Page 39 of A Serving of Hope

“Funny,” said Koishi, leaning in for a closer look. “It looks sort of familiar.”

“I shouldn’t think so. It’s an original design.”

“Right. Sorry.” Koishi still seemed doubtful, but caught Nagare’s stern gaze.

“Apologies,” he said, “my daughter has a habit of speaking out of turn. Now, we’ll just get everything set up.” Nagare set a hand on Koishi’s shoulder and guided her into the kitchen.

Two weeks had passed, and Saki’s feelings were unchanged. She’d come here on a whim in the first place and was hardly expecting an epiphany. In fact, she was beginning to wonder what the point of all this could possibly be.

“Fine with just tea today?” asked Koishi, emerging from the kitchen with a blue-and-white Tobe teapot and yellow-glazed Seto teacup. “Or can I get you a drink?”

A faint smile tugged at Saki’s mouth. “I’m tempted, but yes, I’ll stick to tea.”

“Ready?” asked Nagare, who had arrived behind Saki with a silver tray.

She turned around. For the briefest of instants, she could have sworn it was her grandmother standing there with the tray.

“These are the noodles your grandmother, Kaneko Sadaoka, used to make you.”

Saki’s eyes went straight to the shallow bowl on the tray.

“Grandma…” she murmured. The word had slipped unbidden from her lips.

—

“Thank you for coming all this way, Saki. It’s been so long! My, how you’ve grown…”

Saki was sitting in front of a soup bowl decorated with red flowers. In it was a large portion of her grandmother’s hiyashi-chuka.

“Sorry not to have come sooner, Grandma.”

“It’s all right, dear. Don’t trouble yourself about that—just eat. I made your favorite noodles.”

Kaneko ladled a generous amount of the chilled broth over the noodles. Saki pressed her palms together, said itadakimasu, and got started.

“Don’t eat too fast,” her grandmother said tenderly, smiling down at her. “They’ll get stuck in your throat!”

“Mm-hm…Grandma, it’s so tasty.”

“Nothing makes me happier than hearing you say that, Saki.”

“Grandma, can I have more egg?”

“Of course, dear. I knew you’d ask. I made extra since you like it so much.” Kaneko happily piled more of the shredded omelet onto the noodles.

“Thanks, Grandma. I love it!”

“It’s very sweet of you to say that. And I love you.”

—

Saki worked her way through the noodles in silence.

The boiled chicken had a pleasant saltiness. The shredded omelet was soft and fluffy, the shiitake had been sweet-simmered, and it was all topped with flakes of nori. For all that her grandmother had called it hiyashi-chuka, it had almost none of the tangy sourness associated with that dish. Instead, it was the gentle flavor of dashi stock that prevailed. It was almost like eating a chilled bowl of ochazuke. Saki’s chopsticks kept moving.

“Well? Did we get it right?”

Peering down at her was not Kaneko, but Nagare.