"Yes, it’s right here." Shiitake’s cheeks were smarting with embarrassment at being found with it in her hands. "I picked it up because it kept vibrating and I thought it might be your office and…" "Well, who was it?" Ken blurted out. Shiitake remembered the knot of tension she had found when shiatsuing his shoulders the previous evening. Could his worry be the cause? "It was a woman," Shiitake’s voice had lost all expression, "about little Stan…"
Ken flung open Shiitake’s bathroom door—skin glistening with drops of chlorine-free, energized water and wrapped only in one of her organic cotton bath towels. "Have you seen my cell phone?" he asked hurriedly, "I forgot to check for calls."
Returning moments later hastily clad, Ken asked, "How about dinner tonight at Wild Ginger? I know it’s one of your favorites. I’ll explain everything then." He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, snatched his cell phone from her hand, and raced out the door. Shiitake noticed that he had buttoned his shirt incorrectly, but before she could say anything he was gone.
So much for our romantic breakfast, she thought, sinking into a chair and absent-mindedly nibbling on a cold mochi waffle. Try as she may, her thoughts remained on Ken for some time. She thought about blaming it all on karma, chalking it all up to experience, and whipping herself up some millet mashed "potato." But, there was a connection with Ken that she could not deny. And, the image of him appearing in her bathroom door in nothing but a towel was impossible to remove from her head.
So what if he has a son, she told herself. I do like kids. It’s just that he didn’t tell me about him that bothers me. I know we’re just getting to know each other but we really seem to click. Shouldn’t he have shared with me something as central to his life as this?
After a day during which the only creative visualization Shiitake could mange were worst case scenarios about what was going on with Ken, she decided to accept the invitation and to meet him at the whole food restaurant in the city.
I wonder what excuse he will offer, Shiitake mused as she carefully applied her nontoxic, FD and C color-free organic earth pigment lipstick in her favorite shade—adzuki bean shimmer. It wasn’t just for Ken that she wanted to look her best. Sure she was mad at him and didn’t know what the future would hold but she still wanted him to think she was a babe. And then of course there was the venue to consider. Wild Ginger was the place to be seen around town. And, as a high-profile yoga teacher Shiitake knew all eyes would be on her.
Shiitake was already seated and had narrowed down the choices of what to order to the brown rice pilaf with caramelized sweet potato or tofu kebabs with wild crafted basil pesto when Ken arrived at 7:15 p.m. He looked like he had been trying to make up for lost time all day. He placed a red rose beside her on the table and touched her hand as he sat down. Shiitake tried to ignore the jolt of electricity that shot up her arm and passed him a menu.
The conversation was polite but strained. Shiitake speculated whether the dashi stock of her miso soup was freshly made or from a packet containing MSG-like flavor enhancers. She explained the dangers of these excito-toxins to Ken and warned him to stay away from packaged food that contained them. Ken nodded but could tell she was distracted and not her usual animated self. This was obvious while Shiitake explained how her brown rice pilaf would have been more nutritious if the chef had taken the time to pre-soak the grain and had added the salt after the water had come to the boil so the grain could open up more. "It is much easier to absorb the chi that way," she said though Ken knew her heart wasn’t in it.
Ken knew Shiitake was upset that he had dashed off early that morning but could not work out why she was so distraught. She tried her best to hide it but Ken knew her too well
by now. She had barely touched her miso soup and was hardly racking up 30 bites per mouthful of the pilaf. She had not even commented on his progress when he made a point of emphasizing that his tofu lasagna was nightshade free.
The air had been as thick as umesho kuzu all through dinner and it was only when her blueberry couscous cake and Ken’s tofu maple cheesecake arrived that Shiitake blurted out, "Why didn’t you tell me you had a little boy?
Ken almost choked on his cake. "You thought Stan was my son?"
Shiitake nodded. "Barbara said…"
"No, Stan is my nephew, Shiitake! He has been staying with me regularly because my sister, Sally, hasn’t been well—she has Multiple Sclerosis. Barbara’s a neighbor who’s been helping out."
"Oh," Shiitake managed to say. For the first time ever she was at a loss for words.
"Sally is doing a lot better lately—actually since someone at her support group told her about macrobiotics. She is going to the Kushi Institute for a week-long course next month to learn even more. That is how I came to be at Wild Rice Wholefoods the day we met. Everyone in the family is doing their best to be positive and supportive so she can improve her condition."
Shiitake’s heart leapt out of her small intestine where it had been interfering with digestion and blood production all day, bypassed its anatomically correct position, and leapt straight into her throat. It was all she could do to stop tears of compassion spilling into her dessert. She took a big gulp of bancha tea and tried to compose herself.
Ken went on to explain that although he initially became interested in macrobiotics to be supportive of his sister, he was starting to see the merit in it and was really trying to learn the ropes. Shiitake’s heart melted—not only was this guy willing to learn the macro ropes (and boy was she willing to teach), he had a heart chakra the size of the grand canyon!
"Little Stan had been a little peakish yesterday but I thought he was just missing his mother," Ken explained. "It turned out he was running a fever."
"Oh the poor little thing," Shiitake cooed. She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a small container and some tea bags. "Here, take my ume plums and bancha. That will alkalize his blood and help him feel better fast."
"Thanks Shiitake," Ken said and smiled. He was relieved to see the sparkle back in her tamari-colored eyes. "Stan seems to be over the worst of it. I rushed straight over there and he was already up and watching the morning cartoons. My boss wasn’t happy of course. The UNICEF project is already two weeks behind schedule."
"UNICEF?" Shiitake repeated. " I thought you were in IT?"
"We are building a free fund-raising website for the Feed the Orphans of Africa Campaign," Ken explained matter-of-factly. I joined the eco-aware IT Company to make a difference—we work for free when a good cause is involved."
Shiitake decided to do some Hopi ear candling when she got home. This guy just sounded too good to be true. Could it be that her evening class—Manifesting the Man of Your Dreams—exercises had paid off after all?
What will happen next?
Does Shiitake realize what a good guy Ken is, offer to bring his recovering sister some sweet vegetable drink, and invite Ken on another date—a trip to the local Farmers Market, so they can get better acquainted over some home-grown kale and winter squash?
—OR—
Does Shiitake remember the macrobiotic principle, "the bigger the front, the bigger the back," and think that maybe Ken is too good to be true and that she is better off getting out now? Should she make a hasty excuse about needing to be up bright and early for yoga and make a hasty retreat?
