shoved it back under the cabinet with his foot. Adam walked into the kitchen and started cleaning up. Adam opened the dishwasher. Adam muttered to himself. “One hundred thirty-four.” The number was still stuck in his head. He started loading bowls into the dishwasher. One after another. Large ceramic bowls, each with a greasy red ring around the edge. Whenever he reached across the table for them, his stomach pulled him forward. He widened his stance. One hand braced himself while the other gathered dishes.
The stairs creaked overhead. Slowly. Heavily. Adam didn’t even turn around. From the rhythm alone, he knew it wasn’t Matúš. Matúš would have made more noise and more comments. This was Jonáš. Slightly heavier after yesterday’s goulash. Jonáš came down barefoot, wearing only sweatpants. His face still looked sleepy, his hair was messy, and dried stains covered his stomach from the bowl he had rested there while eating goulash the night before, as if it had been a convenient side table. He didn’t look like someone who had slept well. He looked like someone who had spent the entire night digesting his own decisions from the previous evening. He stopped in the doorway. For a moment, he just watched Adam standing at the dishwasher, breathing heavily, holding a bowl, his stomach resting against the open dishwasher door.
“You already started fighting the kitchen?” Adam placed the bowl into the lower rack and slowly straightened up. “Someone has to.” Jonáš walked in. He crossed to the island and, without hesitation, planted his still-full gut against it. His large belly settled onto the wooden edge. Jonáš exhaled. Physically. Like a man who had finally found support. He looked at the empty pot beside the stove. “Did we really eat all of it?” Jonáš asked. Adam didn’t answer right away. He picked up another bowl from the table, leaving behind a dried red circle of goulash residue. “Almost all of it,” Adam replied. Jonáš frowned.
“Almost eight liters,” Adam answered, leaning his palms against the counter.
“For three people, that’s impressive.”
“Impressive!” Adam agreed.
“Jonáš, three grown men ate almost eight liters of goulash with bread, and that doesn’t even include the huge appetizer.”
Jonáš placed both hands on his stomach. It was large, tight, and swollen from food. In the morning light, it looked even more massive. Heavy, full, impossible to ignore. He gently rubbed it with both hands.
“As far as I can tell, I’ve got the biggest belly out of all of us.”
Adam stopped loading dishes. “Based on what?”
“Based on everything.” Jonáš remained standing by the island and looked down at his stomach so tenderly that it almost felt pathetic. “Just look at me.” He pressed his stomach more firmly against the island and continued. “Matúš has a big one. You do too. Mine is the widest. That’s the difference.”
“I weighed myself this morning,” Adam said.
Jonáš immediately looked up. “How much?” Adam froze. He shouldn’t have said it. Jonáš pushed himself off the island. Suddenly he was fully awake.
“How much?” Jonáš repeated.
Adam stayed silent for a moment. Then he placed a bowl into the dishwasher. “One thirty-four.”
“On Monday I was one thirty. I always weigh myself on Mondays.”
“Four kilos.” A smile appeared on Jonáš’s face.
“The last time I weighed myself was a month ago.”
Adam looked at him. “And?”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “A month ago?”
“A month ago.” For a moment, both of them looked at Jonáš’s stomach.
Jonáš glanced toward the bathroom. “Does that scale still work?”
Adam remembered the number 134 and how he had shoved the scale back under the cabinet with his foot. “It works.”
Jonáš slowly pushed himself away from the island. He took a step toward the bathroom. His stomach shifted heavily forward as he walked, and he instinctively supported it with one hand. Adam watched him.
“You’re really doing this?”
Jonáš stopped in front of the bathroom door. “If I’m claiming I have the biggest belly, I need evidence and data.”
Adam rubbed a tired hand across his face. “Fantastic. The family reunites after ten years, and the first serious research project is comparing stomachs.”
Adam heard Jonáš pull the scale out with his foot. Then silence. A moment later came a short beep. The number stabilized. Jonáš looked down at the display. 153 kilograms. The last time he had weighed himself was a month ago. Back then he had been 140. That had already been enough. Even then, he knew he was heavier than he admitted to other people. But now a new number glowed in front of him. One fifty-three. He didn’t feel shock. And that worried him. Then came the feeling he didn’t want to admit. The number excited him. It wasn’t just a result. It was confirmation of something he had carried inside himself for a long time. A secret he had never told anyone. Not even Matúš. Especially not Adam.
Jonáš knew he wasn’t just a guy who liked food. He knew that food, fullness, his own weight, and the sight of his growing stomach triggered something stronger, more personal, and more dangerous inside him.
That word had been coded into him for years. Ever since childhood, when he watched his father and his uncle eat with such enthusiasm. Now he knew that strange peace that came after completely stuffing himself. He knew the secret rush of pride when he ate more than he should. He knew that moment of ecstasy when he realized how much he could eat past the limit. Yesterday he had felt it. Inner ecstasy. In front of his brothers he acted calm. Inside, he had been burning. Part of him wanted to be afraid. Another part was smiling.
From the kitchen Adam called out: “Well?”
“I’m not sure you want to hear it,” Jonáš called back from the bathroom.
He took a breath and returned to the kitchen. He acted calm, but it wasn’t convincing. His eyes were too alive. He wasn’t scared. If anything, he seemed strangely energized, as if he had seen more than a number in that bathroom. As if he had seen proof of something he had suspected all along.
Adam stayed silent for a moment. “One fifty-three,” Adam repeated. Jonáš nodded. Adam looked him over and started doing the math.
“A month ago you were one forty.”
“I was,” Jonáš confirmed.
Adam leaned against the counter. “Not ‘I guess.’ Thirteen.” The kitchen fell silent.
“Wait. How much did you actually eat yesterday?” Jonáš looked up.
“There were almost eight liters of goulash.” Adam pointed to himself and counted on his fingers. “I had about two liters. Maybe a little more, but not much. Four big bowls.” He pointed toward the stairs. “Matúš too. He put on a show, but he also had about four bowls. Around two liters. Together that’s four liters. Maybe four and a half if I’m being generous.” He looked at Jonáš. “And the pot was almost empty.” Jonáš slowly ran a hand across his stomach. Adam stared at him.
“Jonáš, how many did you have? Six bowls?”
Jonáš looked away. Adam narrowed his eyes. “Seven?” Jonáš stayed silent.
Jonáš cleared his throat. “I’m not exactly sure.”
Jonáš leaned harder against the island. His stomach spread against the edge, and he realized how naturally the support came to him. At the same time, there was something secret about it. Something that felt dangerously good.
Adam watched him. “How many?” Jonáš took a breath.
“Big bowls?” Adam asked in disbelief.
“Plus bread,” Jonáš added quietly.
“Yeah, plus bread. I haven’t even gotten to the bread yet.”
Jonáš shrugged, but there was no indifference in it. More an attempt to save face.
“No. You ate consistently,” Adam replied.
That was accurate. Jonáš knew it. Last night he hadn’t eaten like someone who simply loved the taste. He had eaten like someone exploring a boundary. Bowl after bowl. The point where the body said enough, but somewhere inside him another quiet yes kept answering. Adam looked at his stomach. “And that’s why it’s one fifty-three." Jonáš lowered his gaze. Even looking at his gut, he could feel and see its weight and size. And he felt the other thing too. The secret excitement. But it was starting to become visible. His body was revealing something he had kept hidden for years. Yesterday’s ecstasy wasn’t just in his head anymore. It had volume. It had liters. It had bowls. It had the number 153 on a scale.
Adam studied him. “You weren’t just hungry yesterday.”
Jonáš looked up. “What do you mean?”
Adam let a few seconds of silence hang between them. He was choosing his words. Jonáš stood by the island with both hands resting on his stomach. He looked guilty. But not only guilty. There was something else there. Something strange. Tense. Hidden. Like a man waiting to see whether someone would discover him, while at the same time fearing that if nobody did, he would remain alone with it forever. Adam saw it. He walked over to the island. He stood beside Jonáš and leaned against it too. His own stomach settled heavily onto the wooden edge next to Jonáš’s. At that moment, the difference was obvious. Jonáš was bigger. His wide belly spilled outward like dough. It took up more space on the island. Adam placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t judgment. It was the firm intervention of someone watching another person start to slide somewhere dangerous.
“Are you eating your feelings?” Adam asked.
Jonáš smiled at first, but the smile disappeared quickly. “That’s your diagnosis?”
“After ten years, you’re going to psychoanalyze me in the kitchen first thing in the morning?”
Jonáš turned away. Adam didn’t remove his hand.
“You didn’t eat normally yesterday. Not like a hungry man. Not like someone who loves Mom’s goulash. You ate differently.”
Jonáš pressed his lips together. He looked at the empty pot. Then at his stomach, resting against the island like evidence that couldn’t be ignored.
“I’m not sure you want to hear it,” Jonáš said quietly. His stomach shifted forward as he spoke. Adam’s hand remained firm on his shoulder. “I’m not eating my feelings the way you think.”
Jonáš was silent for a moment. Then he told the truth. “I don’t always want to stop the problem.” He continued more slowly. “It’s not just stress. It’s not just loneliness. It’s not just the fact that I stayed away from home for ten years and then found myself back in a kitchen that smells like Mom. That would be simple.” He looked at Adam. Adam nodded for him to continue.
“I like the feeling.” Adam said nothing. “Fullness. Weight. Eating more than I should. My body getting bigger. Being able to see it.”The words came out with difficulty, but once they started, they couldn’t be pushed back. “Yesterday, when we were eating the goulash, I was hungry. I enjoyed the taste. And then something else came.” He stopped. It wasn’t easy to say.
“Ecstasy.” The word sounded too exposed in the kitchen. “I know how that sounds.” Jonáš swallowed. “When I saw that I could have another bowl. When I felt completely full but realized there was still room for more, it was powerful.” Adam squeezed his shoulder a little tighter. “And the 153?” Adam asked.
Jonáš lowered his eyes. “It turned me on.”
Adam didn’t comment. He listened. “I’m not proud of it. But I can’t honestly say it scared me either. That would be a lie. When I saw that number, part of me should have been terrified. And part of me was. But another part…” He didn’t finish. Adam finished for him. “Wanted more.” Jonáš closed his eyes. “Yes.” The silence was heavy, but finally clean.
Adam looked ahead. At the old kitchen. At their mother’s notebook on the counter. At the place where they had laughed the night before until they could barely stand up. Then he looked back at Jonáš.
“So the question isn’t whether you can stop eating. The question is whether you want to stop.”
Jonáš looked at him. After a moment he said: “I don’t know.”
Upstairs, a bed creaked again. Matúš. Adam glanced toward the stairs. “We’re not telling him yet.” Jonáš nodded immediately. “Please.”
“But this conversation isn’t over.”
Adam turned more fully toward him. Both men stood at the island, their stomachs side by side, two heavy, ridiculous, yet suddenly very serious reminders that sometimes the body tells the truth before the person does.
“Tonight we cook for ourselves, not for an army,” Adam said.
Jonáš looked at their mother’s notebook.
“Dad’s letter says we’re supposed to cook from Mom’s recipes.”
“Dad’s letter doesn’t say we have to destroy ourselves.”
Jonáš said nothing. Adam continued more firmly. “And it definitely doesn’t say you should finish yourself off.”
The words hit home. Jonáš pulled away from the island slightly. Not because he was angry. Because the truth had gotten too close.
“You don’t know what it’s like.”
Adam looked down at his own stomach. “You think so?” Jonáš fell silent.
“I may not have your secret. But I spent years stuffing myself too when I didn’t know what to do with an empty house. The only difference is that you get a spark from it.” Jonáš looked at him differently. For the first time not as an older brother, but as a man who had been left alone with his own struggle and had paid his own price for it.
From upstairs came Matúš’s voice: “I hope somebody’s making breakfast!”
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