The moment Izan stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him, his grandmother's voice came from the dining area.
"Good timing. Come on, wash your hands and sit. I just finished cooking."
He slipped off his shoes and nodded, the familiar scent of soy, steamed rice, and something lightly grilled settling around him like a welcome.
He walked straight to the sink, rolled up his sleeves, and let the warm water run over his hands as the soft clatter of bowls being moved reached him from the table.
When he joined them, he folded down onto the floor cushion across from his grandfather.
The old man already had his bowl in hand, watching Izan with a questioning look.
"So," his grandfather said while lifting a bit of pickled radish with his chopsticks, "how did it go?"
Izan scooped a bit of rice, let the steam rise, and answered, "It went well. I had fun, and they had fun, so it was all good."
His grandmother turned toward her husband before he could continue.
