Her chest felt tight as she swallowed.
Her mother could cook well, but she never made croquettes herself. Was she just being lazy? If she was, why didn’t Akemi’s grandmother ever say anything? Why didn’t her father, for that matter? Akemi’s childhood was far, far behind her, and yet she still hated croquettes, even though she could eat them now. So where was this feeling of nostalgia coming from?
“Your parents must be in their forties by now, right?” asked Jinya, finally speaking up. His seemingly random question was asked with great calm, which made him feel worldly all of a sudden. “Croquettes are a cheap dish now, but they used to be plenty expensive in the past. They were a luxury eaten only in Western restaurants, up there with pork cutlet and hamburger steak.”
“Really?”
“Really. I think it was around the start of the Showa era that they became a common side dish. There was even this famous shop that had customers lined up out the door for their croquettes. Me and Kimiko, this acquaintance of mine, wanted to try it, so we lined up ourselves once. I’m sure your parents remember that era, though I’ve never met them myself,” Jinya added with a grin. “It may be a bland side dish to you, but your parents probably think of it as a nostalgic treat. Who knows, they might’ve even stood in line for it together themselves a long time ago.”
“…You think so?”
“I have no idea. Again, I don’t know your parents; I’m just talking about what-ifs here. But just as you have your own story, your mother has one too. Maybe there’s something hidden behind that demeanor of hers you hate. Something you couldn’t see when you were young.”
There was a limit to how much one person can know. No matter how sagacious or studious someone was, they can only see the world they see. Perhaps there was something more to the way Akemi’s mother always tried to play the role of a good wife and mother. Perhaps there was something more to the croquettes they always ate. Who could say?
“Of course, maybe I’m wrong and she just bought ready-made croquettes to save time,” he said.
“What the heck?” Akemi was a bit exasperated by his noncommittal conclusion.
Then he started to eat, slathering his croquettes in sauce and stuffing his cheeks with it and rice. Though his expression was as flat as ever, he seemed to be greatly enjoying himself.
“Pfft, ha ha. Aren’t you using a bit too much sauce?” she said.
“You think so? The son of that acquaintance I mentioned says croquettes taste better like this. He claims it pairs extra well with the rice this way.”
“The heck? That’s so lame.”
“Don’t say that. It may be lame to you, but it’s a nostalgic memory to me.”
She saw how he ate up the now-soggy croquettes and thought to herself: Oh, so that’s how it is. Even something as seemingly trivial as this had something dear behind it. But she hadn’t even tried to understand what that might have been for her mother before she ran away from home.
Akemi exhaled a sigh and murmured. “A nostalgic memory, huh… Maybe my mother has some of her own from before she became my mother.”
Jinya didn’t stop eating and replied like he was just making small talk. “I’m sure she does. Memories of worrying when she was young, memories of being happy on all-too-ordinary days, and memories of falling in love too, I’m sure. Most mothers were once normal girls, and becoming a parent doesn’t change that fact.”
“I never thought of that when I was young. That’s why I could only fault her for the way she was. I even ran away from home to become a sex worker. Ah… What a terrible daughter I’ve been.”
The truth was, Akemi knew her mother only got angry at her for wanting to be a sex worker because she was worried. But out of a desire to rebel against her mother, she ran away and became one anyway. If she had just stopped and listened to her mother a little then, maybe she would never have come to the Dove District.
“I disagree,” Jinya said. “You managed to eat the croquette you said you hate, didn’t you? Children who hate certain vegetables one day grow up and discover they can eat them. Some even come to like the sharpness of things like wasabi and ginger. Tastes change as one becomes an adult, but not all change has to be dramatic. It takes time to accept the things one hates.”
Children became less picky with time. Similarly, the day might just eventually come when one found something precious that had been overlooked, and the unbearable past became bearable.
“You just needed a bit more time to eat croquettes and confront the thing you overlooked in your past. I’m sure that, one day, you’ll look back on all this as a pleasant memory too.”
Her time in this place was necessary, and so she didn’t need to hate herself for what she had become.
Akemi hung her head after she heard Jinya’s ordinary words of comfort. He continued to eat like nothing had happened, so she followed suit and gingerly took another bite.
“Well? How is it?” he asked, a bit mean-spiritedly.
This was all just idle chatter made during a meal. None of this would change anything. She still hated croquettes. She had still hurt her mother. She still became a sex worker. She didn’t know if she could accept her mother even if she did confront her past—she didn’t even know if her family would accept her. Even so, she felt some of her lingering regrets clear away.
“Gross,” she answered, a broad smile on her face.
Jinya sighed with relief; he’d hoped for that exact reaction.