The digital clock on my bedside table read six thirty AM.
I shifted slightly, shivering as the cold morning air seeped under my duvet. It was still dark outside. We were approaching the winter solstice, and it would be another fifteen minutes before sunrise.
The winter solstice is the day when the sun is at its lowest as it peaks in the south. It peeps out from the east, wanders across the sky near the ground, then slips back below the horizon.
Because of that, the night was long, and the dawn still distant.
I hated getting up while it was dark. Mumbling to myself under the covers, I considered my plans for the day.
The following day would mark a week since my birthday. This time, we’d be celebrating Ayase’s.
She’d asked for a nice soap to use in the bath as her present. I did some research and found a store right here in Shibuya that specialized in such items, and I decided to buy her something fancy from there.
I was busy with prep school and my part-time job and didn’t have a lot of time to go shopping, but since the soap shop was located close to my prep school, I decided to head there between lectures today. I worked out a schedule in my mind.
Lately, I’d been considering something else as well.
After receiving unexpected gifts from so many people and discovering how enjoyable they could be, I’d begun to consider adding something like that to my own gift. According to The Seven Laws for Winning Your True Love’s Heart, surprises spiced up a person’s love life, though I still wasn’t sure if I should believe what the book said.
Of course, I didn’t want a surprise that would annoy her. I wanted something that would give her a pleasant thrill—something that wasn’t just meant to satisfy me.
Maybe I should give her the present I promised but with some unexpected extra touch…
Telling myself it was my day off, I lay idly in bed, thinking things over. After a while, however, an electronic beep urged me to get up, and I boldly pushed off the covers.
The sun was already fully up. I got dressed and went out into the living room. Dad was off today, and Akiko had just returned from work. The two of them were relaxing on the sofa. There was no sign of Ayase.
“Saki already ate,” said Akiko. “She’s in her room.”
I stopped her from getting up, saying I could manage breakfast on my own. The food was already set out on the table, waiting for me. All that was missing was the rice, still in the cooker, and the miso soup in the pot on the stove.
I warmed up the soup and spooned some rice into a bowl. The main dish was pan-fried salmon meunière. I peeled off the aluminum foil to reveal the pink flesh, which was still slightly warm. Just as I was reaching for the soy sauce, however, I remembered my conversation with Ayase the night before, when we were eating our fried dumplings.
I sampled the salmon. It’s sweet. That was the first thing I noticed. But the sweetness didn’t just come from the butter. It was seasoned with only salt and pepper, and the lemon wedge placed on top gave it a slight sour note I could just taste on the tip of my tongue. I wondered if the lighter seasoning made it easier to distinguish the flavors.
I’d thought I was used to eating salmon, but I’d never tasted it like this. It was delicious, but that also frustrated me a little. I was left with a strange feeling.
Ayase and Akiko’s policy seemed to be to use a light amount of salt and pepper on their food, then leave various other seasonings on a rack at the center of table. That way, each person could change the flavor as they liked.
This was another way we coordinated and compromised. Neither side of our family forced their preferences on the other.
I reached for the soy sauce on the rack and drizzled it onto a small dish, then dipped my second bite of salmon in it. It tasted the way it usually did. This is good, too.
“Hmm. What does this mean…?”
Maybe I just like soy sauce.
It was Saturday morning, and I was already pondering the philosophical nature of breakfast seasonings.
“…Yuuta?”
My swirling thoughts were interrupted by a voice. Dad had called my name. I left the realm of philosophy and turned toward the living room.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
“Oh, were you lost in thought?”
“Well… Yeah, a little. What is it?”
If I told him I was thinking deeply about the nature of salt and pepper versus soy sauce, he probably wouldn’t know what to say.
“I’d like us to visit my hometown again this year. I hope that’s all right with you.”
“Sure… I don’t mind.”
I reflexively looked at Akiko, but my stepmother nodded with a smile. They must have discussed it ahead of time.
“I’ve already told Saki. You’re the last one to hear, Yuuta. Are you sure you don’t have plans?”
“Oh, no, I’m good,” I said, quickly nodding.
Dad was born and raised in Nagano. He’d gone to college in Tokyo and remained here ever since. His family back in Nagano had a tradition of gathering together around New Year’s, and I’d gone along most years since I was a kid.
Back when I was in elementary school, my birth mother would come, too. But even when she did, she never seemed to open up to Dad’s relatives. She’d often complain about them on the train ride home, which made me uncomfortable. I got along decently with my cousins, and her displeasure would cast a shadow over the many fun memories I’d just made.
“Great. We can all go together, then,” Akiko said, smiling brightly. That must mean Ayase had agreed as well.
Then something occurred to me. “Don’t you want to see your own family?”
These days, the old custom of visiting your family home during Obon and New Year’s was beginning to die out in Japan. But I had a feeling that parents still wanted to see their children’s faces at least once a year, even if they lived far away.
Akiko flashed me a wry smile. “My relatives like to do as they please, so we don’t usually hold gatherings or anything. But I might still go back next year during Obon.”
Akiko and Dad had just started their new life together, and she said they’d been too busy to think about visiting her folks this year.
“But I’m finally over the busy stretch at work,” Dad declared. “I should be able to take it easy come New Year’s.”
Akiko added, “I was able to take time off work from the twenty-ninth of December through the fifth of January.”
Since she worked at a bar in Shibuya, I figured customers would be coming throughout the holidays, but maybe I was wrong.
“I’m always working,” she said, “so the least they can do is let me take off over the holidays once in a while.”
Akiko seemed to have read my mind. I guess my thoughts had been written all over my face.