Chapter 8.5: When You See Their Little Faces

The sky was still pale when Aiko padded into the kitchen, her feet bare against the cold wooden floor. In one hand, she absently rolled a small wooden doll between her fingers—a simple, smooth figure she never seemed to put down.

The house was quiet, the kind of early morning quiet where the world still felt half asleep.

Her mother stood by the counter, pressing the edges of tofu pouches for her school bento. The rice cooker beeped softly. Steam curled up from a pot on the stove, carrying the faint, sweet scent of dashi.

Aiko rubbed her eyes, yawning as she climbed onto the low stool by the counter. She tucked her knees under the hem of her nightshirt and rested her chin in her hands.

Her mother smiled without looking up. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

Aiko hummed in response, too tired to form words just yet. She watched as her mother dipped a fingertip into the vinegar mixture and swirled it into the warm rice, folding it gently with the wooden paddle.

“Is it today?” she mumbled.

Her mother glanced at her. “Mm?”

“The field trip.”

Her mother’s smile widened. “That’s tomorrow, sweetheart. Today’s Tuesday.”

Aiko groaned and let her forehead drop into her hands.

Her mother chuckled. “You’ll survive. I made your favorite.”

That got her attention. She peeked up from behind her arms, eyes wide. “Inari?”

“With seaweed faces.”

Aiko’s sleepiness fell away like a dropped blanket. She sat up straighter, watching her mother work.

Each tofu pouch was filled carefully—shaped just enough so the rice peeked out like a tiny pillow. Her mother’s fingers moved quickly, cutting tiny ovals and lines from a sheet of nori, using the tip of a chopstick to place each expression on to the rice.

The first one had sleepy eyes and a little half-open mouth.

The next looked happy and content.

One had eyebrows slanted down like it was mad about being awake.

Aiko giggled. “That one looks like Papa.”

“He does get a little dramatic when he forgets his coffee,” her mother said, smiling.

A few more were added to the row. A pouty one. A beaming one with upturned eyes. A little smirking face that reminded Aiko of one of the boys in her class who always tried to copy her work.

“They’re having a conversation,” Aiko said, leaning in close.

“Oh?” her mother asked, adding a tiny sesame seed mole to one of them.

Aiko pointed to two of them. “That one’s trying to tell a joke. That one thinks it’s not funny.”

Her mother’s hands didn’t stop moving. “What about the sleepy one?”

“She’s the mom,” Aiko declared. “She stayed up too late making everyone bento.”

Her mother laughed, and for a moment, the kitchen was filled with the soft, golden sound of it.

Aiko grinned.

After a while, her mother wiped her hands and moved to check on the pot of simmered vegetables. Aiko watched her back, the gentle sway of her apron strings, the curl of steam rising past her cheek.

“Mom?”

“Mm?”

“Can I help next time?”

Her mother turned, surprise flickering in her eyes for a second. Then she smiled again.

“Of course,” she said. “Next time, you can make their eyebrows.”

Aiko beamed.

Footsteps thudded down the hall, and a few seconds later her father entered the kitchen, straightening his tie with one hand. He smelled faintly of cedar and something warm. His eyes softened the moment they landed on her.

“Morning, my girls,” he said, voice full of affection as he leaned over to kiss her mother on the cheek.

“You’re late,” her mother said, smiling.

He shrugged. “Not if I skip coffee.”

“You won’t.”

“I won’t,” he agreed, accepting the cup she handed him.

Aiko straightened proudly, pointing to the rice. “I picked who was who.”

He looked down at the inari arranged in rows across the bento box. “I like the angry one.”

“That’s you,” Aiko said immediately.

He paused. “Harsh.”

Her mother snorted behind her hand.

Aiko giggled and picked up a pair of chopsticks, nudging two of the rice faces so they tilted toward each other. “These two are friends.”

“They look more like they’re plotting something,” her father said, crouching beside her.

She giggled even more.

He brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead, then leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “Be good today.”

Aiko smiled. “I’m always good.”

“Debatable,” he said, ruffling her hair.

“Mhm,” her mom agreed without missing a beat.

He gave a quick wave, then turned down the hallway. A moment later, the front door clicked softly shut.

She looked back at her mom. “He’s always in a rush.”

“He tries not to be,” her mother said. “But some things are hard to slow down.”

Aiko didn’t really know what that meant. She just nodded.

The rest of the early morning was quiet. Her mother hummed while cutting fruit. Aiko practiced making stern eyebrows with the leftover nori. The sun continued to rise, shifting slowly across the floor, and lighting up the corner of the kitchen where the plants sat on the windowsill.

Eventually, her mother packed the box, tied it neatly in a cloth, and handed it to her.

“Even when we’re apart,” her mother said softly, “you’ll know I’m always with you when you see their little faces.”