For a moment, I didn’t realize he was addressing me. As the compliment sank in, I felt my face heat. “I, um, I think it only turned out as good as it did because of your guidance…and the beautiful garnishes you made…”
“Oh? And here I was under the impression you were here because you wanted me to take you under my wing as my pastry chef apprentice.”
“Me? Oh, no, I couldn’t…” I mumbled bashfully. Is he saying I’m good at this? My cheeks burned.
“For what it’s worth, I think you have what it takes. But I guess there’s no need to rush. You’re only in middle school, so you still have plenty of time to figure things out.”
His words caught me off guard, particularly there’s no need to rush. Parent-teacher conferences had occurred earlier that month. I was about to enter my final year of junior high, and high school entrance exams loomed on the horizon. And although our school didn’t segregate students based on grades or future leanings, I still had to decide which high schools to apply to.
To be honest, the choice was overwhelming. I’d been a decent B student for as long as I could remember, and the sheer number of high schools open to my consideration was formidable. Sure, some were automatically eliminated based on academics or tuition, but even just amid schools within biking distance, I had dozens of options. If we broadened the selection to institutions reachable by train, those dozens became hundreds of public and private schools, each unique in its curriculum and reputation.
To make matters even more complicated, the student guidance counselor had advised me to consider college and beyond when choosing a high school, concluding the conversation by saying high school and college were just milestones, checkpoints in life’s grand narrative. Okay, that was probably true, but checkpoints to what, exactly? What kind of adult did I aspire to become? How could I possibly know what I wanted to be in the future when I didn’t know who I wanted to be currently?
Everyone was always saying, “Be yourself,” but what did that actually mean? Which “self”? I had a sense of who I was, but didn’t everyone else as well? Which “me” were they talking about? The “me” of my conception or the “me” as others viewed me? You couldn’t convince me the two were the same people.
What do I want to do?
What should I do?
Those were deeply personal questions, so why was I, their subject, the most perplexed by them? Such doubts, like a frigid gust of wind, brushed against my chest whenever the topic arose, inducing only dread.
At the parent-teacher conference, I’d picked two fairly innocuous schools just to satisfy the counselor. Unable to confront my future past that step, I’d stared blankly through the window at the barren cherry trees instead of watching the counselor fill out the rest of the worksheet. That anxiety was still fresh in my mind, so Takanori’s statement touched me profoundly. “Do I really…have that much time?” I mumbled.
He appeared perplexed. “Why not? You’re still in middle school, aren’t you? I wasn’t thinking about anything at your age.”
“You didn’t always want to be a pastry chef?” I asked.
He chuckled again. “Nope, not at all. I made that decision in high school—in my third year, no less. Shocked everyone. Dad’s restaurant was already going to my sister, and everyone expected me to go to college, so.”
“Really…” What an unexpected revelation. I had assumed Takanori had been chasing a lifelong dream.
“When it comes to the future, I believe as long as you’re putting in the effort to do your best in the present, things will work out. Especially when you don’t know what you want to do yet, it’s best to keep your options open. Mind you, academics may not matter in my field, but there’s no harm in keeping up, right?”
“You mean like going to high school and college?” I asked.
“That too,” he replied, crouching to meet my gaze. “You know, a good buddy of mine thought he was going be a teacher. He even got his teaching certificate and everything but ended up working on a farm without ever stepping foot in a single classroom. Another friend of mine landed a cushy job at a reputable company only to quit and start roasting coffee out of his garage. Does that make all their previous effort a waste of time? No, of course not. What matters isn’t so much what we do, but rather that we’re doing something, you know?”
His words struck something deep inside me. Was he saying it was okay to feel lost, to wander? What the heck, why are my eyes starting to water?
“Hmm. Was that too preachy?” he mused after a beat. “What do you think, Ayako, did I sound like an adult just now?” He blushed faintly and averted his gaze, sheepishly running a hand through his hair.
“You did up until you ruined it with that,” she replied with another smile. She turned to me. “Haruka, want to know something crazy about this cooking class assistant over here?”
“What is it?” I asked, curious.
“I hardly cooked a single thing until I got married. In fact, I’d never set foot in a kitchen.”
What? No way. That was unbelievable, but Ayako’s warm smile told me she was wholly serious.
“That’s true,” affirmed Takanori. “When she first came to my dad, she was awful—even worse than grade-school me. She couldn’t even peel an apple.”
“I’d like to see you do any better your first time! But it’s true. Kaoru and Chef Endou taught me a lot.”
“Really…?” My surprise drained the tears welling in my eyes. The revelation turned my impression of Ayako entirely on its head.
✦ ✦ ✦
A few days later, I stood frozen in my room, studying my bed. I stared longingly at my favorite moss-green covers. They were flannel, warm, and inviting—the ideal partner for frosty winter mornings when one wanted nothing more than to stay in the realm of dreams.
…Or at least, I would’ve been if not for the colossal mound of clothes piled atop them, obscuring every square inch of that enticing bedspread. Surveying the mess, I heaved a deep sigh. I’d ransacked the entirety of my closet and dresser and still hadn’t found anything to wear. How can this be?
I glanced at the full-length mirror on my closet door. There I was, clad in my school uniform. I’d just gotten home and was due to head over to Ayako’s for Christmas dinner. Only I, Ayako, and Towada would be in attendance—and Koro and the oaties, of course.
We would merely cook and then eat. I didn’t need to dress up or wear any fancy attire—not that I owned any fancy clothing in the first place—so why was I still there? All I had to do was select something other than my uniform, literally anything, and I couldn’t decide. Even my favorite jersey-knit top seemed inadequate.
I checked the clock and sighed again. I had to leave soon. Ugh, what is wrong with me; this shouldn’t be this hard.
In the end, I snatched the sweater I initially chose at the start of the whole ordeal and quickly pulled it on, not daring to steal a glance at the mirror as I hurried out of my room.