This was where the dream always ended and where I always woke.
But not tonight.
This time, he stood in front of the bait shop. He turned back and looked at me, waving at me to come to him.
“Papa!” I called again, willing my legs to move faster.
He didn’t wait. By the time I reached the shack, he was gone.
I skidded to a stop, my chest heaving. “Papa?” I called, my voice trembling.
I ran around to the back of the shack, convinced he was playing hide-and-seek. But there was no one there. I stood alone, listening to the creak of the wooden planks beneath my feet and the faint sound of waves crashing against the pier. And then I spotted him, face down in the water below.
And then I woke.
I lay there, the fragments of the dream swirling in my mind. What was my dream trying to tell me now?
Was my path of becoming a sushi chef a dead end? Or was the dream encouraging me not to end it like my father might have? Perhaps the dream wasn’t a nightmare at all.
Oddly enough, that thought brought a smile to my lips, easing the tension in my chest. If this was my father’s way of guiding me, encouraging me to do what he couldn’t, I would follow it. I closed my eyes, and sleep gently pulled me back under.
CHAPTER FOUR
Over breakfast, Miki offered to drive me to the restaurant, but I told her it wasn’t necessary. Plus, she had work, though she dismissed that. Honestly, she was just looking for an excuse to be late to her job. Again.
“You have to be on time,” I said, using my chopsticks to mix my rice with my natto. “Didn’t your boss already talk to you about your tardiness?”
“So what?” she replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Soon, I’ll be the hostess with the mostest at your fabulous restaurant, and my boss will beg me for a reservation.”
I laughed. “Oh yeah? And what will you say? No? Is turning away customers a great business decision?”
“First of all,” she said, wagging her finger, “your restaurant will be booked a year in advance, minimum. So, ‘Sorry, not sorry’ wouldn’t even be a lie. Maybe if he got down on his knees and begged, I’d consider squeezing him in, but only after six months. Or longer.”
“You’re a vengeful one. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“I look out for my friends, that’s all.”
“And I appreciate your undying loyalty,” I said, “but until I finish this apprenticeship, find the money to open a restaurant, and build it up enough to hire you, you need to be on time for work so you can pay your bills.”
“Ugh,” she groaned, slumping in her chair. “You make it sound like it’s years away.”
“It might be.”
“Well, Miss Super Sushi Chef,” she said, standing, “you’d better call a taxi. If anyone can’t be late today, it’s you.”
Despite my protests, Miki insisted on waiting with me until the taxi arrived. “It’s my duty to see you off,” she said. She gave me a tight hug before I got in the car. “Good luck, Akiko. You’re going to crush it. I can’t wait to celebrate when this is all over.”
As the taxi drove through Kyoto, I couldn’t help but imagine what lay ahead. I’d never visited the House of Sakamoto before, but I assumed it would be in the trendiest, most fashionable part of the city. A crown jewel surrounded by celebrity-filled bars, designer boutiques, and beautiful people strolling along sunlit sidewalks.
But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
The driver took me to the edge of a heavily industrialized part of town, far from Kyoto’s city center. At first, I thought he must have the wrong address. I checked my phone’s map three times just to be sure.
Outside the window, drab warehouses and nondescript buildings lined the streets, their gray walls blending into one another. It felt like a place where things disappeared.
Why would Chef Sakamoto open a restaurant here?
The taxi stopped in front of a building that didn’t belong. The facade was designed to look like a traditional Japanese village home, complete with dark wooden beams and sliding doors. Above the double-door entrance, gold letters spelled out “House of Sakamoto.” My first thought? Strange, like a set piece from a period movie discarded on the side of the road. But what did I know? Chef Sakamoto owned a Michelin-rated restaurant. I didn’t.
