Lavender | Wakatoshi Ushijima

07 | Groceries

Things for Kiyo are going very smoothly and I've never been happier for her.

"It turns out, he feels the same! The reason why I had my hand on my mouth was because when I kept going on and on about if he doesn't want to go out with me, he kissed me! He and I already made plans to go on our first date tonight, too!"

"What?! That's amazing, Kiyo! Where are you going?"

"It's at Sato's Sake, the place downtown! Turns out we both love their cheesecake."

"That's so cute! Wait, reservations are at a minimum of 4 people? How are you going?"

"Look, I'm going to need to ask a favor about that. Hayato and I are each bringing a friend and I really need you to be there, you can both leave at anytime you want. Preferably super early."

"You know what, fine. Only because it's your first date, partially because I want to take a cheesecake slice in a to-go box. I'll need to leave earlier than the food arriving to leave you two alone."

"I can't thank you enough! I'll pay for that slice you take as compensation."

"Deal!"

"One more thing. Hayato might bring Ushijima since Tendo and Semi are busy cramming Physics."

"Cool."

"You sure that's just cool?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because you're blushing."

"No, I'm not."

She continues talking about their epic confessions and I gladly listen, it's as if her heart's been mended. Or rather the hole that the bitter breakup left is full again. At some point, she needs to get off the phone and so do I. That's where I am now, stuck.

I've always had a breathtaking topic to write about. Something intriguing, or at least something I can make intriguing. I'm writing a poem for the Annual Literature Competition. My pen won't budge.

In my first and second year, I've gotten first place. Not only for my writing style and the devices and elements, but also for the topic. Judges would be baffled by my words and I would consume their approval every time. This year, the pencil is creating a tapping rhythm against the paper's surface out of pure confusion. What do I write about?

In writing, I can elaborate about anything. Anything. Tell me to talk about the importance of air, and I swear, I'll create a three page poem.

I can't stay lost in thought any longer. How am I, the student that's always writing, in a state of author's block? I feel pathetic.

I won't think any longer. My phone vibrates, it stops the pencil from the rhythm it was making. The phone has its own rhythmical vibrations.

Oh, right, it's my medication alarm. I haven't eaten, I can't take them on an empty stomach.

I instantly know what to make. I go downstairs, put my apron on, and I break loose in the kitchen.

I like cooking. Since I was thirteen, I would whip up casual catastrophes and proceed to clean up. It's always something I look forward to, spices and flavors and new ratios. It's fun and therapeutic in its own way. In the back of my mind, where no one can see, I like to think of it as a way I'm connecting with Mother.

I turn the music on my playlist and start collecting a bunch of vegetables in the strainer.

Carrots, potatoes, celery, zucchini, and an onion I left on the counter. I wash the vegetables carefully, taking the wooden cutting board out. I peel and chop away. Which pan should I use? I take a nice clear pan and spread oil on the surface. I lay the carrot and zucchini circles in a nice pattern with the potato wedges. I throw the onion rings on top with a breeze of spices and pastes.