“So it’s just you and your mom?”
I took another deep breath. “She took his disappearance hard and fell into a deep depression, barely able to get out of bed most days. Alcohol took over… About a year later she passed.”
“My God, Akiko… I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s fine. It happened a long time ago. I got through it.”
“You were alone? I mean, how did you survive?”
“Well, after my dad left, I started working part-time at the local fish market to help my mother. I learned responsibility quickly. I became the adult in the family, so by the time she died, I was practically surviving on my own anyway. The people at the fish market were a great help. I wasn’t entirely alone.”
“I wish I knew. I wish I could have done something.”
“I know, and thank you for saying it.”
“You were my best friend. We’re supposed to look out for each other.”
“Don’t feel guilty, Kenji. None of what happened was because of you moving away.”
“It’s hard not to feel guilty. Did you know I still consider you my best friend?”
“Really?”
“Of course! I always thought about you, wondering what you were up to.”
“Same here. Thinking about our fun times got me through those rough days.”
“I hate that you had to go through all that. I wish I could’ve been there for you.”
“You couldn’t have done anything. We were kids.”
A few moments of silence passed. “This is still so crazy,” he said. “Of all places to meet again, it’s here. In this program. What are the odds?”
“Pretty slim. But enough of me already. Since when did you start cooking? We were just eaters back in the days.”
He laughed. “True. I think it started in high school. I spent more time in the kitchen with my mom, and she taught me.”
“You? In the kitchen? That’s a sight I never imagined.”
“I know, right? But I was bullied at my new school. Cooking became my escape.”
“That’s awful, Kenji. I hate bullies. If I’d been there, I’d have knocked their teeth out.”
He laughed again. “I know you would’ve.”
“It’s surreal, though. Not only are we reunited, but we’re neighbors again. Wait, Kenji. Is your door locked?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you open it?”
I heard his door creak open. “Yeah, mine opens.”
“I knew it! Kenji, my door is locked from the outside. Can you open it?”
“Hold on. I’ll check.”
As I waited, a wave of nervousness washed over me. Memories of afternoons spent playing ken ken pa or bidama with Kenji came rushing back, the way we easily laughed around each other and the tight bond that made us inseparable. But years had passed. Was he still the same Kenji I remembered, or had time and distance changed him? Would he view me as his old friend or just another competitor? And would I even recognize him?
