I thought breakfast was American style.

There is something I realized for the first time after nearly thirty years of being alive.

My mother, who was a good cook, was very efficient.

Especially on weekday mornings,

she would make my bento lunch,

make our Japanese-style breakfast,

and make a Western-style breakfast for my father.

Unconsciously, she would always prepare a meal with soup and three side dishes for our Japanese breakfast.

Because I grew up thinking that was normal,
I was shocked by how difficult it was when I started living alone.

The Western breakfast was a fried egg and salad,
toasted bread with margarine spread on it.
She would grind coffee beans,
and serve it in his favorite cup,
which my father had bought in Hawaii.

I would end up breaking this cup later on,

but this morning scene had continued ever since I first became aware of it,
wondering why only my father's was different.

Once, when I was in high school, I asked my mother about it.

Nico: "Why does Dad have bread every morning?"

Mom: "He's just obsessed with America."

I shouldn't have asked.

Since becoming a working adult, I only return to my parents' home a few times a year.

Due to certain circumstances,
I was the only one staying at my parents' home,
and we had breakfast together for the first time in a while.

I hear my mother's voice:
"Oh!"
Having been busy for the past few days,
it seemed she had uncharacteristically run out of bread.

Since becoming a working adult,
I have learned to be considerate,
so I immediately said to my mother.

Nico: "Dad only eats bread, right? Shall I go buy some?"

I was scheduled to be busy that day too,
but since breakfast is important, I suggested it without hesitation.

Mom: "It's fine, there's no time."

Mom: "Dad, is Japanese food okay?"

My mother must have asked that with a sense of desperation.
I think she also felt frustrated that she couldn't prepare it herself.

Oh no.
I should have followed up immediately...

Father: "Oh. That's good."

Huh?

Nico: "Isn't breakfast every day supposed to be a set of bread and coffee?"

Father: "Oh."

Father: "It comes out every day, after all."

Mother Nico: "Excuse me?"

Apparently, back when they were newlyweds, my father muttered,
"A breakfast like this is nice too."
and that was when my mother's conscientious
speculation began.

Because it continued,
without anyone realizing it, the idea that my father's breakfast
had to be a Western-style set of bread and coffee
had become ingrained in the family.

However, my father, who doesn't think too deeply about things,
didn't even notice that he was the only one being served a different meal,
and apparently stuck to the style of eating whatever was put in front of him.
(Though he probably wasn't even thinking about that.)

My mother and I were completely deflated
by this unexpected fact.

But my father, not caring about such things,
munching away on his Japanese breakfast.

"Hurry up, or you'll be late."

That's what he said as he started getting ready himself.

Ten years have passed since then.
The other day, I had breakfast at my parents' house for the first time in a while.

For us, it was the usual Japanese breakfast.

For my father, as always,
she continued to serve bread and coffee.

All things considered, they are a good couple, I thought,
chuckling to myself beside them.

My father was sipping his freshly brewed coffee.

Using the coffee cup I received from my grandchild.