bread for the maestra.

i.

As far as Nina and Kiki know, the first time I met their Father was at the Bakery.

It was easy to assume, as Ryohei wasn’t exactly the most sociable person, and most of the few people he did know were Bakery regulars. In some way, it was the truth.

But it wasn’t the whole truth.

They were far too young for the truth now, and even if they hadn’t been - Whenever I thought of that rainy night, a cold stone of compressed feeling sinks into the back of my throat. I avert my eyes, trying to calm myself, trying to make myself speak around it.

“Don’t be ashamed.” Ryohei’s voice is deep and low, melding with the fragrant spring shower outside the window.

The night is blue so dark, it’s purple. His long arms are circled around me, warmth seeping through his faded tee shirt.

I shift awkwardly, still reeling from the warmth of his skin on mine even after all of this time.

“It was a long time ago now.”

“Yeah, but - ”

He threaded his fingers through my hair, gently massaging circles on my scalp. “Stop that. I can’t think when you do that.”

“Don’t then.”

“I wish I could,” I huff, but the chill has poisoned my dreams. “But, I just keep thinking. What if - what if you hadn’t - what if I hadn’t - ”

What if I hadn’t stood there, snuffling and freezing and looking down into the dark, wet hair slapping and whipping in the wind. Their voices became one with the whistling of the wind, hissing, disappointment - failure - coward! You can’t even ki -

His large hand runs down my back, too soothing and too warm. “But I did.”

ii.

“Where are you going?"

"Uhhhhh,”

My eyes trail off with my voice before falling back to Ryohei.

“Home?”

“Why?”

“Why?” My brows furrow. “What do you mean why? Because I live there?”

“If you’re just going to eat takeout in the dark - ”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” I grumble. Ryohei nudges open the door behind the counter, making the “Staff Only” sign, a pale color with the words written in neat and loopy cursive, swing on the nail. Gold light leaks through the crack, a gapped line that splits my figure in half.

“Just eat here.” He says.

I shrivel, swallowing nothing. "I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He doesn’t turn back around. “If you were, I wouldn’t have offered.”

I slip in behind him.

The kitchen is small, but not in a bad way. More of a cozy way. The cupboards were made out of light wood, and wooden utensils were overflowing in a red bucket bright against the clean white backsplash. The counters were clean, the dishes in the rack dry. Colorful drawings made with love were held up by round magnets on the textured fridge.

Something bubbles on the stove, gurgling softly, it’s rich scent sneaking out of the top with a billowing cloud of moist heat.

The kitchen connects to a small living room where a young girl, seated at a wooden table is crouched over her homework, face scrunched and pouting.

She looks up, probably feeling our eyes. “Dad, who’s that?”

“A stray,”

I whirl around to give him a look, but he’s already turned back into the kitchen.

The little girl is trying not to laugh. “Don’t let Dad get to you. He’s just super blunt sometimes,”

“I have a feeling you have to say that a lot,”

“Yeah,” She smiles sheepishly. “But I think it’s super cool, y'know! I’m Nina, by the way!”

iii.

Kiki liked me first.

It made sense, after all - she was younger, and probably didn’t have as many memories of their Mother. Kiki had short hair curled at the edges around her chubby cheeks and eyes that shined curiously at everything around her.

Her little hands would slap the back of my knee.

"Up! Up!” She would command, and squeal in delight when I scooped her up.

“So what do you, like, do?” Nina pushed herself up to sit on the counter. “As a - work? What’s the word?”

“I’m a violinist,”

“What’s that?” Kiki blinks up at me.

“I play the violin all day,” I say, pressing Kiki’s arm as I would the strings. She laughs and wriggles, and I struggle to stop her from spilling out of my arms.“Sometimes alone, sometimes with the symphony.”

“I didn’t know we had one of those! I only heard about them in our music class! Where is it? Downtown? There must be all kinds of cool things Downtown, huh,” Nina sighs dreamily.

“You haven’t been?”

“Not really.” Nina kicks her legs. “But not to see aquariums or ballets and stuff just boring old history museum,”

“Mu-seams! Mu-seams!”

“No, Kiki,” Nina stands at eye level with her sister. “Museum. Mu-seum.”

“You don’t like history museums?”

Her face morphs into disgust. “Ech, no. They’re so boring and quiet and dusty.”

“Boooring!” Kiki falls back and my heart drops with her.

I give her a jagged smile. “They are rather boring, yes,”

“Yeah! You get it! Dad doesn’t at all - ”

iv.

I push up my large, dark sunshades and sweep my hair out of my face with a manicured hand. I recheck my phone, looking over the stands and over the bright field. This is the place, right? Then where is -

I hear my name being called and whirl around. Kiki jumped up and down, waving her arms wildly. Ryohei holds her by her waist to stop her from falling.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I let Kiki jump onto me. “I kind of got lost.”

“The game’s just started,” Ryohei says. I follow his dark eyes to the field.

“Where’s Nina?”

“There! There!” Kiki chirps and I lean to look around her.

Nina spots us, breaking out into a wide grin and waving her arm. Ryohei raises a hand and I send her a little wave.

Somebody lets out a quiet scoff. I meet eyes with a woman with sunglasses on her head and a water cooler at her feet. One of the player’ Mom’s. She gives me a dirty look before turning away.

I shrink, turning slightly to Ryohei. “Are you sure that it’s alright that I’m here?”

Ryohei’s glance flicks to me, then back to the field. “"Nina asked you to come, didn’t she?”

The wind picks up my hair and I try to smooth it down. “Um…yeah?”

“Then it’s fine,”

Nina waves at us again from the goal, oblivious to the ball as it flies up and collides with her nose. We both leap from our seats. She isn’t crying, though - she’s laughing, brilliant and bright as the summer sun.

I drop my shoulders, a fond smile coming onto my face. “Jesus.”

v.

Ryohei had pianist’s fingers, thin and long and almost feminine, the tips dusted in white. His movements were meticulous yet somehow delicate, gently molding and punching the dough as he moved it in his hands.

“Are you just going to keep standing there and starting?” He doesn’t look away from his hands, smooth and deep, flowing like the river under the bridge near my apartment. “It’s creepy.”

I lean against the wall and fold my arms, the spell immediately broken. "You don’t have to be a dick about it,“

"There’s a chair over there,” He jerks his head to the side, carefully shaping the dough in his hands.

I stop mid-step. It feels disruptive, somehow. As if I were walking into a painting.

So I lean back against the wall instead.

“What’s that for?”

“What’s that for?” I ask, glancing down at the even bed of bright red strawberries boarded by a tin with wriggly metal sides.

“Pastry.” His eyes return back to his hands before he adds, “Goes on top.”

A cool night air seeps through the window.

I watch his fingers and trail my eyes up his veins to his arms and his shoulders.

It slips out before my brain catches up with my mouth, and I regret it almost immediately. "Do you like it?”

Ryohei doesn’t say anything and doesn’t look away from his hands, but it feels like the air around him has shifted toward me.

"Uh, I mean … making stuff?” My eyes dart away from him to the backsplash, fall to the sink, to his back, away again. “Baking stuff.”

“I do.”

“Lucky,” I yawn.

He quirks an eyebrow, a quiet coercion to speak.

I swallow something hard, wading through the words. “I, uh … never really … liked violin,”

He hums.

I adjust myself straighter against the wall. “It feels almost taboo to say - I just … I was just good at it. It just … I was.” I keep shrugging for some reason, as if they’re words.

He hums again.

I keep shrugging against the wall, the words falling off and becoming a deep exhale.

“What about you, then? When did you decide to … ” I swipe under my nose and wave my hand, gesturing at him. “Start to uh, make - I mean, baking stuff?”

Ryohei’s fingers pause suddenly. My heart sinks, pumping something cold into my veins. Did I say something? What did I do?

He’s wiping his hands on his apron.

“You - You don’t have to answer if - if you don’t,”

I’m rewinding the conversation over and over as he walks away, mining it for details I might have overlooked. A boundary I may have over overstepped.

Ryohei returned with a small, teal plate.

On it sits a golden brown pasty, bits of its flakey layers crumbling onto the plate’s white polka - dots. I stare at it, then look up at him, confusion scrunching my face.

He holds the teal saucer a little closer.

Oh.

Oh no. I can feel the nightmear, hissing whispers and disgust blooming warm in the pit of my stomach. I can feel their eyes fixed down on me.

Boring in. Glareing holes..

“Um, no thanks. You don’t really have to - your not, I’m, like, not supposed to -” My face is flushed with heat.

There are a thousand ways to end that sentence, but I can’t seem to find any and just kept stumbling over and over.

For a moment, I’m thirteen again and crying on the floor in the dark. My face is hot and wet, and my head is crowded and swirling with heavy emotions. My Mother is livid that I couldn’t fit into that dress.

I think it was light blue.

It sparkled, the holographic pattern of fake stones catching the dim sliver of light peeking through the curtains, dancing across my hunched back.

“You asked, didn’t you?” His voice yanks me back, calm stare unwavering.

I swallow. It’s dry, tasting stale. “I did, yeah,”

I pull up the sleeve of the too-big borrowed sweatshirt, reaching for the plate. My fingers brush against the back of Ryohei’s hand and retreat back as if touching a live wire. It’s almost too warm. “Oh, um, sorry.”

His silence had the same strange weight of his eyes, as if all of the focus he was using to mold his pastries was now turned on me, scorching like a spotlight.

I look away immediately. “Can you, um … not?”

He blinks, eyes falling to the plate. I could hear the whispers festering in the back of my head. Before I could be forced out of it, I took the biggest bite I could.

My eyes widened.

The flakey layers melted in my mouth, their buttery taste complementing and mingling with the tart apple filling. The thin drizzle of pearl-colored icing gave it a sweet aftertaste. I broke out into a grin morphed by my full cheeks, taking another bite.

“It’s delicious,” I say, hand darting to my mouth to cover it and stop some from falling out. My tongue darts out to catch the stray flakes from my lip. “Sorry - excuse me,”

There was something on his face, then, only for a second. It was light and fragile and looked as if it was ready to crumble instantly, just like the turnover he had given me.

I swallowed.

“That’s why.” Ryohei says, turning back to his dough once more.

vi.

“You don’t have to come if-if you don’t want to,” I had said, gripping the tickets in my fist.

“But I want to!” Nina says, grabbing my arm. “I really want to hear you play! Please, please!”

“Plees! Plees!” Kiki bunches my skirt in her fist, jumping.

“You came to my soccer game, right, so it’s only fair - ” Nina was saying.

Ryohei opens his hand. He doesn’t take the ticks, but he doesn’t move away either.

I pull Nina with the arm she’s latched on too, trying to straighten them a little and placing them on his open palm.

He puts them into the pocket of his apron.

xx. (Number)

I can’t see them in the sea of black beyond the blinding stage, but I know they’re there.

I pluck the string.

A flake of snow drifts down, fluttering feather-like on an invisible breeze.

Pluck.

Pluck.

Anticipation grows with each pluck, each dancing flake. Dark heavy clouds rolling in.

Suddenly there is a flurry of notes, a torrent of sound swirling and trapping the audience in its fury. The spotlight is the eye of the storm, and I wrestle with the blizzard in my hands - fighting against the numbness coming into my fingers.

It is intent on breaking free and I am intent on controlling it. The notes are relentless and constant and lighting fast. The spell collapses and the storm sighs, only the last hum of the dying notes.

It is over, gone just as sudden as it came.

I stand on the empty stage heaving, forehead slick with sweat. There’s a roar of applause that buzzes in my ears as I try to catch my breath, inhaling deeply the taste of metal.

vii.

“That was so amazing!” Nina throws her arms around my waist. “How did you make it move so fast! Like it was gonna start a fire!”

I blinked, unsure. “Thank you, Nina. What did you think, Kiki?” I asked the other girl, who was holding her father’s fingertip in her small first.

Ryohei holds a pastry box in the opposite hand.

“Mm… Loud,” Kiki said, rubbing her chubby fist in her eyes.

I chuckled behind my hand. “It was,”

My eyes drift to Ryohei. Neither of us move. I’m not sure if -

He coughs into his hand and holds out a little pastel box.

I peer into the little window where a fluffy little pastry decorated with a thin chocolate treble clef sits on a napkin doily.

He doesn’t meet my eyes.

"I’ve never gotten a - uh - whatever this is before,” I say, taking the box with both hands and admiring his steady hand. “It’s cute,”

“See!” Nina pulls at his arm. “I told you, Dad! Flowers are so cliché!”

“I do get a lot of flowers,” I agree. “It looks amazing, as always. You trying to make me fat, Ryohei? Ryohei?”

I look up, smile dropping immediately. He still hadn’t said anything. Was he angry? Did he hate it? Did I say something wro -

“Your performance,” He cleared his throat, the tips of his ears red. “I thought - I thought it was very beautiful.”

viii.

He says my name as a greeting and I squint into the dark.

“Ryohei? I didn’t even know you had a cellphone,” I grumbled into the receiver. “Can you hear me? He - “

“It’s for work.” There’s a pause. “I’d like to ask for a favor,”

“What is it?” I ask, like I haven’t already agreed, like I haven’t already moved to start pulling on a shirt.

“Kiki’s sick. I’d normally take care of her, but the Country Club banquet is today. It’s the biggest job of the year - ”

“Isn’t Nina there?” I fiddle with the buttons of my shirt.

“Yes,” He says. “But I’d like you to watch them both.”

I fell something oddly warm in my chest and immediately push it down. “Wait, don’t you have a more … capable adult?”

“No.” He doesn’t hesitate.

“Oh … okay,” I switch my phone to my dominant hand. “I’ll be over there in a little, okay? As soon as I can.”

ix.

Nina lets me into the house.

“I’m sorry my Dad asked you to come watch us,” She says, stirring the pot on the stove a few times before replacing the lid. “I’ve watch Kiki all the time,”

“I’m sure he …” My voice falls short and my eyes fall to the floor. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” She says. “I don’t mind that it’s you. I like you.”

“I can watch Kiki while you do your homework,” I lie. I don’t know the first thing about caring for children, but I want to try for her. It’s so much, I think. Too much. I pull a seat up to Kiki’s bed - the only light in the room a hazy glow from Nina’s school laptop.

I reference the overly formal texts from Ryohei for the medicine, which goes alright - and try to spoon-feed Kiki her dinner, which goes not alright.

My hand shakes too much and the soup splatters on her skin, making her cry out with screwed - shut eyes and no tears. I swivel my head for something, anything, signals firing off in my brain but never giving an answer - but then Nina is there, patting her dry and petting her hair.

She’s good at this.

Too good.

“I’m sorry,” I say, for what feels like the thousandth time that night.

“It’s okay,” She says. I know she means it, and somehow that’s worse.

And all at once, I understand both why Ryohei wanted me to come and why it was unnecessary for me to be here.

x.

“You cry in your sleep.”

The bed creaks when Ryohei moves from over me, his hand fallowing the motion. I slide arm over my eyes. The world is a smudged shadow, unfocused and dark. I wipe the tears with my wrist, swallowing the dryness in my throat.

I try to close my eyes again, try to drift back into sleep - but the remnants of dreams of shadows and stares and the heat of spotlights startled me awake.

My nightmares don’t have monsters anymore. They had my mother and her mother, their voices impossibly loud and pelting me from every direction like stones. I curled in on myself, begging and begging them to please, please, please stop.

They don’t.

I don’t even remember what they had been saying, but I still felt a heavy tiller sitting on my chest - it’s black breath mingling with the screeching of the cicadas and blanketing me.

Ryohei tugs the lamp string, placing a glass of water beside me.

“I’m … I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be ashamed.”

xi.

The soup slides down my throat and warmed my gut.

“History class is, like, super boring! Like, who cares if I don’t know the presidents! Why would I ever need to use that as a grown up?! Besides, they hey all look the same!”

I nod. “They do, yes,”

“And - and they’re all dead!” Nina shoves a spoonful into her mouth. “Can you pass the salt, Mom?”

Nina freezes.

I freeze.

Ryohei freezes.

Kiki continues kicking her legs and fighting with the soup she’d tried to maneuver onto her spoon.

I wordlessly yank the salt and launch it in her direction. “Oh! That was too forceful! I’m so sorry!”

"What’s wrong?” Asks Kiki, looking between us.

A dark blush climbs onto Kiki’s face “It’s fine! I’m sorry! It was just - just a mistake!”

“I know!” I squeak.

“I mean,” Nina says with a little scoff, “Your not my Mom.”

I look down at my plate. “No, I’m not,”

“That isn’t to say you wouldn’t be a good one or anything!”

“I’m not - ” Sure.

“You don’t want to be a Mom? That’s fine! There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“I mean - ”

“- Mommy?” Kiki says with a little tilt of the head, repeating the last of Ryohei’s explanation.

I snap my head toward her a little too fast, automatically, and we all lock up again.

xii.

I blow into the Bakery, hair wet and sniveling Ryohei looks down at me, dark eyes framed by thick lashes. He holds my gaze.

“Nina,” The young girl shot up in her seat. “Go start a bath, please.”

I dripped all the way to the counter and stood, wavering. I sniffle.

Ryohei looks back to me, silently willing me to speak.

I lower my head to avoid his gaze. I want to apologize or to say something, anything, but I can’t. My eyes are blurry again and I push my palms into them, sniffling and trying to stop the sobs from escaping.

“Go. Or you’ll catch cold.”

“Ryohei - ” All of the words clog in the back of my throat and I sob.

He holds the door open for me.

xiii.

There’s a warm plate on the table when I return, steam rolling off of the surface of the soup. Ryohei puts his hand on the chair’s back across from me and looks between me and the bowl.

“I’m not hungry.”

He gives me a look, walking away to get a glass. He sets it down between us as he sits. I take a gulp.

His eyes never leave, even though I can’t meet them.“What did they say this time?”

“What?” I say, before it comes black like a tall wave. “Oh. It doesn’t matter.”

He gives me a look of disbelief.

“It’s the same thing every time, Ryohei. My skills are slipping and I have no husband. I eat too much and smile too little. I - ” My words collapse into a silent sob, but I push on.

The clock ticks.

“There’s no point in sitting here and dwelling on it. They won’t remember. They never do.”

Ryohei is silent, but it isn’t an angry silence.

I’m not afraid of what he’ll say. Sometimes he says nothing at all and it’s just fine. I’ll sleep on the couch or he’ll sleep on the couch and I’ll eat breakfast with him and the girls or I’ll sneak out at dawn.

We’ve had enough nights like this to know how this work -

“Marry me.”

I whirl around so fast I knock the water over, fingers brushing it before it shatters. Another mess, they hiss in the back of my head - and I immediately drop to the ground starting to pick up the shards before yanking my head away. So good at making messes. Beads of red bloom onto my hand. I stare at them for a few seconds. Then I reach again.

Ryohei catches my hand. We meet eyes. He sweeps up the glass and it clinks at the bottom of the trash can. He disappears for a moment, leaving me with buzzing ears, before returning with alcohol and bandages in his large hands.

Ryohei lowers himself onto the floor, his knee hitting the cabinet as he crosses his legs.

He scoots.

Ryohei takes my hand. Enticed by the warmth, my fist starts to peel open. He holds the Cotton swab up for me to see before pressing it gingerly onto the cuts. I wince slightly. He holds his large thumb over my fingers, firm, but not tight enough to cause pain. He wraps the bandage around my palm once, then twice, steady and carefully.

Securing the bandages, he brings my hand to his lips - his eyes meeting mine. The dark expanses are nebula - like, swimming with an emotion I can’t quite name.

It warms my insides.

I swallow. “I - you - Are you sure?”

Ryohei’s gaze is steadfast, breath warming my hand as he brushes his lips along my fingertips. “Yes.”

I want to ask him why, or tell him he deserves somebody better, or throw something, or cry, or anything. But I would like to be someone better, something in my heart murmurs.

I inhale deeply, meeting his eyes. “I … I’d like that,”