Sometimes, only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.
~Alphonse de Lamartine
***
Japan was so serene, thought Savannah, walking through its streets. The cherry blossoms scattered the pathways and numerous people walked along, busy with their lives. Kids getting into and out of buses, walking to school. Men and women hurrying to work. It was as busy as New York or LA would be, but still somehow, Japan seemed to have a peace about itself, a serenity that neither New York nor LA possessed.
She smiled as her attention got captured by a little girl in a the cutest skirt and bunny ears toddling down the road. She had to admit, Asian kids were the cutest, most adorable looking kids on this whole globe—she was willing to fight whoever wished to dispute her on it.
But, she realized, again, that even standing amidst so many people, she felt lonely. She wondered why.
Her phone pinged with a message from Dave: How's Japan going? Learn anything amazing?
She typed: So much! My Lord! These guys are whizzes. Damn. I will FaceTime you later when I'm back at the hotel.
At the moment, she absolutely needed to get her shit together and walk faster and reach the kitchen in—she checked her watch—half an hour. Or else. Her Sensei would—honestly, he wouldn't say anything even remotely rude. Kawashima Sensei was the sweetest. He was her mentor for this tour. She had gotten the wonderful opportunity of training in Japanese cuisine. And Kawashima Sensei was her guru.
As she thought back to the past few months of being in Japan, she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that she could learn such a detailed cuisine from such an amazing person. Every new dish, every new technique she learned shocked her to the core. To everyone, Shinkansen was just one example that was out for the world to see, of how bloody perfect the Japanese were. But to her, she got to see it everyday. The way they meticulously did every single step of the recipe, from chopping to garnishing, nothing was too much or too less—just the most perfect amount.
Most of the time Sensei would not even bother with things that one would think he would comment on, since he was teaching someone who was already a Chef—something advance. No. He would only grill and train her on the most basic skills, like how she held the knife, how she ought to chop cabbage and how that technique was different from how she'd chop a stalk vegetable.
It wasn't that she didn't learn new stuff. She did, and boy oh boy, was it enlightening. She'd loved every bit of it.
She walked into the kitchen and there he was, the sweetest, friendliest, most smiling person she'd ever met.
She bowed, wishing him, "Ōhayo gozaimasu, Sensei."
He grinned, and wished her back, adding, "That is the correct way to say it. You must pull the first O-o sound, then again pull the ending sounds, and soft the hard—uh, uh—tones. We Japanese do not have, uh, hard sounds. It's a—a—a...soft language."
She huffed. "I am working on it, all right?" She rubbed her hands together in eagerness. "So, what are we doing today?"
"We teach you to make Tamagoyaki."
"Wow. Sounds so exciting, and fancy."
He patted her back and led her to the counter, where only eggs were kept. "It is really not. It is just simple, uh—what you Americans call this—yes, omelet."
She looked at him. He was serious. She was going to learn how to make omelets. Well, then.
—x—
She was being played. There was no way making an omelet could've been that difficult. But it was. It was.
Tamagoyaki was a technical genius, a marvel in itself. It was insane how bloody difficult it was, yet it looked to simple.
This dish was traditionally made on this long rectangular iron pan, that was specifically made for these omelets—though one could cook it in a normal circular pan, it was easier and prettier when you used that particular pan.
As she did it for the fifth time, she went through the steps again in her mind, determined to get it right this time. First, you had to get the pan to just the right temperature so that when you did pour the paper-thin layer of eggs over, it didn't overcook. You had to cook that layer just until the bottom was done, and the top was still gooey. Then you folded and rolled the omelet over from one side till only a thin strip of omelet could be seen on the other end, after which you pulled it back towards your end of the pan. Then—thinking as she did it herself—you prepped the free side of the pan with a minuscule amount of oil, and poured another paper-thin layer of eggs.
Pour, fold, roll, repeat. That was it. Seemingly so easy.
But easy it was not.
She lowered her rolled omelet to a plate and cut it into pieces like he'd shown her, and arranged it like she would if it were a Michelin star dish. Which, if you asked her, she'd say, it absolutely could qualify for, just based on the technicality. Finally, this time, she thought, she was confident she'd gotten it right. "Kawashima Sensei!" she yelled, all excited. "I think I got it."
He walked up to her, leisurely, taking his time. He stopped in front of her and her dish and surveyed it. Looked her, looked at her Tamagoyaki. He kept doing that, even as he inspected it with his chopsticks, then held a piece in his chopsticks and slowly, first taking a good whiff, put it into his mouth. Then he closed his eyes and tasted it neatly.
Never had Savannah been this nervous, she realized. The more time he took, the more her heart thundered. Her stomach started feeling funny and she wanted to puke. It was all nervousness, she told herself.
Unable to take it anymore—he was taking forever!—she interjected, "Well, how is it?"
He opened his eyes and smiled wide. "A good job you do there, Savannah."
She jumped in her place. "Oh my God! Really?"
"Yes. This Tamagoyaki good."
She dropped down, right on the floor. "Oh, thank God. I couldn't have made it again."
He gestured with his hands for her to get back up. "You would. You know it, I also know. You are a—a—tough one."
This was what it was like to feel proud and good about yourself, she thought to herself. It felt good.
But it lasted one two minutes, because the moment Sensei smiled viciously at her—as vicious as he could anyway, with his cute, amiable face—and said, "Now, we make Onigiri and then Okonomiyaki," she knew she was dead.
—x—
As she dropped dead on her bed later that night, she knew it was a good day. These days, every night when she came back, she felt content, satisfied, like she'd done something worth it today.
Quickly she sent a text to Dave, asking if he was awake yet. And the message hadn't reached, which meant he was not. Asshole. But she had to cut him slack, after all it was not even 5:30 AM in Cali yet, plus she was sure Mel's last trimester was giving both of them a hard time.
But she wanted to tell someone about her day, about how it was and how much fun she'd had and how fulfilling it had been. Belatedly, she realized, her fingers hovered over Zac's contact. She wanted to tell him. What an irony—the way he'd come to become one of her important people. Could she call him? She knew that he would pick up, no matter where he was or how busy, he would.
She wanted to tell him. And not because of someone misplaced sense of guilt for leaving him, but because she knew he'd genuinely be happy for her. He'd want to hear all about it. He wouldn't keep talking just for the sake of it, he'd talk to her because he wanted to. Ask her real questions, questions she'd have fun answering. And not because knowing those answers made any difference to him, but because he knew she'd love to answer them. He was selfless—selfless in his own way. He wasn't the same guy he had been in college. He'd evolved into a fine, fine man.
A man she wouldn't mind spending the rest of her life with, she realized for the fifth time during these past few days.
She wondered what it'd be like if they were together. Would they be good? Would he be okay with her not staying at one place at all? Would he mind her travels? Probably not, she told herself. He seemed like the kind to pack up everything and come with her if he felt like. Pulling herself out of the reveries, she locked her phone and kept it aside.
These were thoughts for another day.
—x—
She'd been back in LA for no more than 3 days when she got a voicemail from her brother. "Hey, kiddo, Mel's gone into labor. Take the first flight to Cali. Gotta go, she needs me."
Flight? For a 2 hour drive? What did he think she was, a multimillionaire, with an overflowing bank balance?
But, holy shit. She was about to be an aunt. Her niece was here.
She quickly booked an Uber from her house to the hospital where Mel was. It said she would reach in about 2 hours. Good enough—there wasn't anything she could do there even if she reached early—she was going to be a sobbing mess as it is, and they didn't need that.
She checked her phone on the way there for baby products stores near her, or on the way, and when she found a satisfactory one, she asked the driver to stop there. She wanted to buy something she could give her niece as the aunt, so she bought a cute little pair of lavender booties, and a sweet headband too. Her niece would look cute in them, she thought to herself.
—x—
Four hours after she'd reached the hospital, all excited and giddy, with goodies for the baby in tow, she'd found out that she had finally become an aunt. The baby was here. But a niece, she wasn't. He was a nephew.
A small part of her was sad that she'd lost those twenty bucks, and that her 'aunt's intuition' had been so very off. But the other larger part was more than grateful that her brother and sis-in-law had a healthy baby, and that both mom and bud were kicking.
She thought back to a few moments ago when her brother had come out in his scrubs, eyes filled with tears, and he'd taken off his mask, and said, "You're an aunt to healthy baby boy." Hand flying to her mouth, she'd broken down, in her brother's arms. Her brother was a father. It had always been them against the world—two people who looked out for each other no matter what—and now a new life had wiggled its way into their world. And she knew, in her heart, her brother would cut off his limb for the kid. The small bud was lucky to have Dave as a dad—someone who loved so selflessly and effortlessly.
He came back just then, and asked her, "Would you like to see him?"
She blinked at him. "Are you kidding me? Of course."
She walked in, meekly, behind her brother. When her brother moved aside a little, closer to them, she saw Mel and the baby. Her hands flew to her mouth as she held in her sob. "He is so beautiful," she said.
Her brother kissed his wife and ran a gentle finger over the baby's mop of hair. "Savannah, meet your nephew, Melvin Arthur Reece," he told her, looking into her eyes.
Her sob broke free. "After dad." She felt his arms come around her affectionately. "You named him after dad."
He kissed the top of her head. "Do you want to hold him?"
She shook her head. "What if I drop him?" she asked innocently. "I couldn't."
He laughed. "You won't. Come on, Aunt Savannah. You're gonna have to get used to it."
She looked at him for reassurance that he really did want her to do it. "Okay." No sooner had the word come out of her mouth than her brother had already gently placed the baby in her arms. That sweet little human being.
"One arm under his head—" he repositioned her left arm a little "—and the other, there, under...like that."
She looked at the kid. The bundle of joy with his pink cheeks and closed eyes and pouted lips. Two hands, two feet with ten tiny, tiny fingers. He was the most adorable thing she'd ever laid eyes on.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Dave gather a tired-looking Melissa into his arms and place a tender kiss on her head. "Thank you, baby. You have no clue what you've given me. I can never be grateful enough."
She gently ran her knuckle over Melvin's cheek, and his eyes fluttered open. He looked directly at her, and, she realized, her heart swelled an unbelievable amount with love and care for this tiny human.
With a whirlwind of complex emotions whirring to life inside her, she decided it was best to give Melvin back to Mel. Timidly, she placed him in her arms, and tenderly hugged her sister-in-law.
Then moving away, she said, smiling, "Congratulations, both of you. I'm so, so, so happy for both of you. You both deserve all the happiness in the world. And you have the most beautiful baby in your arms; many, many congratulations." Rubbing her hands on her jeans, she backed away. "Dave, I will leave you to it. You have a family now. You three need some family time. I will come back tomorrow. If you need anything, anything at all, give me a call whenever. I'm staying at a nearby hotel, I'll send you the deets later."
"Kiddo, what's wrong? And why are you staying at a hotel when Mel and I have a place here?"
She smiled at him. "That's a conversation for another day. Spend time with your new family, Dave. I love you, all of you."
As she walked out and back to the hotel, she thought to herself of how nowadays she often felt like having a family of her own. Of having someone to go to every night, to wake up to every morning and to love and cherish everyday. And every time she thought of it, she thought of only one person.
Maybe, it was time to let go of her fears, to push past all that hurt and start a new journey. To become a new person.
At peace now, as she pushed her hands into her pockets, she decided it was time to make that much-needed trip to Washington.
—x—
A friend told me recently that the ending felt too rushed, her jilting him, and then directly what's to happen in the next chapter. So i decided to write this filler chapter. Do tell me how it was.
Hope you've enjoyed so far, and hope you like what's to come too!