I Unintentionally Became Her Kitten Chapter 56: Nigiri

Alisha was calr, clean and looking softer as she sat at the dining room table. I could hear the sound of dishes in the other room. Apparently her cook had been summoned for tonight and I was trying not to get anxious. I imagined her cook to be a big man, maybe Italian or French and running about with an angry scowl and yelling at people in an accent.

But when he ca around the corner I was surprised he was a scrawny boy-faced young adult of an Asian heritage. He set down a large platter filled with different kinds of sushi.

I held my tongue as he then left.

“I had him make so non-raw varieties,” Alisha inford as I looked over the various different colors and textures of protein perched atop the neat mounds of rice. “In case you find raw fish off putting.”

I shook my head. “I like sushi. It's one of the few Japanese foods I've gotten to try.”

“I suppose it is one of the more accessible ones in this country,” Alisha stated. “So do you know what this is?” She asked and gestured to a bright yellow piece with a strap of black seaweed wrapping around it.

“It's egg, right? But it's kinda sweet.”

She nodded. “Tamago,” she explained. “And this?” she moved to point at an almost purple flesh.

I squinted a little. “It looks kinda like tuna but I don't know about the color.”

“Bluefin tuna,” she explained. “You're probably used to… less expensive kinds of tuna.”

I nodded. I didn't know what the difference between bluefin and non bluefin tuna was but if Alisha could distinguish a class difference with it then it was probably there.

“What about this?” I asked and pointed to a strange sack plopped down with the rest of them. It was wrinkly and brown and looked almost soggy.

“Inariage,” she explained. “Fried tofu that's seasoned and made into a pouch.”

“May I try it?” I asked.

Alisha stared at for a long mont. “It's… dinner, Kitten. You don't need my permission to eat.”

“Yeah but… there’s only a few so if you really liked this one…” I trailed off, realizing what I was saying.

She patted my knee and then reached for a pair of chopsticks.

I did the sa. We both only had a tiny plate in front of us and she had turned away both soy sauce and wasabi, though a small pile of ginger was on the platter.

I picked up the strange brown sack and sniffed it briefly, finding it lightly fragrant with a sweetness and sothing… maybe like wine? But it was llower. I put it in my mouth. There was a juiciness to the outer layer but inside was sushi rice, a familiar flavor on my tongue. The crunch of sesa seeds also popped up here and there as I chewed.

“Do you like it?” Alisha asked as she was holding a piece of the tuna nigiri in her chopsticks.

I nodded. “It's sweet,” I said. “And like … I don't know what that flavor is,” I said.

“Inari is all about salty, sweet, and umami.” She put the tuna in her mouth finally and chewed.

I let her finish, examining the platter to decide between egg or tuna. I selected an egg one and fumbled with it a little.

“I know it wasn't exactly a pleasant dinner, but I was a bit excited to try Kanagawa’s,” I told her.

“You like Japanese food?” she asked.

“I don't know. I've had sushi and instant ran before, but that’s pretty much it,” I explained.

“Miso soup?” she asked.

I shook my head, which seed to stun her.

“Tamagoyaki?”

I shook my head again.

She stared. “Surely you've tried a donburi at least.”

“No,” I answered her. “You forget I'm not Japanese in the slightest. And I felt… embarrassed to seek out Japanese food.”

“Why?” She asked.

“Ani.”

“What does ani have to do with food?” she asked. She said the word ani quite differently than I did. The a was a defined ah sound and the ni pronounced like knee. I tended to slur it together sothing more like anna-h.

“Because my exposure to it was through ani,” I explained. “I didn't want to be a weeb.”

“A what?”

“A weeb. You know… a weeaboo,” I explained.

“What's a weeaboo?” she asked.

And so I took a deep breath and carefully explained the stereotype of white people becoming obsessed with Japanese culture, typically through ani, manga, or video gas.

“But you don't obsess over it?” She pointed out.

“I've eaten my fair share of Paki,” I told her.

“And I've eaten my fair share of coq au vin and that makes crazed about French culture?”

It was clear she had never t a weeb that was a bit too far gone.

“It's a spectrum,” I said. “So I fall on the scale sowhere but I made quite an effort to not let it beco obsessive. Not everybody does.”

She let this process. “And it's always Japanese culture?”

“For weebs, yes.” I didn't know other cultures that got the sa kind of obsessiveness thrown at them.

“And… why exactly is it a problem?” she asked.

“So your part Japanese, right?” I asked.

She nodded.

“A fully fledged weeb might think you were really pretty and really sexy only because you’re Japanese. And they might think it would be fun to have you call them senpai or sothing in bed.”

Her thoughts processed. “Oh so like the obsession gets perversive.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“I see. So there is a stereotype around this that embarrasses you,” she filled in. “Even though you are not that kind of person.”

“I don't want to be that kind of person,” I confird.

There was a lot of thought process in her head. “But do you like because I'm part Japanese?” she asked.

I shook my head. “You're pretty, yes. But you're also you and I like that.”

“Hmm.”

“I an, you're a very strong and independent woman but by no ans would I ever call you a bitch. You deal with a lot of shit that people throw at you and yet I've never heard you yell or curse at them. Instead your very… like if so people think strength has to be a sledgehamr, you're a scalpel and you take care of problems with care and precision.”

She had that confused expression again.

“Like how if you get cancer in your arm, you could have soone take an axe to it and take off the whole thing, or you could have soone cut apart the flesh and excise it so you don't lose an entire limb.”

“I… see…” she said though I wasn't sure she was understanding my point.

“You're very strong,” I told her. “But it's not because you batter problems with reckless abandon.”

She nodded. “Thank you Kitten. I don't want to be the kind of person that would take a sledgehamr to a fly… my father could be that way. With and my mom and his people. It was very much a his-word-is-law kind of setup and you wouldn't necessarily know what he was saying.”

I held her free hand. “I know he left his scars,” I told her.

She nodded. “Speaking of which, your parents haven't made any attempt at contacting you, right?” she asked.

“Nope. They haven't said anything to .”

“Good. And what about Sophia?” she asked.

I paused, in the middle of getting a piece of the tuna nigiri in between my chopsticks. “I haven't heard from her either,” I said. I didn't even think about it. I'd been so happy to be back here and away from my parents. I should check in with her though. My parents were going to be in a terrible mood over this, especially knowing there were court dates being scheduled to determine if my father had actually committed a cri by threatening .

I didn't know if Alisha had much pull in the courts themselves but the fact the police chief got involved was probably going to hold so weight.

Her lawyer was probably soone impressive, too. If the criminal case was dropped it could be reopened as a civil dispute. Either way, I didn't think Alisha was going to allow the restraining orders lifted without quite a fight, and it wasn't the most ridiculous of requests.

“I'll ssage her,” I said and took out my phone to send a quick check in ssage before going back to food.

Alisha nodded approvingly as I did so and picked a piece of egg sushi. “For the next week at least I would like you to stay ho,” she told .

“Huh?” I asked when I looked up.

She hesitated. “Let rephrase that. I don't think it would be good for you to co with during my work trips. I'll leave Tye with you so he can bring you wherever you want to go but it'll be best if you avoid the drama.”

“Oh, I see.” It had been out of character for her to tell to sit pretty. “I guess if you think it's best. I do want to always be there for you but I don't want you to get distracted worrying about my safety while you're getting your work done.”

She nodded. “I appreciate you understanding that.”

“I could try more baking and maybe I could try so cooking… though I don't know much.” Making salads was simple enough when everything was already ready to eat when you opened the package. But Tye had a point I should eat more protein. My ti at my parent’s hadn't felt good to my body either and more of the aches in my joints had returned.

“Do you want to take classes or sothing?” Alisha asked.

I shook my head.

“What if Xue taught you so things?” she asked.

“Xue?” I repeated the syllable.

Her cook stepped back into the room.

“Oh,” I said understanding. “I an. I could, I just don't know anything.”

Alisha looked at Xue for his input. He shrugged. “It wouldn't be too much,” he said.

She looked back at .

“Could I think about it?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said.

Xue went back to the kitchen evidently still cleaning or preparing sothing in there.

I felt a little bad. It hadn't been about him but it was also about him. I just didn't know him and Alisha expected to stand next to him in the kitchen… with knives and hot things and expect to not panic and hurt myself which might then make her mad at him and.. well… the snowball could roll.

He reappeared soon after and took the sushi platter just to replace it with sothing else.

“Flan?” I asked, a little surprised.

“Egg custard,” Alisha agreed. “Or, in Japan, purin.”

I eagerly took one of the plates examining the sweet. “What's the occasion for dessert?” I asked.

Her expression didn't change. “Tye said I needed to feed you more protein.”

“So you give pudding?” I asked a little flabbergasted.

“With egg in it,” she said.

“Will it balance out the sugar though?” I asked.

“Try it,” she encouraged and picked up one of the small spoons to hold out to .

I took it and spooned up a wobbly chunk of the dessert. The rest held its jiggly form on the plate, making wonder if it was going to be jelly like, but it was not. It was flan but less sweet and the caral syrup was far more bitter. The richness of egg and cream kept it in check.

“Not too sweet, right?” she asked.

I agreed. It wasn't too sweet and the sweetness was hiding beneath bitterness and cream. But it was still one of the best desserts I had ever had.