My mother suddenly left home. #2 8 minutes walk from Kamakura Station, vacancies available
Chapter 1: Home Cafe Kara
The rain that had been falling since last night finally stopped. The hydrangeas visible from the kitchen window are glistening with a rust-colored hue in the morning light. Coming here, the hydrangeas are also nearing the end of their color.
The electric kettle begins to make a hissing sound. The thermometer at the bottom rises rapidly.
Kara Ouchi scooped the Guatemala coffee beans from a stainless steel container with a coffee measure and put them into the mill. The long, narrow box with the lion mark, which she inherited from her father, is called a knee mill, designed to be used by holding it between both knees. She sat on a stool with peeling peppermint green paint and slowly turned the handle. The hard beans were crushed with a pleasant grinding sound.
A little more, just one more turn. Suddenly, the weight in her hand lightened. She placed the mill in the sink and opened the drawer at the bottom. A pleasant breeze blew in through the window. Once the scent of sweet osmanthus had blended in further, she transferred the grounds to the dripper.
She poured hot water with a long, narrow-spouted kettle. Drop by drop, the liquid fell into the glass server.
"My day doesn't start unless I drink coffee."
Her father used to say that like a mantra. When she was a child, she didn't like coffee. She couldn't understand why adults drank such black, bitter stuff as if it were delicious. But, when did it start? The morning cup became indispensable.
The amber-colored drops finished falling beautifully. She swirled the server and chanted in her heart.
May it be delicious.
Two celadon-colored cups. She poured coffee into the one with the black rim and the one with the milky white rim, then moved to the living room. She met the eyes of her father in the photo frame placed on the bay window.
"Good morning. I made a Guatemala-based blend today."
She placed the cup with the black rim in front of her father.
Her father, who could hardly be called photogenic, was wearing his newly purchased glasses and wearing an uncomfortable smile within the frame. She never thought this would be his last photo. Her father passed away just before his 70th birthday.
A year since then.
A varied tit is singing in the garden. A voice like a naughty child, chirping away.
"There are many kinds of bird calls. That one is a signal that says 'I'm hungry'."
It was her father who taught her that, too.
She stood in front of the white-latticed sliding window. Since she started living alone in this old Western-style house built in the Taisho era, she realized something: no two days have the same scenery. Now she can understand her father's feelings, as he would gaze at the garden whenever he had a spare moment.
The crape myrtle is in bloom. A round, persimmon-colored belly is peeking in and out from between the pale pink flowers. It is called 'saru-suberi' (monkey-slip) because even monkeys slip on it, but the varied tit perches skillfully even on the smooth branches. She opened the sliding window and sat down on a chair on the terrace. She tilted the cup. The bitterness of the Guatemala coffee unraveled in her mouth, and a fruit-like acidity and richness spread.
Mackerel clouds are lined up in the clear sky. Come to think of it... She shifted her gaze to the eastern sky. Today was the fifteenth night of the lunar calendar. At this rate, she would be able to see a beautiful full moon.
Around this time last year, she didn't have the luxury of looking up at the sky. <What do you mean? You left me all alone, where did you disappear to?> Blue, indigo, light blue, grayish-brown... The color of the sky didn't matter. She looked up at the heavens and resented her father, who had collapsed from a subarachnoid hemorrhage and passed away. Finally, she was all alone.
Her mother leaving home was also sudden. She was five, it must have been June. When she woke up in the morning, she was gone. Before feelings like sadness or pain, she just didn't understand. That was when she learned that people part ways without warning. How was she supposed to face tomorrow?
As a child, she was at a loss.
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8 minutes walk from Kamakura Station, vacancies available
