The Spice of Life
WAS IT HUMAN NATURE to seek out new flavors, even when the old ones were still perfectly fine? What did it mean to be human, anyway? That night, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into such philosophical pondering.
If any of my inherent traits could be considered an unmistakable virtue, perhaps it was my ability to fall asleep.
Christmas was coming, and for us, that was cheongsam season—assuming Adachi would wear the dress, but I was pretty sure she would. As much as I enjoyed her little waitress act, I found myself wondering with each passing year whether I ought to do something for her in return.
My usual evening commute involved little more than swaying lethargically on the train. Whenever I had a conundrum worth mulling over, though, that drowsiness mercifully retreated, letting my brain sort out my jumbled thoughts. You could say that I came alive in those otherwise ordinary moments. Sensation ran from my elbows all the way to the backs of my hands, driving home the reality of everything.
I briefly considered wearing the dress myself this year, but that thought didn’t sit right with me. The cheongsam was Adachi’s thing, and the prospect of crossing that line struck me with unease, like flipping a rock over to see what was underneath. No, I’d need my own special outfit… But what?
A few days before Christmas, I struck on an answer, inspired by a little sea otter loudly slurping up udon noodles like she owned the place.
“Yeah. Something like that might just work,” I murmured.
“Mmmh?”
“You know, I’m surprised an alien from outer space has such a masterful command of chopsticks.”
“Heh heh heh. I am what you might call a ‘weeb.’”
I don’t think anyone would call you that.
And so, when Christmas Day rolled around, I arrived home ahead of Adachi, put our three small cakes in the fridge, and changed into my costume. At this point, I’d seen so many similar outfits throughout my life that looking at myself in the mirror gave me intense déjà vu.
“Eh, it’s fine,” I told myself.
I prepped dinner as I waited for Adachi to get home. Then…
“Welcome back!”
After opening the door, she took one look at me and froze in place.
“No, Yashiro didn’t have a growth spurt,” I clarified quickly.
I’d opted for a safe choice: a reindeer onesie, complete with antlers on the hood.
Adachi paused to take it in, then smiled stiffly. “Oh, I get it. Because it’s Christmas.”
Having figured out my outfit, she shut the door behind her. As she pulled her shoes off, I took her briefcase. “Glad you’re home.”
She looked up in response, her eyes fixed on my antlers. “Uh…that’s…really cute.”
I was proud of her for giving the compliment before I even had to fish for it (that was something I needed to work on myself). Then I caught a whiff of her scent in the winter air that surrounded her, and mischief came to mind. Leaning against her shoulder, I whispered: “Come on in.”
“…? Uh…y-you too…? Er…”
“Is it your first time here, miss?”
Adachi flinched so hard that she dropped her shoe, grimacing. It truly warmed my heart to see her so obviously flustered.
“My first time where?”
“Oh…uh…wherever reindeer live, I guess?”
“The North Pole?!”
She held her hands up in a confused gesture, so I grabbed them and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, Adachi. Time to wear your cheongsam.” With that, I led her down the hall.
“Wh-what does my cheongsam have to do with reindeer?”
“Who says they have to be related?” She looked so utterly perplexed, it was hard not to burst out laughing. “It just isn’t Christmas for me until I see it.”
Through memories, through affection, and through the slit that ran up the side—it was the cheongsam that kept us connected to the folly of our youth.
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