Sunset Tea
On the way home we stopped at a big café for a late breakfast.
I had made sure the boys ate that morning, but nerves had left me unable to swallow a bite myself, so I was a little hungry.
We sat at an outdoor table under an awning. For Reni I ordered vanilla ice cream; for myself, on the staff’s recommendation, coffee, a baguette, and a little pot of fresh cream to spread on it.
Crunch.
“Mmm.”
I had half-doubted the recommendation, but a warm, just-baked baguette with cool fresh cream on top was genuinely delicious. The bread itself was excellent, and the fragrant coffee cut the sweetness of the cream just right.
“This is good.”
I nodded in satisfaction, and Reni, spooning up his vanilla ice cream, beamed.
“It’s good!”
“It is. But it’s cold, so eat slowly.”
“Okay!”
After another careful bite, Reni suddenly pointed at Luca and asked,
“Daaad, what about Luca? He’s not eating anything?”
“Yeah. Luca had a big breakfast. Babies shouldn’t eat too much all at once.”
“Mm…… But Luca keeps staring at what you’re eating. Maybe he wants some?”
Reni stretched the end of the sentence out—his cute little habit whenever he was unsure, or whenever he wanted me to do something.
I looked at the boy sitting alone in the stroller, gazing straight at me.
“…….”
“…….”
Something about this felt familiar.
“Ah.”
That was it. Right after we first moved into the house we live in now, I had set Luca in front of me and laid out a proper breakfast. Feeling a little sheepish, I had promised him that once he graduated from formula and started solid food, I would make him lots of delicious things.
“Luca, you remember that? Dad kept his promise. I’ve made you lots of good food since then, right?”
“Mm…….”
“But this baguette’s a problem. Our baby doesn’t even have proper teeth yet, does he?”
“Mm…….”
I looked at him and took a big, satisfying bite of the soft, crunchy baguette.
Crunch, crunch.
“Mm. They really know how to bake bread here.”
Luca couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Aba! Dada!”
Reni, eyeing his little brother as if the treatment were unfair, called me too.
“Daaad…….”
They were both so cute I could die. Being outside, I had to be careful not to laugh too loudly.
I cut off the crust, spread a little cream on the softer inside of the bread, and put it in the baby’s mouth. Luca took the bread like a baby bird and chewed with tiny, busy motions.
“Luca, is it good?”
“Hee…….”
The way he smiled, bashful and bright, was almost too pretty. I scooped out the rest of the soft inside of the baguette and gave Luca a bite, then Reni a bite, until it was gone in no time.
“It’s good!”
“Yeah? Want Dad to make this at home too?”
“Yes!”
Pleased to have discovered another menu item Reni liked, I left the café.
We caught a taxi, stopped by the market for groceries, and by the time we got home it was well past two. Days spent running errands outside always flew by.
I washed the boys’ hands and feet and faces and changed them into comfortable clothes. Luca looked at me and delivered one very clear word.
“Mamma.”
Even through the fatigue, a laugh slipped out—part joy that the baby had said a new word, part wonder that he so clearly knew what it meant.
“All right, shall we have mamma? But today’s is lunch and dinner together. You two had a lot of snacks.”
I sat them in their chairs at the table, pulled prepped vegetables and meat from the fridge, and stir-fried them with rice. For something quick and easy, fried rice was still the champion.
“Nyam!”
Reni ate well these days. His heart seemed lighter in a lot of ways, and he liked being praised for finishing his food, so he ate even better for that.
After the slightly late lunch came the day’s full allotment of playtime. Finding something that suited Luca, though, proved hard. The baby protested with great energy.
“Maaangda dada!”
“Yeah, I can’t understand that, Luca.”
“Maa! Dada!”
“Okay, okay. Here.”
I put a toy in his hand. He flung it to the floor as if to say that was not it.
“Ba!”
“You can’t just say ‘ba.’ You have to call me Dad properly.”
“Kyaaak!”
“Aigoo, our Luca’s been wound up all day.”
Declaring surrender, I took the boys out onto the terrace. The fresh air would help, and a sudden change of surroundings sometimes calmed Luca a little.
When I opened the terrace door, a soft breeze drifted in. A late-summer evening wind, cool enough to feel good. The children seemed to prefer natural wind to air conditioning; both of them closed their eyes a little and drew a deep breath.
“Dad, the wind is soft-soft and tickly.”
“Yeah, it is soft-soft. Shall we stay outside for a bit?”
“Yes!”
I took the boys back into the living room for a moment, then went out again, pulled the plastic cover off the round rattan daybed on the terrace, and patted the dust away. In the old days Luca would have made a scene, but now, as long as he could see me, he didn’t cry—so this much was possible.
I brought them back out, set them on the daybed, and flopped down myself.
Thump.
“Aigo.”
My back sank into the soft cushions and a groan came out on its own. A good day was still a good day, and tired was still tired.
The two children, who had been staring at me, flopped down after me with the exact same groan.
“Aigooo!”
“Aung-a.”
I had thought I had no strength left to laugh, but I couldn’t stop it. I pulled both of them tight against me, one on each side, and they dissolved into giggles.
“Ah—everything I just ate is going to come back up. Sit up, babies.”
I sat them upright at once and tucked plump cushions behind their backs. Both of them leaned back with deeply satisfied faces.
Well, of course. Full stomachs, cool air, soft cushions—of course they felt good. The dinner dishes, the day’s laundry, even the bath later—none of that was theirs to do!
As compensation for the labor still waiting for me, I took turns gently squishing their cheeks.
“Daaad……. Heehee.”
Luca only beamed; Reni twisted and laughed as if it tickled. Then he suddenly sat up straight.
“Dad! I’m thirsty.”
“Okay. I’ll bring water. Wait just a second. If Luca tries to get down, call Dad nice and loud.”
“Okay!”
From the terrace I could see all the way to the kitchen, so I decided to test whether the baby could wait without crying.
“Luca, Dad’s going to get water.”
“Mm.”
Leaving the child who answered better than anyone, I walked into the house. He didn’t call for me even by the time I reached the kitchen. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Luca, through the window, staring straight at me—and Reni, staring straight at Luca, standing guard.
Wasn’t that alone a huge leap forward? Having Reni nearby was probably helping the separation anxiety resolve a little faster.
In a warm glow, I filled cups for Reni and Luca, and when my eye fell on the tea tin Rose and Lily had given me long ago, I prepared a cup of hot water for myself as well.
All the way until I stepped back out with the tray, Luca waited without a single whimper.
“That’s my brave second son.”
Old enough now to drink from a straw cup like his big brother, he gulped the water down with gusto.
“Luca’s all grown up. Dad finally has time for a cup of tea.”
It was peach-blossom tea—pretty in both shape and color. Reni’s eyes fixed on the cup in my hand, drawn by the delicate petals unfurling in the water.
“Dad, are you eating flowers?”
“Not exactly. This is tea made by drying flower petals and steeping them in water. You’re not eating the flower—you’re drinking its scent.”
“Wow. It’s pretty.”
Reni’s eyes sparkled as he looked at the cup of flower tea. I didn’t know whether most four-year-olds were this sensitive, or whether Reni was simply special.
“Urrp.”
Well. Luca, who let out a grand burp after one cup of water and leaned back into the cushion, would probably still be doing that at four.
“…….”
The wind felt a little cooler, so I pulled a light blanket over the boys.
“Reni, are you cold?”
“No! It’s nice.”
“Okay. Then let’s stay out a little longer before we go in.”
Luca, the post-meal drowsiness creeping in, rested against the cushion and closed his eyes a little. Reni lay on his back and watched the sunset spread across the wide sky.
The children might not know it, but for our family this had been a day of its own quiet significance.
“…….”
Such a good day. And yet, even on a day like this, the old anxiety found me without fail.
The joy of being fully responsible for the boys now came paired with a weight of pressure. The thrill of taking an office and making a new leap came with its own anxiety. I closed my eyes and tried to swallow the unease and worry and thin sadness that the evening wind carried coolly into my arms.
No matter how many good things keep happening, a person does not change overnight. I would keep feeling this way from time to time. But I could no longer let the negative feelings that reached up from my feet drag me under. I knew I would be all right by tomorrow. I knew what I wanted. So I would hold steady.
“Dad, the sky is so pretty.”
The child’s small whisper snapped me back. I looked at the soft smile on his face, then smiled a little myself and followed his gaze upward.
“……You’re right. The sunset is really pretty.”
I quietly sipped my tea and looked up at the sky as the light faded.
Growing up at the church, I had seen a sunset like this every day. Raised under a wide sky, I had watched more sunsets than I could count. But back then I hadn’t known their beauty. Even now the color of the sky did not feel particularly special. If someone asked me to paint a sunset, for all the ones I had seen I would make a terrible job of it—nothing more than smearing orange and yellow together.
“Dad.”
“Hm?”
At the voice calling me I looked down again. Reni was looking at the glass in my hand.
“In the flower tea you’re drinking—there’s sky in it. It’s sparkling.”
“Ah…….”
The dazzling sun as it went down shone in the water of the glass. To put a simple reflection of sunlight in a cup into words like that—was our child a genius?
I gently stroked his cheek and answered.
“You’re right. The whole sky is in here.”
“Yeah. Right now Dad is drinking flower scent and sunset.”
“……I see. Then we can call this sunset tea, can’t we?”
“Yes!”
“Want to try a little, Reni?”
Reni sat up at once, beaming. He looked at the sky once through the glass, then carefully took a sip of the tea.
And his whole face crumpled.
“Pft.”
I couldn’t help it. I covered my face and laughed under my breath.
“Daaad…….”
“Sorry, sorry. Tea’s still a little bitter, huh?”
I set the tea aside and scooped up the pouting child, walking a slow circle around the terrace.
Well. I still didn’t understand sunsets. But if someone asked me to paint today’s sunset tea, I was sure I could paint that dazzling, warm light—the light of the whole sky pressed into a single cup.
“Dad!”
Luca woke with a start, and I scooped him up too and made another lap of the terrace.
The boys’ clear voices, the wind, the temperature, the smell of an evening tipping from late summer into autumn…… I would remember all of it vividly enough to paint. I could never count every sunset I had seen in my life. In the end, what I could fully remember was each moment as it came—a narrow, personal gaze, a moment only I had felt, held as if it were forever.
But that was enough. Today’s me was made whole by remembering this one small moment. Someone might scold me and ask when a person was ever supposed to become fully happy……
What could I do? The depth of my soul was only just that much.
Still—even if the depth of my soul was only the size of this one cup of sunset tea—
“Reni. Luca.”
I called their names in turn. Two pairs of clear eyes turned to me at once.
“Dad loves you. So, so much.”
Right now, I was full to the brim.