“Is it you, monsieur, who wants to return to the past?”

“Miki, please, speak proper Japanese,” said Nagare, aghast at her attitude. But Miki tsk-tsked him with a wave of her finger.

“That is not possible, moi is not Japanese,” she retorted.

Nagare gave an exaggerated frown as if he had been expecting such a response. “Oh, what a shame! It is a rule of the café that the person who pours the coffee must be Japanese.”

“Only kidding! I’m Japanese!” she exclaimed, flip-flopping shamelessly.

With a sigh of exasperation Nagare said, “Yes, yes. We all know that. Hurry up and get ready.”

He motioned with his hand for her to go to the kitchen. “Okay,” Miki replied enthusiastically and hurried off.

While this exchange was taking place, Kazu appeared completely detached, standing quietly as if she wasn’t even present in the room.

“Kazu, help her please,” Nagare called out.

“Yes, sure,” Kazu said. She excused herself from Kiyoshi with a bow and silently vanished into the kitchen.

After watching her go, Nagare turned to Kiyoshi.

“Er, I’m sorry,” he said as a way of apologizing for Miki’s messing around when Kiyoshi wanted to return to the past to meet his dead wife. But Kiyoshi hadn’t been bothered by it, at all. He had found the exchange between Miki and Nagare amusing, heartwarming even. Besides, he was just happy to learn that he could return to the past. His heart raced in anticipation.

Kiyoshi looked at the vacant chair.

“It never even occurred to me that Miki would pour my coffee,” he said.

“Last week she turned seven,” Nagare replied, looking toward the kitchen.

“Oh, now that you mention it,” Kiyoshi said, suddenly recalling.

The pourer of the coffee not only had to be a woman of the Tokita family, but she also had to be at least seven years of age. Kazu had once told him this. At the time, he hadn’t considered it especially important information and had forgotten it.

Kiyoshi again looked to the chair that would take him back in time and began walking toward it, as if it was pulling him.

I’m going back to the past.

The thought made his chest feel hot. He looked at Nagare.

“Go ahead and sit down...” Nagare urged.

Kiyoshi drew a deep breath and slowly edged his way between the table and the chair. His heart raced even faster.

He sat down in the chair and pulled out the gift that he had just stowed in his portfolio.

“Kiyoshi,” Nagare called as he walked toward him, one eye still on the kitchen.

“Yes, what is it?” Kiyoshi asked, lifting his head up.

Nagare stooped down low and whispered with his hand up against Kiyoshi’s ear as if telling secret information.