Of course, I will explain how I was able to catch Itsumi’s eye and join the club. But first, I must touch upon that terrible incident.
When the owner of a restaurant that my father had trained at in his youth retired, he asked my father to take his restaurant over and make it a branch of Kominami.
Although my father owed a great deal to this man, he wasn’t interested in his offer. It wouldn’t just be expensive to open a new restaurant; two restaurants would also be harder for my father to manage. My father firmly believed that there shouldn’t be another Kominami unless he was there to hold the knife. But he couldn’t flat-out refuse the old owner’s request. I saw that my father had no idea what to do, so I suggested: What if the new Kominami served Western cuisine?
If the new Kominami was a Western-style restaurant, my father’s guests would understand why he wasn’t overseeing the kitchen, since Western cuisine is not his specialty, And this way, he wouldn’t have to reject the original owner’s offer. My father was impressed by my idea and promptly asked me to design the layout and menu for the new Kominami. He even said that he would eventually let me manage the new restaurant, and that he would put it under my name so I would own it one day myself.
My father had finally given me more recognition than my brother. I was ecstatic.
Whether on the train to school or in between classes, the new Kominami was always on my mind. I showed my best rendition of its menu to my father’s friend, who was to be the chef at the second Kominami, and I picked out silverware to match the items on the menu. I was also set on perfecting my desserts. Cake, pudding, mousse, Bavarian cream, ice cream, tarts. What if I had takeout desserts! During those blissful days, I was bursting with ideas and let my imagination run free.
I had no idea how quickly my dreams would disappear.
One day, Itsumi Shiraishi approached me by the shoe cubbies after school.
“You’re Akane Kominami, right?” she asked.
I am rather small, so it felt like I had to look far up to see her face. Her skin looked as smooth as freshly whipped cream, and her lips glistened red as if soaked in cherry syrup. She was shockingly beautiful. The underclassmen glanced at us as they passed.
“Yup,” I answered curtly.
Most students would have probably been thrilled to be approached by Itsumi, but I wasn’t a fan of hers. In hindsight, I think my response was pretty unfriendly.
“I read your report on The Setting Sun. It was intriguing,” she complimented me.
Even though I don’t read a lot of books, the report she referred to had somehow caught the eye of Mr. Hojo, my Japanese language teacher, who had it published in the school newspaper. The report was something I had just kind of thrown together, the type of essay an older teacher would’ve scolded me for not taking the assignment seriously enough. But Mr. Hojo, who is still in his twenties, probably enjoyed the essay as much as my classmates did because he was closer to us in age.
“I like how you analyzed the main character, Kazuko, by comparing her to the modern-day single mother,” Itsumi continued. “It was very unique. I want to ask you more about your essay. Would you like to join me in the salon for some tea?”
I suddenly remembered the fabled kitchen. I wanted to see it, but I didn’t really feel like talking to Itsumi.
“No, that’s all right.”
“Why not? Please come for a visit. I just finished baking a pound cake.”
“Did you make it yourself?” At her words, a small twinge of rivalry sprouted inside me. I wanted to show off the kind of cakes I could bake.
“I did. You can’t have a book discussion without dessert. We also need to make tons of sweets so we can sell them at the school events and fund our club.”
A kitchen. A kitchen where I could make tons of desserts.
“Umm…is it gas or electric?”
“Is what?”
“The oven.”
Itsumi looked puzzled for a moment and then burst out laughing. “Haha! It’s a gas oven! You’re a funny one. No one’s ever asked me that before.”
So I accepted Itsumi’s invitation and we went to the literary salon.
When I saw it, it was the ideal kitchen. It was spacious and clean, and had L-shaped counters and an island. There were three large kitchen sinks with spray nozzle faucets. There was a silver industrial refrigerator. A stand mixer. Yeast leavening equipment. An ice cream machine.
“This is amazing…” I let out a deep sigh as I caressed the polished countertop. The cold marble. With a countertop like this, I could easily knead pie dough or even temper chocolate. Oh, what luxury!
“And here are the ovens. Do you like them?” Itsumi pointed at the three gas ovens lining the wall. Each one looked like it could take two or three 8-inch round cakes at a time.
“They’re incredible.”
I opened the door next to the ovens to discover a walk-in pantry. Flour, wheat, sugar, silver candy pearls, nuts, sticks of vanilla, canned fruits, jam, honey, colorful spices…How many kinds of desserts could I make with these? I could have just stared at the stylish packages of imported goods all day. I could have spent the whole day just sitting there.
Bowls, spatulas, whisks, and other culinary utensils lay in an orderly line. I knew that everything was top-notch because of the research I had done for my new restaurant.
“It’s fantastic. Way better than the one in my restaurant.”
“Your restaurant? Ah, you mean your family’s restaurant.”
“No, I’m going to have a restaurant of my own.”
“You will? Wow, that’s great!”
“I’m going to make lots of desserts at my restaurant. Oh, this kitchen is perfect. Definitely a good source of reference for me.”
After that, we ate Itsumi’s pound cake while we chatted about novelist Osamu Dazai, which was the figurative “icing on the cake.” Itsumi’s cake wasn’t bad, either, though I suppose anyone could make something tasty with the kind of kitchen, ingredients, and equipment that she had at her disposal.
We had so much fun talking that we lost track of the time.
“Oh, no. It’s so late!” Itsumi exclaimed, looking at her watch. We hadn’t realized that it was already past ten. “I’m sorry for keeping you this late. I’ll have my driver take you home.”
“No, it’s okay. I can take the train.”
“You can’t. It’s too dark. Besides, I know how to get to Kominami from here.”
With that, Itsumi and I were on our way to my house.
We also talked a lot in the car. Despite having avoided her in the past, I found my shoulders had relaxed, and I was having a normal conversation with her. She was upbeat and friendly, and I finally understood why she was so popular.
We drove past the downtown area and were almost close enough to see Kominami.
Just then, a flash of deep crimson flickered ahead of us in the night sky.
Chills ran down my spine. I heard the sirens of approaching fire trucks. Curious onlookers were rushing to the scene. Policemen outside were guiding traffic.
Mr. Muro, Itsumi’s driver, rolled down his car window.
“Sir, what’s going on?” he asked a policeman.
“There’s a fire in the restaurant ahead.”
The moment I heard that, I leapt from the car. I ran and pushed my way through the crowd—only to find Kominami completely engulfed in flames.
My father’s whole world. My father’s entire life burned down right before my eyes. I frantically looked around and caught a glimpse of my parents and brother gazing at the fire in a daze. The bright red flames illuminated my father’s face, outlining the wrinkles and spots and the bags that hung under his eyes. He looked so small and helpless in front of the massive, all-consuming blaze. I found myself unable to call out to him. I shrank back into the crowd, watching him from afar.
The fire burned for hours, destroying everything my father had built along with it.