Winter was over.
The plum blossoms in the courtyard had fallen, and the smell of new growth had begun to mix into the breeze. Making dashi in the kitchen that morning, I found myself idly thinking about that.
Last spring, with trembling fingers, I'd plugged the cord of this house's landline into the wall. Nearly a year had passed since then. The four who'd watched me with wary eyes that night were still here.
And I was still, as ever, just the one who cooks for everyone.
The first one down that morning was Rei.
She was in her suit. But her eyes weren't worn thin the way they used to be.
"Good morning. You're up early today."
"Yeah. ...I've got a bit of news."
This woman, who looked so at home tipping back a sake cup, propped her cheek on her hand against the kitchen counter with a soft thunk.
"I turned down the transfer."
"Turned it down."
"Mm-hm. The higher-ups offered me a management position. A front-facing role. The old me would've jumped at it."
Rei had me pour her a sip of the fresh dashi in a teacup, and let out a breath.
"But I realized something. What I really love isn't smiling in front of people. It's putting projects together behind the scenes. Building the page layouts, reading the numbers, catching the young ones' mistakes. It's not flashy, but that's my job."
"That's good work, isn't it?"
"...Right?"
Rei smiled softly.
"It took me thirty-one years to be able to say I'm fine working behind the scenes."
With that, she set down the empty teacup with a light click.
"Maybe it's thanks to you, Mr. Manager."
"I didn't do anything."
"Yeah. You didn't do anything. You just made food and listened. ...That's what was good about it."
Her suited back headed for the front door. The woman who used to kick her shoes off any which way in the entryway left that morning with them neatly lined up, toes together.
Before noon, the landline rang. When I picked up the black receiver, it was a young man's voice I didn't recognize.
"Um, excuse me. I'm calling from one of Mahiru Nanase's clients."
As I went to pass it on, there was a patter of footsteps from the far end of the hallway.
"Oh, that's me. I'll take it."
It was Mahiru. She seemed to be working from home today. She took the receiver from me and drew a small, quiet breath. Then she spoke in a clear voice.
"Thank you for calling. This is Nanase."
I withdrew to the kitchen.
The Mahiru of not so long ago used to flinch every time a phone rang. She'd wait, almost praying, for someone else to answer. And now she was picking up the receiver herself.
"Yes. ...Yes, if it's about that, then by tomorrow morning. ...No, that's quite all right. Please leave it to me."
When the call ended, Mahiru set down the receiver and turned to look at me.
"...I answered it."
Quietly.
"I answered the phone. On my own."
Her eyes were slowly welling up.
"Before, I couldn't. Just hearing it ring used to give me a stomachache."
I set down my cooking chopsticks and looked at her.
"I know how hard you've been working."
"...!"
Mahiru bit down on her lip. Then she sniffled and laughed.
"Oh, come on. That's not fair, Amane. You know I always start crying right away when you say that."
Amane. At some point, Mahiru had started calling me that too. The stiffness of those days when she'd called me "Mr. Manager" like a stranger was gone without a trace.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize..."
A single tear she couldn't hold back spilled over. She wiped it away hard with the back of her hand.
At her feet, Komugi let out a soft whine and leaned against Mahiru's leg with a little bump. Ruffling his golden head, she laughed through her sniffles.
Afternoon.
I was fixing a loose board on the wooden deck in the courtyard when Yume came out, hugging her tablet.
"Hey, Amane."
Not "Mister," not "Mr. Manager," but "Amane." At some point, that was what I'd come to be called.
"Look at this for a sec."
On the screen of the tablet she held out was a drawing. An assignment for her vocational school, she said. A coat with the texture of the fabric showing through. Bright use of color.
"I got an honorable mention in the school competition."
"That's wonderful."
"I mean, it's an honorable mention, okay? It's not first place. It's no big deal."
But as she said it, the corners of Yume's mouth were softening in a way she couldn't quite hide.
"But in the judges' comments. They wrote, 'Her choice of colors has something that's truly her own.'"
"Truly her own."
"Yeah. ...I always thought I didn't have anything. Everyone else had dreams, or things they wanted to do, real ones. And all I had to be proud of was, like, my follower count."
Yume hugged the tablet tight to her chest.
"But there was someone who said my colors were good. Even if it was just one person."
"...Yes."
"Does that mean I've got, like, at least a little something?"
I set down my tools and looked at her drawing again. I was remembering the time I'd left toast beside her schoolwork late at night. Back then, this girl used to cry alone in front of her screen a lot.
"You do. Plenty."
When I said that, Yume turned her face away with a huff.
"...It's not like I said it because I wanted your approval or anything, Amane."
Her ears were red.
"I told you to knock, so don't just barge into my room."
"Well, this is the courtyard, though."
"Shut up."
Grumbling and pouting, but with a little bounce in her step, Yume went back into the house.
I crouched over the half-fixed deck again. The three of them, each taking a step forward. Which left one more.
That the anonymous manga artist still hadn't shown me her step—I hadn't noticed it at the time. It was a few hours later, after the sun had set, that Rui, fresh off her deadline, appeared in the kitchen.