She pushed her keys away. A red leather coin purse hid behind a packet of unscented hand wipes. She pulled it out, just as she had done each time she needed to pay for her favorite sweets at the konbini on the ground floor of her apartment building. She didn’t trust herself to keep a supply at home and preferred to treat herself whenever she had collected enough loose change. It had been easier to keep her figure when she was younger, but now even the most furtive glance at the imagawayaki stall she passed by on her way to the flower shop she owned made her gain weight. Still, there were days when the scent of freshly made stuffed pancakes proved too hard to resist. The ones filled with a sweet red bean paste were her favorite. She skipped dinner on those days. Fortunately, her husband didn’t mind eating alone. Sometimes, he even seemed to prefer it.
It would have been different if they had had children. Izumi imagined that they would have meals together at the same time every night, their son politely answering questions about his day. Their daughter, the chattier of the two, would giggle softly when she shared stories about her friends. Her husband wouldeat without speaking, nodding occasionally when he thought that someone said something interesting. Izumi tried to picture him talking more, but after almost three decades of marriage, her thoughts were not as malleable as they used to be. She didn’t mind. Only people who still had dreams required a good imagination.
Living without a dream made things simpler. Routine was a good substitute for anything life lacked. If you planned it well enough, it could whisk you from the moment you opened your eyes in the morning to the second right before you drifted off to sleep without leaving any room for daydreams, yellowed wishes, or dusty thoughts. Izumi almost enjoyed her daily schedule of running her little flower shop, heading home in time to make dinner for Yoshi, and stopping by the konbini to replenish the little stash of sweets in her handbag.
But today, she pulled out her coin purse from her bag for an entirely different purpose. A strange pawnbroker had asked to see a choice she had made a lifetime ago, and for a reason she was never going to be able to put into words, she knew that it was tucked inside her coin purse, jingling with her change.
Izumi unzipped the purse and made a quick mental calculation. She rummaged through her coins and plucked an amount equivalent to the bus fare she’d needed to get from her childhood home to the ramen restaurant. She laid the coins on the table.
It was not enough coins to pay for the same trip today, but years ago, she would have been able to buy a bus ticket and still have enough change left over to buy a couple of her favorite sweets. And back then, she didn’t have to worry about gaining weight. Because, unlike her husband, Junichiro loved her, whatever shape she was. It was Junichiro, after all, who was directlyresponsible for her dresses fitting more snugly, ever since they had started meeting twice a week at the ramen shop where he worked.
It was a long time ago now that Junichiro had left the ramen shop, but all these years later, Izumi still visited it when the trees turned a reddish gold and the ramen’s savory steam mingled with the chill in the air. She liked to draw the scent as deep as she could into her lungs, warming herself with old memories of easy smiles and easier conversations. Today had been one such autumn day, but this time, a pawnshop had taken the restaurant’s place.
“May I?” Toshio gestured to the coins Izumi had laid on the table between them. He picked them up and felt their weight. “They are heavier than they look. Most choices are. I need to examine them more closely to give you a fair price.” Toshio plucked an old pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and set them on his nose. They were identical to his wife’s, except that his were rimmed in silver, hers in gold. His made him look like an owl.
“I do not care about the price. Just take it.”
“I am afraid it does not work that way. If I did not give you something in return, you would forever wonder what it was you left behind.” Toshio examined each coin and nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said, shifting to a tone that was softer and gentler.
“What do you understand?”
“Why you did not take the bus all those years ago and meet Junichiro at the ramen restaurant as you had agreed to.”
Izumi lowered her eyes. “I…did not have a choice.”
“And yet, here it is.” Toshio arranged the coins in a straight line on the table.
“I was—”
“You do not need to explain. I have examined your coins. I know the choice you made and why you made it.”
“You must think that I am a horrible person.”
“I think that you are a client who needs our services. I am sure that you are tired of carrying this choice around.”
“My husband is a good, loyal man. He deserves a wife who does not live in the past.”
“Do you love him?”
Izumi stared at her hands.
“Does he love you?”
“Love is something that people are taught to want. But all we really need is to not be alone when we come home and to have someone to wave goodbye to us at the door when we leave.”
“And that is more than what many people have.” A smile that made Toshio look older and tired found his lips. “I think that you will be very pleased with the value of your choice. I can take it off your hands right now and you will never crave ramen in the fall again.”
—
Hana wrapped a small wooden box in a silk cloth that looked like spring. She had painted the flowers on the silk herself, striving to make each wrapped box look unique even if their contents were exactly the same. Her father never varied what he offered in exchange for his clients’ choices, no matter their worth. Each box contained the same amount of green tea.
When she was younger, her father made a game of hiding the tea boxes around their home, leaving all manner of clues for her to find. Riddles tucked inside empty sake bottles. Math puzzles folded into origami foxes. A chipped vase that was outof place. Nothing could be overlooked. His little scavenger hunts kept her happily occupied while he was busy doing inventory or attending to clients. She often caught him trying to bite down a smile when his clues tricked her into going left instead of right. In time, she got better at solving his puzzles even if, at first glance, they didn’t seem like clues at all. Toshio took particular pride in the clues he hid in plain sight.
These clues were Hana’s first lesson in the art of dealing with clients. Just like looking for her father’s clues, with practice and a good eye you could always find the truth a client tried to hide as clearly as any feature on their face. But Hana had never thought of her little treasure hunts as lessons. Instead, she liked to pretend that the boxes she found were presents from her late mother, and each clue a secret code forI love you, I miss you,andI will see you again.
Hana had chosen one of her favorite wrapping cloth designs for Takeda Izumi. Izumi appeared to be the age her mother would have been were she still alive. Based on the sole photograph Hana had of her mother, Izumi and her mother shared the same face shape and thin lips. Their eyes were different, but that was okay. Hana knotted the silk twice, placed the tea box on a lacquer tray, and headed to the front office where Takeda Izumi was waiting.
—
