"It gets to you, doesn't it? That kind of thing."
I set the spatula down on the cutting board with a soft clack.
"You can't see the other person's face, so their voice becomes everything. It takes courage just to ask them to repeat something, and an angry voice stays in your ears for a long time."
Ms. Nanase's eyes widened. Then I could see the tension drain out of her shoulders, as if she were quietly letting out a breath she'd been holding.
What had she been bracing herself for? Probably for someone to tell her she was overthinking it, or that she'd get used to it.
I couldn't say that. What's frightening is frightening. If "just get used to it" fixed things, nobody would ever struggle.
"Here you go, all done."
I set the bowl in front of her.
Glossy, glazed slices of pork were packed over the rice as thickly as it would hold. The rice underneath had soaked up the sauce. On the side, a heap of shredded cabbage. Along with the steam, a sweet, savory scent sharp with ginger came wafting up. The glaze caught the morning light and gleamed. The edges of the pork were just slightly charred, and smelled wonderfully toasty.
"Ginger pork rice bowl. Let's go big today."
"This much, first thing in the morning..."
"It's fine. Pork is your friend when you're worn out."
I went on, half to myself, as I poured my own tea.
"The vitamin B1 in pork is several times higher than in other meats. And if you eat it with ginger or onion, your body absorbs it much better. Perfect for a day like today, when you need to psych yourself up."
Ms. Nanase picked up her chopsticks. She lifted a piece of sauce-soaked pork to her mouth along with a bite of steaming rice.
The moment she did, her chopsticks, which had been stalled, started moving. One bite, then another. As if she'd never said she couldn't get anything down.
"...It's good," she murmured.
She ate every last grain of rice, as if she didn't want to waste any. For the person who cooked it, nothing makes you happier than that.
While she ate, the stiffness left her face. For just a little while, she was probably able to forget about what scared her. Put something warm in your stomach, and that sort of thing happens. It's a funny thing.
By the time she'd finished, a little color had come back to her cheeks.
Even so, she was rubbing her fingertips together again. Maybe she'd remembered the afternoon ahead. Tracing the leftover sauce in the bowl with the tip of her chopsticks, she spoke up quietly.
"...Amane, don't you ever get nervous? You always seem so calm."
If I seemed calm, that was just my age. When I was young, I'd been much worse.
"Me too, you know."
I answered while tying off the mouth of a garbage bag. It happened to be burnable-trash day, and I was gathering up what needed to go out that morning.
"I've made more mistakes than I can count. That's why I understand."
"Even you make mistakes, Amane?"
"Sure. Lots of them."
That reminded me of something. It was a long time ago.
"Like the time I ran a state banquet for a certain country all by myself. I was so nervous that before it started, I went out behind the kitchen and threw up. For real."
Ms. Nanase's chopsticks froze.
"...What?"
"Food for several hundred people, the seating order for dignitaries from all over the world, checking everyone's food restrictions. One mistake and it'd be an international incident. My stomach was just clenched tight."
"A, a state banquet...? Dignitaries...? From all over the world...?"
Ms. Nanase started repeating the words one by one, as if they were spilling out of her. Her eyes were round. She looked like she was doing some kind of calculation in her head.
"Yes. Looking back, I'm amazed all I did was throw up."
I sipped my barley tea, lost in the memory. I really hadn't felt alive that day.
"B-but... those were, like, really important people...?"
"That was a long time ago."
I picked up the tied garbage bag and carried it toward the front door. If I didn't put it out now, I'd miss the truck.
"Wait, hold on a second, Amane. What you just said, tell me more about—"
"Oh, eat your ginger pork before it gets cold. Want a little more sauce?"
Ms. Nanase sat frozen, still holding her bowl.
Had I said something wrong? I'd only meant it as an old story while taking out the trash. Maybe it was a boring story for someone so young.
At her feet, Komugi was looking up at her with his head tilted. And what do you think that face is supposed to mean, buddy?