The kitchen smelled like heaven had decided to open a restaurant.
My mother had outdone herself. The table practically groaned under the weight of food. Tonkatsu, golden and crispy. Rice so perfectly steamed it could make a grown man weep. Miso soup with tofu cubes floating like little clouds. A mountain of gyoza that would require several trips to demolish. Side dishes I couldn't even name but knew would be incredible.
Stress baking, she'd called it.
This was stress cooking at an Olympic level.
"Sit," she commanded, pointing at my usual chair. "Eat. Talk can wait until you have something in your stomach."
Natalia collapsed into the seat beside me with all the grace of a marionette with cut strings. The dark circles under her eyes had deepened during the drive. Her purple hair had escaped its ponytail in several places. She looked like she'd been through a war.
Which, in a sense, she had.
