I don't like family dinners.
Never have.
Even in my past life, formal meals were always a performance, a carefully choreographed dance where one wrong step meant you'd be found floating in Tokyo Bay the next morning.
This dinner with the Kuzmina-Nakanos was no different, just with less chance of concrete shoes and more chance of awkward questions about why my stepsister kept blushing every time I passed her the potatoes.
Kimiko had outdone herself tonight. The table groaned under a spread that would make most restaurants jealous—roasted chicken with herbs, garlic mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables in some kind of lemon butter sauce, and fresh-baked rolls that smelled like heaven.
Say what you want about being stuck in this world, but the food was a definite upgrade from convenience store bento boxes and instant ramen.
