it’s a quiet morning. 

i glance at the sink. it’s full, of course. 

maybe someone else will do it, i think. 

but i’m still awake, and i hear mayumi’s soft snores behind me. 

i quietly undo the mess of clean dishes. i grab the chopsticks first, carefully plucking them from the drying rack. the round ones are mine — they have little ridges at their tips. the angular ones, maissie’s — the blue flowers remind me of chopsticks from back home. and the brown ones are soda’s; i picture them taking tiny bites of their crab meat rice bowl with those chopsticks. i sometimes wonder why they don’t just eat it with a spoon. 

i quietly place them back in the drawer, still aware of mayumi’s sleeping frame. 

the drawer is overflowing with utensils. ice-cream scoop, three rice paddles, two vegetable peelers.

i go back to the drying rack, and i know what everyone’s dishes look like — lauren’s ikea set i often steal, mayumi’s nutella-melting bowl, soda’s brown mugs that steam with miso soup, maissie’s white set that’s quite tricky to tell apart from lauren’s, and kit’s shot glasses that carried us through countless drunken nights. 

i put each dish back in their respective cabinets. 

i continue unloading the dishes — the knife that i learned how to finely chop garlic with, the cutting board that’s strictly vegetable-only, the pot i used to boil lauren’s unlabelled mystery soup, the little spoons we would eat cookies and cream ice cream with, with chocolate syrup drizzled on top. the tongs that transfer mayumi’s signature ramen noodles from the pot to the bowl. the spatula jade uses to make miso udon. the glass cup that survived unlike its siblings. 

at some point mayumi stirs awake, and asks me what time it is. i tell her it’s 9:47am. still a few hours left until our exams. 

i turn the water on to tackle the dirty dishes. i remember the all-nighter snacks. 

maissie wakes up and comes into the kitchen. 

it’s a quiet morning 

but i know there will always be someone here to share a meal with.