Page 40 of A Serving of Hope

“To be honest, I’m not really sure. But…”

“But?”

“I didn’t think it would make me so nostalgic.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it did.”

“How did you…manage this?” asked Saki. Her eyes had misted over slightly.

“We’ll get to that in a moment. First—this.” Nagare set a glass of white liquid in front of her. “The milk you loved so much.”

A smile of childlike delight spread across Saki’s face. “Oh! Yes, this is it.”

“I’d never heard of this stuff. There are some very curious beverages in the world.”

“Now, this really takes me back. Do they sell it in Takahama, then?”

“All will be revealed when you’ve finished.” Nagare glanced at the half-eaten noodles in the bowl. “I gave you quite a big serving, so please don’t force yourself.”

Saki straightened up in her chair. “I won’t.”

“Though it’s mainly toppings, really—there aren’t that many noodles. Anyway, take your time.”

Nagare returned to the kitchen, and Saki raised her chopsticks once more. Between nibbling on the toppings and slurping the noodles, she made sure to take small sips of the sweet milk. As she repeated the cycle, she began to hear what sounded like the ocean in her head. The soft crash of the waves, their steady ebb and flow. Lulled by the soothing rhythm, Saki dreamily closed her eyes.

“It’s just…so good…” she murmured.

Saki twined the noodles around the fluffy egg, soaked them in the broth, and slipped them into her mouth. She found herself genuinely wondering if anything else in the world could ever taste this good. It bore little resemblance to the hiyashi-chuka she’d eaten anywhere else. There was a very faint acidity, but nothing you could call sourness. The broth—chicken, probably—was light in flavor, but had the salty richness of shio ramen. It was a curious dish indeed. More puzzling than anything was how unbearably nostalgic it was making her feel. In the end, Saki drained every last drop of broth from the bowl.

“How was that, then?” asked Nagare.

Saki raised herself up from her seat and bowed. “You’ve given me the pleasure of eating something truly delicious today. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s Grandma Kaneko you should be thanking. She dreamed up a sensational dish.” Nagare glanced at the empty bowl, then back at Saki. “Mind if I sit?”

Saki leaned forward. “Please. I want to hear the whole story.”

“Koishi,” said Nagare, glancing toward the kitchen, “fetch me that folder, would you? And some tea. Hojicha would be best.”

“You went all the way to Takahama, then?” Saki began.

“Naturally. But when I got there, things took an unexpected turn.” Nagare took the folder from Koishi and opened it on the table.

“Ah, yes,” said Saki, squinting at a photo of an old-fashioned two-story building. “That’s the house. You could stroll right down to the beach from the back garden.”

“It’s been empty for seven years, but it’s actually in pretty good shape. Someone could move in tomorrow without a problem…” Nagare cleared his throat. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s quite a long story, see.”

“I’m all ears,” Saki said, reaching for her teacup.

“Do you remember the ryokan that was just behind the house?”

“Hmm. Now that you mention it…”

“The Masaki Ryokan, it’s called. A relaxed little place—more like a family-run guesthouse, in fact. I stayed there and spoke to the owner, Mr. Masaki. He knew Kaneko well.” Nagare set down a photo of Mr. Masaki, standing by the entrance to a weathered old building.

“I see,” said Saki, her face betraying no reaction whatsoever.

“Tell me, have you ever heard the story of how your parents first met?”