92 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW unwrap a pastry. “Did I say something that bothered you? I knew that I shouldn’t have mentioned America–” Grandpa Sato lowered his hand that he used to cut her off. “When you are my age, you learn to remember differently.” He turned his watery gaze to Mio, who was transfixed by their new intensity. “I do not remember the battles I won or lost. I do not remember the mistakes I made and the regrets I have. I do not remember the honors I received or the people I used to hate. I will remember these simple joys forever.” He paused and wiped his eyes. “Won’t you, too?” Mio gazed at the scene before her. The love shared between her mother and her grandpa. Between her and her mother. Between her and her grandpa. Pungent miso, starchy hot rice. The smell of the ocean in the fish, the sweet foreign pastries. The conversation that sparked between her family and brought them close. The bright sunbeams that warmed the chilly autumn air that seeped through the glowing windows and flooded her small body with indescribable light and warmth. Oh, and the fragrant, smoky, earthy scent of hojicha that brought her Jiji so much joy and comfort. The scent she’d smell in the storm drains and the temples. The scent she’d smell on his breath when he’d cradle her softly and kiss her goodbye and say, “Until next time, my sweet blossom.” Yes, Mio knew that she would remember this moment for the rest of her life.
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