{Our Table for Two 1}

We woke up past ten and started preparing a late breakfast.

The breakfast menu is usually the same: toast, a lettuce salad, and a fried egg.

Sometimes, if there’s leftover soup from the night before, we’ll add that to the meal. Occasionally, Satou-san will buy bread from a famous bakery in town, saying, “I really wanted to eat this.” But five days a week, it’s our usual menu.

Making the fried egg is primarily my job. Neither of us is particularly skilled in cooking, but since I often had to cook for myself at home, I’m a bit more used to it than she is. At least since we started living together, I’ve never messed up making fried eggs.

I heat up the frying pan, add some oil, and crack two eggs into it.

When the whites begin to set, I turn the heat down. Once the yolk becomes stable, I flip one of them over and cover the pan. I prefer my eggs sunny-side up, but Satou-san likes her yolks well-done, so she prefers over-easy eggs. I need to time it so that both eggs are ready at the same time.

While the eggs are cooking, I tear up some lettuce and rinse it along with a tomato.

Next to me, Satou-san is preparing the drinks. This is her task every morning, and she always makes me a cup of hot coffee. Even though she prefers cold, sour orange juice, the fact that she takes the time to make my coffee makes me feel a little guilty.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a bright smile.

While I’m away from the frying pan, she’s boiling water in the kettle. Our kitchen is a bit small for the two of us to work side by side, so we have to make room for each other like this.

Still, the distance between me at the sink and her by the stove is less than a meter. If I turn my head, I can see her cheerful profile, looking content.

“I actually feel bad for making you cook the eggs every morning,” she says.

“It’s not a problem. I enjoy doing it.”

When I reply, she narrows her eyes happily.

“Well, I enjoy making the coffee,” she says with a smile.

I can’t argue with that, and I find myself smiling too.

“Thanks for the delicious coffee, as always.”

“And thanks for the tasty eggs!”

While we exchange words of gratitude, the water comes to a boil, and she pours me a cup of coffee. Meanwhile, a glass of bright orange juice, looking as sour as ever, fills her cup. With the drinks ready, breakfast is almost done.

“Oh, we’re out of orange juice. We’ll have to buy more today.”

“We were planning to go shopping anyway. Let’s make sure to get some.”

“Orange juice in the morning makes me feel more energetic,” she says enthusiastically. “Sour things seem good for your body. I feel like it works wonders.”

Her tone is casual, as if it doesn’t really matter what benefits it offers, which makes me chuckle. I understand what she means, though. I don’t know exactly what it helps with, but maybe her constant smiles and energy come from the orange juice.

“Can I toast the bread now?”

As she heads to the dining table with the coffee and juice, she looks back and asks.

“Go ahead. The eggs are almost done too.”

“Okay!”

Her cheerful response echoes through the kitchen as I lift the lid off the frying pan.

Steam rises, and beyond it, the two eggs look perfectly cooked, with crispy edges. One has a jiggly sunny-side-up yolk, while the other is firm from being flipped over. I have to admit, they turned out well today.

The toaster timer buzzes from the dining table. The aroma of toasting bread mingles with the smell of coffee and fried eggs, making me feel even hungrier.

Once everything is ready, we sit down at the table and put our hands together.

“Let’s eat.”

“Let’s eat!”

The table is a two-person one from my parents’ house. It’s too small to hold a full-course meal—though we couldn’t make one anyway—but it’s perfect for our daily meals.

Since it’s not wide enough for us to sit side by side, Satou-san and I face each other during meals.

Across from me, she places her over-easy egg on top of the toast, sprinkles a little salt, and takes a big bite. Our eyes meet at that moment, and she blinks once before giving me a shy smile.

To be honest, I’m still not completely used to sitting across from her. When we sit side by side, I can sneak glances easily, but when we face each other, pretending not to look is much harder. Despite this, I often find myself staring at her, unintentionally making her feel self-conscious.

“Why are you staring at me?”

She asks, wiping her mouth with her fingers as if she’s checking for crumbs.

“It’s nothing,” I shrug, trying to cover it up.

“It’s just that you always eat like that.”

“This?”

She points to her toast with the egg on top.

Then, with a slight blush, she admits, “Actually, I’ve always wanted to try eating it like this.”