When the spoon went in, the soft, runny egg wrapped itself around the chicken rice.
Ms. Nanase took a bite.
In that instant, the hand holding the spoon stopped.
She seemed about to say something, but it wouldn't come out as words. She pressed her lips together and looked down at the plate again. Her lashes were trembling.
"...!"
A single drop fell onto the plate. Then another. Something clear spread and blurred over the red line of ketchup.
"...I'm, sorry."
Her voice was shaking.
I didn't panic. I didn't ask what had happened, either. Pressing someone for reasons at a time like this is like pushing a finger into a wound. I just pulled out the chair across from her and quietly sat down.
Something Mahiru had been holding in all this time must have come undone with this one plate. What it was, I didn't know. I didn't know, but she had probably worked very hard, right up until today.
"You worked really hard again today, didn't you," I said quietly.
"Numbers, performance. That stuff isn't everything."
Ms. Nanase didn't seem able to lift her face. Her shoulders were trembling slightly.
"You went to work today, Ms. Nanase, and you came back home. That alone is already more than impressive enough. That's what I think, anyway."
I didn't know what had happened out there. I could more or less imagine that the world of sales was a place that measured people in numbers. A day when she'd fallen short, probably, something like that.
But she'd gotten up out of bed, put on her suit, gone to work, and come back again. I truly think that alone is something impressive. Not as flattery, and not as comfort.
Because there was a time, long ago, when I couldn't even do that much.
At last, Ms. Nanase broke down and cried out loud.
Komugi gave a soft whine through his nose and rested his chin on Mahiru's knee. You really do good work at times like this, don't you.
After she'd cried all she could, the omurice had gone about half cold.
Even so, Ms. Nanase ate it properly, all the way to the last bite. When someone eats it happily even after it's gone cold, that's what makes the person who cooked it happiest.
"...Um."
Pressing a tissue to her eyes, Ms. Nanase asked:
"How did you know I hadn't been eating properly?"
Clearing away the empty plate, I laughed.
"It was written all over your face."
That's all it was. When you've spent a long time in work that involves watching people, you can see most things from someone's complexion, the strength in their voice, the fact that they came home empty-handed. I just don't put it into words and press them about it.
For some reason, Ms. Nanase looked like she might cry again, and hurriedly drank some tea.
I didn't really understand. Had I said something strange?
At my feet, Komugi was breathing softly in his sleep, his chin still resting on Ms. Nanase's slipper. Another good day's work.
In the morning kitchen, I was shaking the frying pan.
The pork sizzled, and the smell of sweet-savory sauce spread through the whole living room. Toasty steam with a kick of ginger. There couldn't be a morning when smelling this didn't make your stomach growl, or so I think.
And yet.
At the table, Ms. Nanase took one bite of her dashi omelet and put her chopsticks down again.
That's odd, I thought. Dashi omelet is Ms. Nanase's favorite. Usually, her hand would keep reaching for one more slice, then another. This morning, it had stopped at a single bite. She kept rubbing her fingertips together. Was she cold, even though it was June?
"Ms. Nanase, your chopsticks have stopped."
When I said it, Ms. Nanase looked up with a start.
"...I'm sorry. I just can't seem to get anything down."
"Did something happen?"
When I asked, Ms. Nanase looked a little hesitant. As if she were unsure whether to say it or not. Then she looked at my face timidly, as though trying to read it.
"I'm scared... of the phone ringing."
As soon as she said it, her cheeks went red.
"That's weird, isn't it. It's just a phone. Today I have to take a complaint call. Just imagining it makes my heart pound."
She was pressing one hand to her chest. Her heart must really have been racing right then. Just imagining it did that. That's how scared she was.
I didn't laugh. It wasn't something to laugh at.