Chapter 152 - Tarte Tatin
Nadeshiko was first in the kitchen, the next morning. This was a surprise to Sasuke, who had told Ino he would handle the meal so she could sleep in and prepare for the rest of the day.
(Nadeshiko had been neutrally kind to him the day before, but his heart still quickened.)
(His desire for comfort regarded her, as politely as possible, as a guest in his house, and not as a daughter.)
(But he remembered things, and swallowed for bravery.)
"Ah, good morning," he said.
Nadeshiko was cracking eggs into a bowl to make sweet omelette batter. "Good morning."
"Did your mother ask you to make breakfast?"
"No. I thought I'd come down and get things started while everyone was asleep," she replied. "I'm used to waking up early, for work."
Sasuke swallowed again. "Do you mind if I… help you?"
She looked over her shoulder, and the corner of her mouth barely turned up into a smile. "I wouldn't mind at all. Two sets of hands would make things go by much faster."
"Is the rice started yet?"
"No."
"Then I'll make the rice."
The rest of the cooking passed in near-silence; every now and then, Sasuke would ask about a task, and Nadeshiko would confirm it, and it would be done. Fish was grilled and soup was made, and the pickled vegetables set out.
Nobody was yet in the kitchen by the time everything was made and ready, and Sasuke felt the silence with tense anxiousness.
What was he supposed to do now? Apologize? And if he were, for what? He highly doubted that it would be enough to say, "By the way, I'm sorry for pretending you didn't exist for most of your life, can we just pretend that didn't happen?"
Not for what he had done to Nadeshiko. He doubted any amount of words would be able to repay the heavy debt he owed her.
And small talk… that felt so stupid. Why talk about cooking when that was all they'd done together the entire time? Dinner, then breakfast, and nothing else. It would seem like he didn't care.
(...and he wanted to care. He wanted so, so badly to care.)
To look like he was trying to make a change… he had to contradict himself. His past self, anyways. To do things that… obviously he wouldn't have done in the past, but seemed like the right things to do. He'd done this with Ino. He hurt, for a time. But he survived.
He'd survive.
Looking at Nadeshiko, his mind filled with guilt, memories of things said and done that he, now, absolutely, would take back in an instant, would apologize for over and over. Sour, bitter recognition mixed in his stomach, of residual hate, of growing remorse.
Looking at Nadeshiko, he saw - really saw, rather than looking and not noticing - that her hair was tied back, something he'd never allowed her to do as a child.
As a grown woman, her face softened and unweathered by war, it was so much less instinctually uncomfortable to look at than it had been as a child. Perhaps it was meeting, and knowing, and seeing Yakata, and seeing Itachi's youth accurately projected on his face, rather than the familial shadow upon Nadeshiko. Or perhaps it was her childhood androgyny that made the resemblance that much stronger, and therefore that much harder to bear.
(And perhaps why he had rejected her so strongly, when yet another, denied, crow-born trait had manifested in her.)
This, he could do. "Your hair looks lovely, pulled back like that," he told her.
She blinked, soft surprise on her face. "Ah, you think so?"
"Yes. How long have you been wearing it like that?"
"After I began growing it out again. It started getting in the way of my work."
"At the flower shop, right?"
"Mm."
There was a feeling of emotional inertia building; that the longer he kept the conversation, the easier it would be. "What have you been doing outside of work?" He resisted closing his eyes as he struggled to recall her hobbies, squeezing small the guilt he felt towards his ignorance. "Any… good books lately?"
"Not lately," she replied. His heart sank when she didn't respond further, struggling to find a replacement for a dead conversation. And yet, she continued: "An author I admire hasn't come out with a new book in a long while, and I haven't found anything new that excites me."
"Oh. Who's the author?" Sasuke said.
"Masaru Kojiro. He writes wonderful fantasy stories," Nadeshiko replied. "His Yukara Cycle is what I've been following lately."
"Is it good?"
Her eyes darkened with a smile that did not reach her mouth. "Yes, they're my favorite."
The suggestion went through Sasuke's mind so quickly that it was out of his mouth before he could even question it. "Do you have a copy I could borrow?"
Her smile disappeared, her eyes widening. "You want to borrow a copy from me?"
"I'd like to see what it is you like so much about it," Sasuke said. The words rolled out of his mouth, easier and easier. "Perhaps we could talk about it once I'm finished."
Nadeshiko seemed, for the first time in his coming, surprised by him, as if something had finally gotten past the thick layer of neutral emotion that shielded her. After blinking a few times, an awkward, raw smile came upon her face. "Let me get them from my house."
When Inou came down, a half hour later, he remained in the hallway for a good few moments, not quite sure if he believed what he was seeing.
Sasuke was sitting at the breakfast table, amongst the set plates and early garnishes, the first volume of the Yukara Cycle in his hands. His eyes were locked on the paper, reading at great speed and concentration. Nadeshiko stood nearby, the prepared food on the counter beside her, her hands clasped behind her back as she watched him.
It took her a while to notice Inou's presence; when she did, she whispered, "Good morning."
"...good morning," Inou replied. "Uh… what the hell is going on?"
"Nadeshiko has lent me a really interesting book," Sasuke said, not looking up. When his eyes glanced away, he added, "Oh, and, good morning, Inou."
"We've been talking most of the morning," Nadeshiko said.
"...right. I'm gonna go wash my face. I don't think I'm awake yet," Inou said, and turned on his heel back down the hallway.
Sasuke processed the reaction almost like a compliment, for a moment, before the story absorbed him again. He wasn't one for fiction, much less fantasy, but it was pretty plain to him why Nadeshiko liked it: it was well-written, plain and simple, and pulled him from reality with remarkable ease.
He continued reading until people started filtering into the kitchen, Nadeshiko taking the prepared egg mixture from the fridge and pouring it into the omelette-pan to cook. The paperback slipped easily into his pocket, out of sight, as he began getting the servings lately for everyone else.
In a voice meant for nobody but her to hear, he said to Nadeshiko, leaning close to her ear, "That Akiko girl, in the story. I really like how she goes about things."
And Nadeshiko, for the first time in his memory, laughed.