Chapter 3 So What if I’m High-Maintenance Potato Salad #3
A crestfallen Makiko came out from behind the bar, joined us, and sipped her fizzy water. She gave a long and depressing sigh, as if we were in the middle of an apocalypse.
“To be honest, the reason I didn’t want to give you all the details was because I knew that it was all my fault. I deserved it.”
“What do you mean, it was all your fault?” I asked.
“What I mean is…”
Makiko mussed her long bangs with her fingers, working up the courage.
“I was scared to know the truth. Scared of being told to my face that we were just friends with benefits. I wanted to take a chance on the possibility that we were on the same page—that we were a couple—without saying the words out loud.”
“Makiko…”
I know what you mean. Finding out how someone feels about you can be terrifying.
But wait. Something doesn’t feel right.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story.
“Akira basically crashed at your place, then ended up moving in, right?”
“Yes.”
“When a woman lets you live at her place for a whole year, isn’t it pretty obvious that she has feelings for you? It doesn’t take a genius to work that out. Or is he hopelessly obtuse?”
“No, no. It’s really not like that.” Makiko gripped the bottle of soda water so tightly, it made a crackling sound. “It was me who suggested to Akira that he move in with me.”
“Wait, you asked him?”
“I told you, it’s all my fault!” Makiko covered her face and groaned into her hands.
This was going to be a long night.
Swaying his now-empty glass lazily back and forth, Iori began a piece-by-piece summary of the facts.
“So basically…Akira is someone who is sorely lacking in basic life skills. The more you got to know him, the more concerned you became for him.”
Here were all the facts we’d gathered from Makiko: He only ate once a day (and it wasn’t unusual for him to not eat at all).
His phone would be turned off for days. His mailbox at home was constantly overflowing with unread mail, and when he did open it (once in a blue moon), he would put all the letters straight in the trash without properly checking for bills or other important documents.
It came to a point where Makiko was concerned about just how it was that Akira kept himself alive.
“I think his artistic talent swallowed up all of his energy.” Makiko sighed.
“And then, what did you say again?” Iori continued.
“Akira had completely forgotten that the renewal of his apartment contract was due, and he was practically evicted? He had to couch-surf while he looked for a new place to live. You learned that he kept showing up at Kisaragi because it was where he could kill time until he found a place to stay that night. Is that right?”
“Well, yeah. Which is why you can’t blame me for asking him if he wanted to stay with me!”
“We hadn’t blamed you…yet,” I said.
“Momo-chan, if you were in my position, you wouldn’t be able to leave him alone. And you, too, Hozumi!”
“Actually, I can’t stand the thought of another human entering my home,” Hozumi replied.
“He hadn’t even found anywhere to live, yet he would say to me apathetically that it was all just ‘part of life.’ I started to worry that one day he would just die without me knowing.”
“And that’s how you ended up letting him live with you?”
Makiko frowned, answering Hozumi’s question with a nod.
“I couldn’t just sit there and watch him live so recklessly.
The next thing I knew, I was saying to him, ‘You can stay with me until you find somewhere to live.’ And from then on, things spiraled…
I found myself cooking for him and helping him out with organizing his affairs whenever I had a chance. ”
That is so—how can I put it? It’s typical Makiko behavior.
She had been like this with me when I first met her.
I went to introduce myself to her as the new kitchen manager at Amayadori, and without even being asked, she started telling me who the most cost-efficient fresh food suppliers were and even wrote me a list of everyone in Sangenjaya whom I should go and pay my respects to.
Makiko was simply incapable of being a bystander in any situation.
If she could do something about whatever was happening in front of her, she couldn’t ignore it.
Whether she’d benefit from it or not was never a concern.
If she could help, she would, and she would never forgive herself if she didn’t.
“Shall we have a snack?” Makiko said. “I’m starting to feel a little hungry.”
“No more drinking,” I warned.
“I know.” Makiko rolled her neck and shoulders, making cracking noises as she opened the fridge door. She paused. “Oh, yeah, I forgot that I’d cooked my ex-boyfriend’s favorite recipe for tonight.”
“You did?”
“Want to try some? Might as well.”
Makiko brought out a container filled with potato salad made with crispy bacon pieces, boiled egg, and black pepper. I could see that the potatoes were broken up roughly, and I wondered if she had deliberately kept them chunky.
“He ate like a bird. Once he started painting, he wouldn’t stop. He would keep working for days, looking emaciated. He rarely touched the food I’d kept for him in the fridge, but this was the one dish he ate well.”
“Normally we cook the dishes together as you tell us your story, but we’re happy to do it this way, too!” I proclaimed.
I spooned the salad onto small plates. We all put our hands together and said, “Itadakimasu,” and dug in. It was like a classic potato salad, but from time to time, a creamy taste spread through my mouth.
Could this be…
“Smoked cheese?”
“You’re spot-on, Momo-chan! I add pieces of smoked cheese to the potatoes while they’re still hot so that it melts.”
Right. What an idea.
The smokiness and the bacon made a wonderful combination. Apparently very fond of potatoes, Makiko had tested the recipe over and over again until she finally came up with this version. Since Akira was basically only interested in food that went well with alcohol, she seasoned it generously.
“True, the flavor pairs irresistibly well with alcohol,” Iori said, and let out a satisfied sigh. He deftly opened the bottle of Heineken that he’d grabbed from the fridge earlier and took a gulp of it with great relish.
“Are you doing that to torment me, Iori?”
“Not at all. I’m genuinely impressed, Makiko.” Iori recrossed his legs and stared into her eyes as he asked, “When was the first time you did it with Akira?”
“You mean…when did we start a physical relationship?”
“Yeah. Did it happen straight after he moved in with you or before?”
The quick change in conversation made Hozumi clear his throat awkwardly.
“Probably…” Raising her gaze to the ceiling, Makiko searched her mind. “…about two months after we started living together.”
“How did it happen? Did you initiate it? Or did he?” Iori continued, maintaining a serious look on his face.
What? Why would he want to know that?
Makiko, scratching the lid of the plastic bottle, replied, “From the beginning, we slept in the same bed because I didn’t have a futon for guests.”
“You slept in the same bed?” I gasped.
“Yeah, but for a long time nothing happened. I assumed he didn’t see me in that way, and thought of me like a roommate, or a housemother or something.
I would lie next to him like I would do with a friend.
But one day, he reached out to touch me…
and it wasn’t like I wanted to push him away, so we kept going. ”
“Did you fall in love with him after you slept with him?”
Makiko moved her head in agreement, as though she had finally relented.
“I…guess so. I fell in love with him, yes. I think it sped things up for me.”
I released a sigh. I know that feeling. I’d had that experience, where I found myself in love with a man after sleeping with him, even though I initially didn’t have strong feelings for him.
A lot of men lose interest in women after sleeping with them, but it’s usually the opposite for women. Unfortunately.
Iori wouldn’t stop. “I know I asked you already, Makiko, but are you sure you never tried to find out how he felt? Not even indirectly?”
Makiko’s fingers froze at his words. She sat for a while, apparently lost in thought, but eventually gave a sigh, as though she had given up.
“Iori, you creep me out,” she said. “I’ve always felt that way about you.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“I did try. Just once.”
Makiko expelled a breath, as though she was about to make a confession.
“I think he’d been living with me for some time at that point.
We were lying on the bed after sex one time, talking.
He was twirling my hair around his finger, looking a little sleepy.
It felt so much like we were a couple. I thought it was my only chance to ask him.
So I did, in a way that didn’t sound too interrogative. ”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Akira, what are your intentions?’ ”
I felt a pain in my heart, as though it was being pressed down.
They lived under the same roof. They were comfortable around each other. They enjoyed being together. They were having sex. But he’d never defined their relationship, at least not out loud. The uneasy, unbearable feelings that Makiko must have felt sprang up inside me, as if they were my own.
“And? What did Akira say?”
Makiko rubbed the inner corners of her eyes, then glanced back at Iori with a determined look.
“He said, ‘Of course I have intentions.’ ”
We sat there, too stunned to speak, waiting for more.
“He didn’t say anything else. Then he hugged me. I didn’t have the strength to question him any further, so I just went to sleep.”
“Oh, no.” Iori cradled his head with his hands.
He had intentions? What intentions?
I pounded my knees with my fists. “What a bastard!”
It was the perfect evasion, a cunning response that guaranteed him an escape route should he need one. How was it possible for someone who supposedly lacked basic life skills to be so sharp-minded when it came to something like this?