THE weekend following my exams, Mom, Koro, and I visited Ayako as promised. Towada was out, which seemed to greatly disappoint Mom. I wasn’t sure why she was so interested in a boy the same age as her daughter, but nice going, Towada! I feel like I owe you one.
I stepped into Ayako’s storybook house for the first time, and the interior was—well—exactly how one would expect it to look. Mom and I must have shared the same sentiment as our eyes danced around, taking in every corner of Ayako’s home without reservation. The entranceway jutted out slightly from the rest of the house, and a skylight ushered plentiful sunshine into the compact foyer. A small display of cosmos, the same from the garden, adorned the top of her shoe cabinet. We passed through a narrow corridor interspersed with small picture frames to reach the largest area of the house—a combined kitchen and dining room.
The kitchen was noticeably uncluttered. I spotted a dish rack, a kettle—and that was all. I’d assumed that someone who worked for a chef would have professional-looking tools strewn about everywhere, and clearly I was wrong. No ladle lying abandoned, no stray spatula to be found, the space was immaculate. A large sink nestled in the spacious countertop, and right above it was a window offering a gorgeous view outside as one prepped in the kitchen. Wow.
In the dining area, a polished wood-grain table sat center stage, surrounded by four chairs although it was easily large enough to accommodate six. Complementing the table was a matching wooden dish cabinet. All in all, the interior design was one of timeless beauty.
Glass-inlaid koshido sliding doors partitioned the dining area from a cozy living room that felt more like an extension of the dining space than a separate room. Beyond, through another pair of sliding doors, I spied the porch where I’d intruded previously. Ayako ushered us into the living room, and first to hit my eye was the books—the sheer number of books.
Towering above a dark hardwood floor and a crimson kilim rug was a massive bookcase that occupied an entire wall. Its shelves were crammed with complex-looking tomes and books in foreign languages, or so I inferred from the non-Japanese lettering on the spines. A high-backed tweed sofa was the next biggest object in the room, and beside it was a floor lamp equipped with an additional reading light. A small end table bounded one side of the sofa, topped by a smattering of yet more volumes. The space was more reading room than living room. I could almost picture Ayako with a steaming hot mug in hand sinking into the plush couch cushions with a good book.
Ayako gestured for us to sit on the sofa. Once seated, I presented my healing knee. She released a sigh of relief, and I, glad that we could finally put the episode behind us, exhaled one of my own. She then set about making us some tea.
“Your home and garden are absolutely beautiful,” my mother said.
“Thank you,” Ayako replied. “It’s my late husband’s taste. I like it too, of course, but the house, the furniture—everything’s getting older, and all the upkeep is getting to me.”
I half listened to their conversation as my gaze roved across the living room—something was conspicuously absent. “There’s no TV?” I mumbled. Where a TV would usually reside was instead a rectangular object with a glass lid. Inside rested a black disk. I’d seen such a contraption at Grandma’s house before—it was a record player.
“I have a small TV in my bedroom, but my days are so hectic I barely get a chance to watch,” Ayako answered. “Besides, in this day and age it’s all about the computer, isn’t it?” She indicated a laptop next to the record player. She further explained that she hadn’t bothered to replace the living room TV when the previous one broke.
While I didn’t watch TV much either and could certainly see her point, our living room was nonetheless dominated by a large screen; the lack of one probably contributed to the room’s study-like air. I glanced again at the bookcase. In addition to books, the shelves were dotted with picture frames and little decorations. A photograph near eye level of an older man caught my attention. A small coffee mug and a candle sat next to it. The man had to be Ayako’s late husband.
My gaze drifted toward the living room window and past its lace curtains to the porch outside. The large tree in the yard was visible, its branches swaying faintly as the little golden bells glimmered—silent—under the midday sun. I could almost still hear their beautiful peal. Though they’d been at a distance, they’d rung with a striking clarity as though they’d been right beside my ear. I wouldn’t have minded hearing that vivid sound again, but it would get tiring for both Ayako and her neighbors if the bells clamored nonstop. They were likely made to chime in nothing short of a strong gust.
As I stared outside in a daze, the conversation moved on to Ayako’s place of work. “Takanori guest hosts special workshops for Christmas and Valentine’s, but apart from that it’s a normal cooking class. His father is also quite famous, you know?”
Even dreamboat patissier Takanori Endou is just Takanori in Ayako’s eyes, huh? The casual way she spoke about him was like how one would discuss a family friend. They had to be close then.
“His father is Tadashi Endou, the French cuisine chef, right?” probed Mom.
“My, you knew? How wonderful.”
Apparently, Tadashi Endou had been a successful restauranteur until he sustained an injury a few years back that affected his ability to stand and work for long hours. He stepped away from the business, leaving the restaurant to his daughter and son-in-law while he focused on authoring cookbooks and managing his cooking class. Given that his son was a popular pastry chef, the whole family seemed to be chefs.