On Saturday morning, she opened her eyes at 6:30 AM. It was a little later than on weekdays.
May sunlight streamed through the linen curtains. It was neither warm nor cold, but the thin duvet felt so good clinging to her skin that she rolled over a few times, as if making excuses not to get up.
Below the window, the young leaves of the street trees swayed gently in the breeze. Before getting out of bed, she gazed at the ceiling for a while. Three years had already passed since she moved into this room.
The first organic sound echoed in the room when she smoothed out the soft cotton sheets and put on the hemp sandals she'd bought in Bali. The hemp made a faint rustling sound against the white oak floor. She liked that sound.
Feeling like eating something holiday-like, she decided to make pancakes. Every three months, she craved a stack of three pancakes. Not the kind made with skillfully used meringue to create a cloud-like texture, nor the ricotta cheese-based ones eaten in Ginza. She wanted the kind from an old coffee shop in Jinbocho, where records played. That dense, somewhat carelessly stacked kind.
She opened the small notebook on her desk, holding the pages open with her palm.
"There it is."
3, 5, 3, 2.
It was a recipe she'd copied into her notebook after finding it at the library. Only the measurements, a few spoonfuls, were written on the edge of the page. She had marked it with a red pen to make it easy to find.
Holding the paper, she went downstairs and searched the back of the shelf for a pouch of rice flour. She hadn't used it much since buying it a year ago. It must have been saved for today.
She took one reddish-brown egg from a paper carton. The thick, beige batter mixed with the inorganic gray of the stainless steel.
She put the skillet on the fire and dropped butter into it, as if shaving it with a paring knife. While the clear liquid crackled, she looked out the window. She realized it was time for dog walks.
Suddenly, she wondered about the amount of food a Golden Retriever eats. She turned down the heat on the stove, rushed upstairs, and picked up her smartphone.
Last night's notifications appeared on the screen. An unfamiliar sender. It was from Yuka.
"There's a get-together in Azabu next weekend. Want to come? Everyone wants to see you after so long."
She paused for a moment, then thought of a reply as she went down the stairs. "Long time no see. Thanks for inviting me. But I have plans that day, sorry."
She didn't add any further explanation. Her schedule was free. But because it was free, she felt it was okay not to go this time.
Noticing the change in the kitchen's aroma, she hurriedly poured the batter into the skillet. Small bubbles slowly rose to the surface. She waited until the bubbles spread evenly. When she flipped it, a golden-brown circle appeared.
She was a little happy, without saying a word.
She transferred it to a plate and quietly drizzled honey over it. She watched, without blinking, as the amber liquid covered the golden-brown surface.
She sat at the window-side desk. The half-read book on the edge caught her eye. "Milan: A City in Fog" by Atsuko Suga. No matter how many times she read it, a slightly different light shone on the same spot.
When she gently inserted the knife tip into the batter, soft steam rose.
After taking a bite, she opened the book. The sweetness was subtle. It wasn't three layers, but it was enough for her.
Outside, she heard a dog bark again. She slowly turned the page of her book. The light outside the window had risen another notch. It wasn't even eight in the morning yet.