“I did. But my business is on the verge of collapse. I have to choose, and I choose this place.” I lifted my arms toward the room.
“Where’s Miki?”
“She’s visiting her parents. I wanted time to think about what I wanted.”
“And?”
“Well, I’ve agreed to let you help me. What does that tell you?”
“That you won’t let anything get in your way. Not even me, not that I’m trying to stop you.”
I watched as she gathered the dishes and carried them into the kitchen, unsure if this truce was real or if I’d just invited the wolf into my kitchen.
12
Keiko showed up every morning on time with her sleeves rolled up, two cups of coffee, and a will-do attitude. It was getting harder and harder to dislike her. No matter what I threw her way, she did it without complaint.
Scrub the floor—yes!
Make the toilet shine—done!
Polish the steel appliances—can’t wait!
It was like she was daring me to find her breaking point. I hadn’t yet.
To make matters worse, she had me contemplating hiring her. Can you believe that? Pay my tormentor to work for me. In what world is that normal?
She even talked me into showing her some basic knife techniques. There I was, standing beside her while she held a yanagiba—a deadly sharp sushi knife that, if it nicked me in the wrong place, could have me bleeding out in seconds.
“You want to run the blade along the fish’s spine,” I said, watching her angle the knife. We were using fresh mackerel I’d bought for our lunch. The flesh separated under the blade in clean silver ribbons, the smell of the sea rising in the warm air.
When we were done, Keiko set about preparing the meal. She’d done such a good job the first time, I made it her daily duty. I left her to it and retreated to my office, brainstorming a new omakase menu. I didn’t want to rehash an old recipe; I wanted something fresh, something that would cement my comeback. I wanted people to say Chef Ono is the best of the best.
I was mid-daydream—spotlight on me, critics raving—when my office door flew open.
“Merry Christmas!” Miki burst in, practically launching herself into my arms.
“What are you doing here? And why are you wishing me merry Christmas?”
“Early gift—me.” She struck a pose. “I know we agreed I’d stay away for a week, but I had enough of my parents. I love them, but I can only tolerate them in small doses. Oy!”
“How did you even know I was here?”
“I swung by your place, you weren’t home, so I figured you’d be here. Are you cooking something?” She sniffed the air.
From the kitchen came Keiko’s voice. “Chef, lunch is ready!”
A crease formed between Miki’s brows. “Did you hire someone?”
I hooked an arm through hers and steered her toward the dining room. “I need to tell you something.”
“What, there’s only enough food for two people?”
“Worse.”
Keiko was already setting plates on one of the tables when we walked in. I cleared my throat.
“Miki, I’d like you to meet Keiko Uchida. Keiko, this is Miki Miyamoto.”
