(Day Two)
The next morning Blake awoke to find the space in the bed beside him empty and the apartment filled with the smell of fried rice.He was overcome with a burst of nostalgia at the scent; it had been ages since he’d eaten any that was homemade.The last time was probably back when Matt’s mom was still alive.
“Morning!It’s almost ready,” Marin called from the kitchen as Blake made his way out of the bedroom.“Sorry, it doesn’t have any vegetables in it.Also, I had to use canned chicken, hope you don’t mind.”
“Don’t apologize at all, this is amazing enough as is—” Blake did a double take as soon as he turned to look at Marin.“Your hair!”
Marin ran a hand over it, looking sheepish.“Yeah, it was getting to be a little much, so I gave it a trim.”
A “trim” was an understatement.The long, blue and lilac hair that had once reached Marin’s lower back now barely brushed his shoulders, bangs cut and styled into a trendy wolf cut.Blake was stunned that he’d managed to pull it off with nothing but their shitty kitchen shears.
“It looks great,” Blake told him, stepping up beside Marin at the stove.He was spooning the pink rice into the pan with a crepe-thin omelet.“That looks great, too.”
Marin smiled.“Hand me a plate.”
Blake did as he was bidden, grabbing a dinner plate out of the cupboard and handing it over.Marin nodded in thanks and placed the plate face-down over the rice.Using an underhanded grip, he flipped the pan up over his palm, nudged the omelet into a football shape over the rice, and topped it with ketchup.
“You’re a guest, so you really don’t have to cook for me,” Blake told Marin, accepting the plate.“But I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal before you showed up.”
“You don’t cook for yourself?”Marin asked, more curious than judgmental.Blake shook his head.
“No.Generally, fresh groceries are too expensive, but sometimes I’ll get frozen meals.I can’t afford a meal plan on campus either, so I usually eat instant ramen, siopao, or bread from the bakery down by City College,” he said.
“You’re going to get scurvy if you keep that up,” Marin scolded him.
“At the college where I did undergrad, I knew a guy in the dorms that managed to get scurvy,” Blake told him, setting aside his food to wait for Marin to finish cooking his own portion.“He only ate pizza rolls for like three months.”
“Jesus, that’s wack.”Marin shuddered.Blake chuckled.“What is it?”
“‘Wack’,” Blake echoed him, amused.“You’re so cute.You talk like you’re from the nineties.”
“Well, I guess I am,” Marin mused, flipping another rice omelet onto a plate.“Our dates are between ’97 and ’03, right?”
“Guess that’s true,” Blake remarked as Marin joined his side at the counter.“Sorry we don’t have anywhere to sit.I haven’t gotten around to buying a table or bar stools.”
“It’s fine,” Marin told him, digging into his food with a soft: “Itadakimasu.”
“I wonder where you learned languages other than English, though,” Blake mused, cutting into his omelet with the side of a spoon.
“Maybe I’m part Japanese?”Marin replied.“Or it has something to do with where I lived?”
“That’s a good point, it would explain why you know how to speak it and cook Japanese food.Omurice is a pretty staple Japanese dish,” Blake said, taking out his phone.“I was thinking that the company that manufactured you might be near to where you lived or died, too.”He scrolled through his search history, bringing up the page he’d found for Splashgrounds Manufacturing the previous night.“It’s in South San Francisco,” he told Marin.“That might explain a little.A lot of people speak Japanese down in the Bay Area.”
“South San Francisco,” Marin whispered to himself, looking thoughtful.“That’s by San Bruno, right?”
“Yeah, it’s north of San Bruno, over by where the airport is—” Blake faltered and then brightened, seeing Marin’s words as confirmation of his theory.“Wait, that’s great!If you know information that specific, it means you probably lived nearby at some point in your life.”
“It gives us a more narrow scope to work with, at the very least.”Marin smiled.
Invigorated by the discovery and in high spirits, they set off to meet up with Celeste and Noel.
The Sacramento Central Library was a giant building of glass, concrete, and tan stone, the great arches of its windows reflecting the verdant boughs of the trees occupying Downtown’s streets.
Noel greeted them on the front steps with a Tupperware full of raspberry danishes and a carafe of cold passionfruit tea.
“Sorry if it’s too much,” he apologized as the three sat down on a glossy stone bench to eat while they waited for Celeste.
“No, no it’s delicious!”Marin praised, accepting the small container of tea that Noel handed him.
