Page 10 of A Serving of Hope

“That’s right. Taken the very day you left for Tokyo.”

“I remember joking that I might never come back,” said Kenichi, smiling softly. “We both look a little anxious, don’t we?”

“It’s a lovely photo,” observed Nagare, peering over his shoulder.

“Once your name came up, she really opened up about the soup. I asked her everything I could think of.”

“She remembered the soup she made that day? After all these years?” asked Kenichi.

“Oh yes,” replied Koishi. “Or rather, she had it all written down.” She pointed to a series of notes in the margins.

“Blend Shinshu miso (three types),” read Kenichi. “Just before it comes to a boil add precooked onions and potatoes. Finish with a dash of Obuse milk. Wait, there was milk in it?”

“That’s what makes it different from the one at the Silver Diner,” Koishi explained. “Your mother knew how much you’d loved milk as a little boy, so she always stirred a bit into the soup. Not just any milk either. The local brand you’d grown up with.” She showed him a photo of a carton labeled Obuse Milk.

Kenichi’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I haven’t seen that label in years.”

“It’s a neat trick. Softens the sharpness of the miso,” Nagare commented. “Your mother has chef’s instincts.”

Koishi passed him a small paper bag. “The miso blend and recipe are in there. You’ll have to source the milk yourself, though.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “I’ll be honest—I had my doubts that you’d actually pull this off. But this has…well, it’s really helped me make up my mind.” A newfound determination had settled over his features.

“Glad to hear it,” said Nagare, smiling broadly.

Kenichi pulled out his wallet. “Now, can I pay you for everything?”

“Just whatever you feel is fair,” Koishi said, handing him a note with their bank details.

Kenichi slid open the door and glanced up at the sky. Long shafts of sunlight were finally breaking through the clouds. Drowsy the cat was sprawled at the base of a utility pole, yawning lazily.

“Someone has the right idea,” observed Kenichi, his trench coat and umbrella tucked neatly under one arm.

“Do take care!” said Koishi, and they exchanged a bow.

“About this book,” said Nagare, turning the miso soup cookbook over in his hands. “Your mother said we could borrow it until her son came home. And that she’d let us know when that was. Right, Koishi?”

Koishi nodded firmly.

“Funny,” said Kenichi. “I feel like I’ve taken the long way around, somehow.”

Nagare smiled back at him. “This is life we’re talking about. It’s not like there are any shortcuts.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Kenichi bowed again, deeply this time. Then he walked off down Shomen-dori the way he’d come.

—

“Is this one of those times when people say you need rain to make a rainbow?” said Koishi as they made their way back inside.

“Sure,” replied Nagare with a wry grin. “Something like that.”

“I wonder what he’ll do. Keep trying, or head home?”

“I imagine he’ll do whatever feels right,” said Nagare, settling himself before the family altar in the tatami-matted living room that adjoined the kitchen. Koishi took her place beside him.

“Remind me, Dad. What did Mom like to put in her miso soup?”

“Poached egg,” said Nagare as he lit a stick of incense. “She’d make plain miso soup, drop in a raw egg, then simmer it so that the white set but the yolk was still soft. She used to get so worked up if she overcooked it.”