Her Neutral Observation

Una made her way out front to take people’s orders again, leaving me to the baking. I peeked over at Mr. Shimizu, who was surprisingly quick at fulfilling the orders for somebody who looked somewhat like a grandfather. Fortunately, his diligence meant that I could focus entirely on getting the cake done without any distractions, much to my pleasure. Baking always made me nostalgic about growing up, even if it did feel slightly weird doing it without my mum around to give little comments and advice. I put the dough into a tin, and then into the oven. I wasn’t really sure how good the ovens were - I remember when I visited dad’s place, his oven was awful, and everything needed to be left in twenty minutes longer than usual (and still ended up uneven anyway). Well, I hope a cafe at least would invest in its equipment a little better than my dad does.

While it was in the oven, I started helping Mr. Shimizu with the orders, and unpacked some boxes in the back that hadn’t been touched in a while. When the cake was nearly done, it painted the room with a gorgeous smell - Una and Mrs. Shimizu came into the kitchen to see how it was coming along.

“That smells lovely, Yorito!” Mrs. Shimizu said with eager approval. “Is it done yet?”

I made what I suppose I could call a grin, and scratched my head. “No, not yet. It needs a few more minutes, then it needs to cool, and then I need to decorate it.”

Una had made herself comfortable, sitting on a counter near the oven and kicking her legs gently in the air. I wanted to tell her to get down so I could use that spot to cool the cake, but I could tell everyone was in excited anticipation of what was arguably the first good snack served in this cafe for years, so I bit my tongue.

I felt a little sorry for the customers, because every single one of us was just chilling in the kitchen, listening to the gentle tick of the timer. One of those moments you could lose yourself in as you absorb the atmosphere of the moment.

The timer shrieked, and I quickly scrambled to silence it, before reaching for my oven gloves and taking out the cake. As I stood up, I remembered that Una was sitting where I wanted to put it.

“Una, do you mind moving down? I need to put the cake there to cool,” I told her gently.

“You can just put it on top of the oven,” she replied nonchalantly, her eyes fixed on the cake.

I sighed. “The top of the oven is annoying to clean.”

“Well, you get paid to clean things, so I don’t see why that’s an issue,” she said, playfully

“Do you get paid to sit on counters?”

She rolled her eyes and hopped off the counter, the exchange seemingly being much to Mr. Shimizu’s amusement. Once it had cooled, I began decorating it. Being watched by three people was slightly unnerving, although Mr. and Mrs. Shimizu’s presence made it feel more like I was a mayor opening up some much anticipated local attraction rather than the judging stare of an invigilator that Una seemed to give me.

“Ooh, can I cut it?” Mrs. Shimizu asked, gently taking out a large knife from the holder. “I’ve always wanted to be the one who gets to cut these things. It just looks so pretty.”

I blushed a little, and nodded, allowing her to do the honours. As she cut through, the delicate, cloud-like texture of the cake became readily apparent. It smelled delicious, if I say so myself.

Una leaned over to get a better look.“Do I get to try some? Yamasaki ate my slice last time while I was changing out of my uniform. He really has no manners!”

“Hmm well, this one's for the customers, dear. Although I certainly do feel tempted to try some myself…”

For once, I decided to throw her a bone. “Well, if we take out one slice, then the customer can see what the slice looks like inside. I think she can probably have a slice. You guys can even have a spoonful of it too, if you’re so eager.”

Una smiled in my general direction, and then turned to Mrs. Shimizu. Mr. Shimizu opened a drawer, and took out four spoons and a plate.

“Well, he raises a good point. Why don’t we all try some?”

As we all ate from the same plate, I couldn’t help but be reminded of my early childhood, when mum and dad would sit around the table. It felt a little bittersweet, knowing that this was probably the closest to those memories I would ever be able to get again. After all, they’re hardly ever in the same country anymore, let alone the same room.

“Oh, uuh, it might be a little strange and forward of me to ask this,” I said to the Shimizu couple. “But is there any sort of… staff discount? My dad’s coming back to Japan on Tuesday, and I wanted to talk to him at someplace nice, so I thought this might be a decent place, considering how he likes his coffee…”

Mr. Shimizu grinned and nodded. “Of course. My coffee is far better than any of the stuff you’ll find anywhere else. It’s obvious you would want to make the best possible impression, and you can only do that here! Your drinks will be on me, don’t you worry!”

I was slightly worried with how easy it was to flatter Mr. Shimizu just by tangentially mentioning the word coffee, but I wasn’t going to argue with him if it meant getting a free drink. It was abundantly clear that the Shimizu couple were just happy to have some company around. I didn’t expect them to be so accommodating considering how my dad always ranted to me about the working culture in Japan, but I suppose family businesses are a different beast to huge corporations.

Mr. and Mrs. Shimizu made their way to the front with the cake after we’d all tasted it, leaving just me and Una in the kitchen. I was wiping away some crumbs from the counter, only for her to jump up and sit on it again.

“So, is your dad on holiday, then?”

I looked at her with a confused expression for a bit, before remembering how I had mentioned my dad returning to Japan. “No, I doubt it. He just lives abroad. I wasn’t even born in this country.”

Her face opened wide with shock. “What? Really? So are you actually Korean or something? I really had you pegged as someone who’s actually Japanese. A little bit of an oddball, but still Japanese.”

The more she talked, the more I rolled my eyes. Then she said the last sentence, and I almost wept, because I would have to roll my eyes five more times to signal exactly how tactless she could be sometimes.

“No, Una. I was born in London. And my dad lives there, permanently. He barely ever comes here, because he doesn’t really like this country.”

Una suddenly seemed quite thoughtful. “Oh.”

She paused for a few seconds, and I breathed a sigh of relief, because I expected her to ask me something stupid. Instead, she just kicked her feet in the air gently, and tapped her fingers gently against the counter.

“I sort of get that,” she finally said, after being silent for about half a minute,

“Pardon?”

“Well, there’s a lot of things I don’t like about this country, so I kind of understand him. I’m saving up so I can study abroad after school, because I think that’s probably the easiest way to go about things,” Una explained.

“I’m surprised you agree with me on that one,” I replied, feeling slightly vindicated that somebody outside of my family or the internet had voiced those feelings to me. “Even you said I’m weird, after all. Despite spending so many years trying to integrate, you need to be absolutely perfect to fit it. Personality, interests…”

I gave her a slight glare, not that she was looking at me. “Appearance…”

She was looking down at her shoes now, but I could see she felt slightly guilty for all the jabs she had been taking at me for not being normal, especially considering how she claimed she didn’t like that part of the very culture she was complaining about.

“I hope you didn’t misunderstand me,” Una said, with a faint whimper of pity in her otherwise direct tone.

“When I call you things like ‘weird’,” she continued, “I don’t mean it as an insult.”

“So it’s a weird way of complimenting me?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Haha, no,” she said, as my expression sank a little. “I wouldn’t go that far as to say that. Just a neutral observation, I suppose.”

I rolled my eyes again. “And it’s my ‘neutral observation’ that you’ve been shirking your work for fifteen minutes. Go clean some tables or something.”

Una smiled as she hopped off the counter. “Sure.”