INM 9 Bonus Track

Breakfast On An Early Summer Morning 

(It Is Not A Mystery – bonus track)

“You want to open an office?”

I couldn’t help but ask back at my lover’s unexpected words. The handsome detective, with whom I had spent the night in my bedroom as usual, was now sipping the coffee I had brewed for him at the glass office table that had been completely transformed into a dining table. No-name bone china. The same as the coffee cup I use when I’m alone. Brian had somehow found the spare mug that I’d bought as a set and hadn’t really used and made it his own.

On the glass table was the breakfast “brekkie” that Brian had skillfully prepared. Lightly roasted root vegetables, bacon and mini tomatoes, on a lettuce salad were roughly scooped avocado and halved boiled eggs. No Vegemite on the toast. My main meal before reuniting with Brian was probably not something he would want to eat every day.

I popped a roasted tomato dripping with olive oil into my mouth and continued.

“So you’re going out on your own as a detective?”

“No, I know being a detective isn’t for me.”

Brian replied calmly, bringing a piece of lettuce to his mouth with efficient cutlery handling. Drawn in by the man’s movements, I washed down the aftertaste of the tomato with coffee. It was the perfect flavor, even by my own standards. Today’s beans were Guatemalan bourbon, sold by weight at my regular coffee roaster. The owner always bragged about hand-selecting them, so as long as I brewed them carefully, they would always make a delicious cup no matter how I handled them. They’ve been my favorite beans for a long time.

“I think your persistence and seriousness are suitable for a detective, though.”

“You say it is, and then you say it isn’t.” Brian continued, narrowing his eyes and glaring at me. “In the first place, I joined the detective agency for savings and to make a living. I thought I could make use of my experience as a police officer, and that was indeed the case, but I intended to quit as soon as I had saved my target amount.”

“Hmm. So does that mean you saved that target amount?”

“Yes.”

“By the way, what kind of office is this?”

Although he probably anticipated my question, Brian hesitated unusually. “Oh?” I couldn’t help but widen my eyes slightly. He seemed to be worried about how I would react. This seemed to be a very important goal for Brian.

Just as I was about to say that he didn’t have to answer if it was difficult to say, Brian hesitantly answered my question.

“I’m thinking of going back to school to study psychology and become a clinical psychologist.”

“A clinical psychologist!?” 

Until then, I had vaguely sketched in my mind the interior of a detective agency, but I immediately changed it to the interior of a clinical psychologist’s office. I had seen this profession in dramas. There were scenes in which characters in difficult situations visited the offices of psychological counselors to relieve their daily stress. In those dramas, the counselors’ offices were filled with gilded fixtures and antique furniture, and heavy bookshelves in the background were filled with immaculate professional books. I assumed they were consultants for wealthy clients, but I wondered if clients could really relax in such an office.

Especially for someone like me, who is both intimidated and resistant to authority.

But, well, the client’s sofa looked comfortable. It would almost certainly be eye-wateringly expensive, though. 

With the image of the office from the drama firmly in my mind, I muttered, “That’s nice.” as if in a trance. I clearly lacked the knowledge to handle the coordination of a counselor’s office. I had only a vague, unfocused idea of what kind of office would be comfortable for both Brian and the clients who needed psychological counseling, and what a psychological counseling office even needed. I was certain that if I tried to flesh out the details, I would end up with a wildly inaccurate picture.

As I began to consider using my connections to see if I could arrange a visit and interview at a psychological counselor’s office somewhere, Brian, perhaps encouraged that I hadn’t rejected his idea, continued in a slightly more cheerful tone than usual for him. He talked about how he had been thinking about this idea throughout his trip around the world, how he had made detailed plans, and how he was close to reaching his goal amount… while looking at my beloved’s slightly embarrassed but determined face, I made up my mind.

“I understand. Leave the interior design of the office to me. When do you plan to open the office? I think even a genius like you will need at least six months. I’ll have some openings in my schedule in two months, so I can take care of the paperwork-“

“Wait, wait, Luke. About the office…”

Brian hastily interrupted me and I pursed my lips in annoyance.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t want to leave the coordination to a professional? I’m telling you, you should ask me. I’ll give you a lover’s discount.”

“No, if you’re willing to take it on, I’ll definitely ask you. And please charge me the regular rate.”

“Understood.”

“It’s not that. I have the qualifications, but I don’t have any practical experience. The courses I chose were mostly focused on criminal psychology. You’re independent yourself. You can imagine what would happen if I opened an office based only on theory.” 

Though there was no need to think about it, I expanded my imagination as I swallowed the avocado and lettuce. Opening an office after only studying ergonomics and architecture at a vocational school, with no experience, connections or name recognition.

“You’re right, it’s reckless.”

“It is still a few years in the future. Nevertheless, I wanted to share my dream with you.”

I felt my heart lift at my lover’s words. It’s still a little scary to think about the future, but sharing dreams with someone I trust felt wonderful.

I put the coffee cup I had been holding back on the table. Wanting to do something nice for him, as he had done for me, I spoke of the biggest future dream I could imagine at the moment. 

“I think I’d like pancakes for dinner tonight. Not the sweet kind, the kind with ham, lettuce and eggs on top.”

To think that the biggest “dream” I could imagine at the moment was something like that.

As I was consoling myself for having such a pathetically cute dream, my childhood friend, accustomed to my sudden changes of subject, calmly replied, “Sounds good.”

“I’ll make them, if that’s all.”

“You can make them?”

“Yes. Your mother taught me the basics of simple cooking.”

“My mother, huh?”

At this unexpected information, I couldn’t help but lean forward. I saw my childhood friend, calmly sipping his coffee, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from curling into a smile, like a boy who had pulled off a successful prank. Somehow, that smile sapped my strength, and I let out a big sigh and leaned back in my chair.

“This is the first I’ve heard of it… When on earth?”

“When I used to go to your house as a kid.” Before I could express my surprise, Brian continued, “My mother would sometimes forget to make meals for a few days. When my father was away for long periods of time, it was like her batteries ran out… I was grateful that we at least had food and cooking utensils.”

Ignoring me, who had stopped holding my fork, Brian calmly brought a piece of chicken to his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. 

“Every time I went to your house, Miriam fed me until I was satisfied, so I was grateful. When I asked her how to make things, she explained it clearly. That’s how I was able to grow so big and feed my younger siblings.”

“Well, that certainly sounds like something Mom would do. She’s the kind of person who can’t stand the thought of a child being hungry. She probably got that from Grandma.”

“The reason I never told you before was simply because I felt inferior. Toward you, who has such a strong bond with your parents.”

“Inferiority? You, to me?”

“That’s right.”

“You, from such a picture-perfect family, to me, who lived in a crowded little house and barely knew table manners?” 

“I wasn’t really aware of the houses…”

The man lifted his eyes to the upper right, perhaps trying to remember the state of my house. Oh, I’d rather that memory just stay buried in the swamp.

Anxious to keep my childhood friend from digging up that memory, I spoke quickly.

“Your mother gave me a broom once, you know.”

“Could it be the one you used to carry around?”

Brian, who knew me well as a child, seemed to understand immediately which broom I was talking about. Of course he did. I was always equipped with that precious broom, and I even took it to school.

“When I went to your house for the first time and saw your tidy, beautiful house, it was as if the world suddenly lit up. Holding the broom has always reminded me of that feeling. Looking back, I am who I am today because of Hannah.”

“I see.”

Nodding, Brian smiled. It was a gentle, kind smile.

For a while we clinked our silverware in silence. The silence wasn’t awkward, but a strange and gentle time in which we gave each other space to organize our thoughts. The light streaming in from the window grew stronger. Soon we would each begin our day, just like yesterday. I had once almost let go of these irreplaceable days with my own hands.

“Maybe you’re my destiny partner. We were helped by each other’s parents in our most difficult times, we’re able to help each other with what we learned from each other’s parents, and most importantly, we’re able to choose to be together like this.”

“You’re just saying that now.”

Brian scoffed at my statement. His face was a solid mass of pure, one-hundred-percent malice.

“I’ve thought so ever since we were kids, and now I’m convinced my intuition was right.”

“Oh, is that so?” 

I replied curtly, pleased by my lover’s words. I drank the rest of the coffee at the bottom of my cup and then looked up at his beautiful blue-gray eyes with a relaxed expression.

“Hey, Brian. I know it’s bad manners, but I kind of want to kiss you right now.”

At my words, the man silently raised his eyebrows. He deliberately put down his fork slowly and stared back at me. Then, with an exceptionally beautiful smile, knowing full well that it was his most charming expression, he gracefully opened both his arms to me.

By the way.

A few years later, Brian successfully opened his own office and, thanks to connections from his time as a police officer, was often involved in victim advocacy cases (which, from my perspective, he was clearly better suited for).

It’s another story how I accidentally brought up relationship advice to Inspector Robinson, whom I happened to meet again through that connection, and gave him a look of utter despair as if he had just lost ten thousand dollars.