With a grateful smile, Juniper sat at a window table. From there, nestled in its 87th-floor vantage point, Mabel’s restaurant offered a view of the surrounding ecocity stretching toward sun and sky.  Buildings clad in glittering solar glass, vibrant green spaces, and balconies shaded in vine. Down the bustling avenues, at a distance, the wilds beyond the city's boundaries faded into the horizon.

 “Sorry, I couldn’t find a menu on my LEAF,” Juniper said with a pointed glance toward the device on her arm, identical to Mabel’s in all but the final decorative details. 

“No, dear, you wouldn’t.” Explaining to new diners why the Life and Environment Assistance and Facilitation System didn’t show a menu always offered insight into their personalities. “You see, I make only one variety per day, and never the same thing twice. Otherwise, I’d get bored of my own creations.”

“So, this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience twice over, then. Eating at your famous restaurant and eating a soup that will never exist again.”

“I hope it will live up to expectations,” Mabel said, then stepped into the kitchen and glanced longingly at her own meal. Well, it would just have to wait. She ladled a generous portion into another handmade bowl and carried it to the table, where she placed it in front of Juniper before garnishing it. “Now, before you begin, I have one request.”

“What’s that?”

“Each soup is a part of me that I’m sharing with you. If you’re willing, would you share part of yourself with me too? It can be anything: how many siblings you have, your favorite flower, the dish that most reminds you of your childhood. Or, of course, nothing at all. It’s an invitation, not an obligation.”

Juniper let out a little laugh. “Let’s see. My parents both worked in species restoration. That’s why my dad named me for one of the trees that— well, that didn’t make it through the Long Drought.”

“I heard juniper used to grow all over this region,” Mabel offered, as if in sympathy.

Juniper’s face brightened. “You know of it?”

“They used to use its berries as a spice, and for a drink.”

“Of course! Most people have to ask their LEAF.”

“Well, decades of cooking will teach you a thing or two about flavorings, even long-extinct ones.” Mabel glanced at Juniper’s meal, still perfectly garnished and untouched.

Juniper’s eyes followed Mabel’s gaze, and she flushed. “I’m sorry, I’m talking too much and letting it get cold! Should I stir in the toppings, or eat it as it is?”

“That’s up to you, dear.”

Juniper’s hand, holding her spoon, hesitated over the bowl— then she scooped up a bite and brought it to her mouth.

Mabel smiled. She had meant it, really, that guests were welcome to stir in the garnishes if they preferred, but it always made her happy to see someone eating as she had intended. After all, if she had wanted those components mixed in, she would have done so herself.

Without speaking, Juniper took a second bite, then a third, then a fourth. Mabel liked that, too. Far too many people let out appreciative “mmm”s and “yum”s the instant the soup hit their tongues, long before they had a chance to actually taste its nuances.

“This,” Juniper said eventually, “is even better than I had heard. What is it, if I may ask?”

Mabel beamed. “I’m so glad, dear! It’s a nettle, chickweed, and thyme soup puréed with pine nuts for creaminess, then finished with a marjoram, lemon zest, and toasted garlic gremolata and a drizzle of olive oil infused with preserved lemons. I think if I were to make this one again, I would add burdock.”

“But you won’t?”

“I might use this one as inspiration for another one someday, but it won’t be the same.”

The door swung open, and several of Mabel’s regulars walked in together as the system, rather unnecessarily, announced their arrival.

THREE PEOPLE HAVE ARRIVED. WELCOME, TALIA, MONA, AND FINN.

“Would you excuse me?” Mabel set about preparing three bowls of soup. Something the young woman had said was tickling the back of her mind, and she knew it would pester her until she figured it out. She set down the three bowls in front of the familiar arrivals and chatted with them for a few minutes, but her thoughts were on the stranger.

Ah hah. There it was.

Mabel returned to the window table and peered at Juniper, who had half-finished her soup. “You aren’t from Oakstead,” she observed.

Juniper wiped her mouth with a linen napkin. “Why do you say that?”

“All the buildings here are named after trees and plants. Mostly living species, of course, but our Juniper Building was named in remembrance of what was lost. Everyone here has heard of junipers.”

Juniper absently stirred the soup remaining in her bowl, mixing in the rest of the garnish. “You’re right,” she said eventually. “I’m not from Oakstead.”

“I don’t get many travelers here. Most of my customers are regulars.”

“I see why you did the garnishes on top,” Juniper said. “Stirring them into the soup dilutes their flavor and means every bite is the same. Leaving them on top adds some variation.”

“Very well,” Mabel laughed. “I won’t pry, dear.”

Juniper cast her a grateful smile. “Would it be too greedy if I asked for a second bowl?”

Mabel felt herself beaming. “Of course not! I’d never let a guest go hungry.”

Five hours, forty-three guests, and sixty-two bowls of soup later, Mabel was ready to close shop. Juniper was still sitting at the window, gazing at nothing in particular with a faraway look in her eyes.

“Would you like one more bowl before you go?” Mabel said.

Juniper’s attention shifted to Mabel, and the younger woman smiled. “Thank you, but no. I’ve taken too much of your time already. But could I come back tomorrow?”

The next day, Juniper traded her favorite color for a bowl of smoky tomato broth poured over blistered padron peppers, charred and chopped eggplant, and herbed couscous. The day after that, she spoke of the smell of a frosty night under the stars as she ate the rosemary, chard, sunchoke, and roasted chestnut soup finished with pink peppercorns and pear vinegar. 

By the end of a week, Mabel found herself eating at the window with Juniper rather than rushing to finish her meal in the kitchen. At this rate, Mabel thought, Juniper would soon become part of the makeshift family that had formed around the restaurant.

On the eighth day, Juniper shook her head at the offer of curried carrot and kumara soup finished with pea shoots, cilantro, and a vibrant basil oil. “It sounds delicious, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not, dear?”

“Because then I’ll need to tell you something about myself, but I want it to be the other way around today. Won’t you tell me about yourself, Mabel? About your family? Do you have children and grandchildren?”

Mabel plastered a bright smile onto her face. “I’m afraid not, dear. It’s just me. Now, let me get you some soup.”

“I’m sorry,” Juniper murmured, flushing. “I’ve overstepped.”

Mabel shook her head, still smiling brightly. “Not at all. It was thoughtful of you to ask.” She brought Juniper a bowl, then moved away, tending to the tables of regular guests. Their warm, familiar company washed away her initial reaction, and by the time she got back to Juniper, she was ready to be more honest. “I always wanted children. It just never happened like that for me. But when I feed my regulars, I feel as if I’m at least their auntie or grandma.”

“That’s beautiful,” Juniper said quietly, then offered her a tentative smile. “Still, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t give it another thought, dear. Are you enjoying your soup?”

The next day, Juniper marched in with more determination than Mabel had seen from her before. She took her now-usual seat and announced, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Mabel blinked at the young woman as she set a bowl of beetroot and coffee soup topped with arugula, chives, borage, and calendula in front of her. “What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t fair for me to ask for more than I’ve given. So here we go.” Juniper took a deep breath and released it slowly. “My mom died when I was born. She was named Juniper, too. My dad named me after her, but I think it was too hard for him to call me by her name, so he called me Juny instead.” She gazed into her bowl. “It’s funny to hear that name again, even out of my own mouth. No one has called me that in a decade.”

Something about the woman before her —this grown woman whose sinewy strength showed even through her diffident posture— looked for all the world like a lost child. Mabel ached to comfort her but had never been one for touch; food had always been her means of expression. Nevertheless, she reached out, only to find herself awkwardly patting the younger woman’s shoulder a little too hard.

Juniper instinctively flinched away from the touch. The two stared at each other, then Juniper gave Mabel a bit of a smile. “The soup is delicious, as always,” she said.

“Are you scared of me, Juniper? Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since the first day you came in, you’ve seemed as if you aren’t quite sure you belong here, or if you’re allowed to be here.”

Juniper let out a little laugh. “That’s nothing to do with you. You’d think that growing up traveling and wandering would make someone comfortable anywhere, right? I’ve found it just makes me equally uncomfortable everywhere, like there’s never been any such thing as home.”

“That sounds awful, dear.”

“It is and it isn’t,” Juniper said with a shrug. “There’s something to be said for feeling equally not-home everywhere.”

“I don’t hurt them,” Juniper said, her face suddenly hard and her shoulders tensing. “I got all the clearances, I don’t light fires, I don’t take more than I need.”

“I’m sure you do it all very well, dear. I wasn’t questioning that, only it seems terribly lonely and dangerous out there all by yourself. Is there some nice young person who keeps you company?”

Juniper’s defensive posture vanished, and she laughed softly. “You’re very kind to worry. No, it’s just me. I grew up exploring with my dad, and he taught me to take care of myself. Anyway, I was exploring, and I found a juniper tree. I think it’s the last one. I didn’t dare take too many berries.” Her eyes took on the faraway look that Mabel was beginning to find all too familiar.

“Naturally you took them to scientists and restorationists to try to bring the species back?”

“Of course, that’s the first thing I did,” Juniper said.

“Of course,” Mabel acknowledged quietly.

“They took most of them, tested them, and said they weren’t viable. I guess the tree I found was a female, and there aren’t any males left to pollinate her.”

“Couldn’t they do something with cloning or cross-fertilization?” Mabel wasn’t really quite sure of how anything to do with cloning or cross-fertilization worked, but she had chatted over bowls of soup with enough people over the years to have heard that both methods had been successful in bringing species back.

“Yes. Actually, the species restorationists I talked to said it should be relatively easy.”

“That’s wonderful, dear! You’ve found a way to bring back your namesake.”

“Not exactly.” Juniper stared out the window, evidently lost in her thoughts.

Mabel waited patiently, the precious berries still cupped in her hands. After some time, she said, “Here, dear, you ought to have these back.”

Juniper offered her a wan smile. “They’re for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes.” Juniper let out a sigh. “That’s why I’m here. See, it should be possible to bring the species back from the brink, now that we know one is alive. The fact that it’s female makes it even easier, because we have the berries. The problem is that there are so many equally worthy projects, and only so much time and resources.”

“The restorationists don’t want to work on this one?”

“Oh, I’m sure they want to! My dad wanted to restore every species he could, and I know it broke his heart every time he had to say ‘no’ to a project. But that region’s ecosystem has been thriving without juniper this far, so it’s not a vital missing link in nature. And nobody in hundreds of years has tasted its berries, so it’s not considered to be, as they put it, ‘of major practical or cultural significance’ to people, either. That means it’ll go to the end of the list, and by the time they get to it in years or decades, that last tree might be gone.”

Mabel was finally beginning to understand. “You want me to cook with these.”

Juniper nodded. “I’ve spent most of my life traveling the wilds. For the last few months, I’ve been traveling the cities instead, looking for someone who makes magic with food.”

“Why?”

“So I can meet with the people in charge of the culinary branch of the restoration council and convince them to change their minds.”

Mabel strategized carefully. She would save as many berries as possible for Juniper’s meeting, but she needed to learn how they worked. She had some sense of the berries’ flavor from their aroma, but the only way to really know how to cook with them was to experiment.

That wasn’t to say Mabel would be reckless. She had a plan. First, she wrapped a few of the berries in a piece of thin kitchen cloth, tying it off into a little bundle. That way, she’d be able to cook it in the broth but easily find it afterward to reuse the contents if possible. She crushed a few more berries in her mortar and pestle.

Now came the hard part: trying to pair ingredients with something she had never cooked with before. The berries’ aroma reminded her a bit of bay leaves, so she began with that as her inspiration, creating a stock from roasted carrots and charred onions before adding potatoes and apples. The little sachet of juniper went in as the soup simmered away. After an hour, she pulled out the sachet and puréed the small portion of simple soup, served it into two little bowls, and sprinkled the crushed berries on top.

Juniper arrived just on time.

“Are you ready?” Mabel asked. “It’s not much, certainly not worthy of being the first time a human has eaten these berries in hundreds of years, but it will help me understand how to cook with them.”

Juniper nodded silently.

Simultaneously, the two women picked up their spoons and took their first bites. Juniper’s face was downturned, hiding any expression, but Mabel was her own harshest critic anyway. “Well, that didn’t work at all,” she said.

At that, Juniper looked up at her. “It’s quite nice.”

“It’s fine. It isn’t remarkable. The juniper is sharp and bright, and the other ingredients are too gentle to support its flavor.”

Juniper took another bite, her brow furrowed in concentration. “I see what you mean now that you describe it that way.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll do it better,” Mabel promised.

The next day, Mabel made a tomato-based soup with white beans, toasted garlic chips, rosemary, and roasted bell peppers. “The theory,” she said, “is that the acidity of the tomato and the bite of the garlic are bold enough to stand up to and support the sharpness of the juniper. The beans provide substance without being overwhelmingly flavorful on their own. The rosemary is there to bring out the herbaceous notes in the juniper, and the bell peppers give just a bit of sweetness so the whole thing isn’t too harsh.”

“It sounds almost as good as it smells,” Juniper said with a hint of a grin.

They ate again. And again, Mabel was dissatisfied. “I went too far the other way,” she bemoaned. “Now the juniper doesn’t stand out enough to impress anyone.”

To Mabel’s surprise, Juniper didn’t look disappointed at all. Instead, her smile was unusually warm as she said, “Then you know everything you need to know to find the perfect middle ground.”

“I hope so,” Mabel said. “After all, next time is my last chance.”

Three days later, Mabel began cooking before dawn. First, she caramelized onions so slowly that they were almost formless by the time they were sweet and brown. She roasted parsnips, fennel root, and cabbage. She ground caraway seeds into the finest powder. All of those went into a pot together with a few juniper berries and a simple broth to simmer. Once everything was soft, she puréed the mixture, then poured it through a sieve to ensure perfect smoothness before returning the pot to the heat. As the soup cooked, she sautéed chanterelles and tossed them with thyme. Finally, she crushed the last few juniper berries as finely as she could.

FOUR PEOPLE HAVE ARRIVED. WELCOME, JUNIPER, ANTON, CARYS, AND SOL.

Mabel walked out into the dining area, wiping her hands on her apron. “Welcome,” she said. “Please have a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring your soup out for you momentarily.” She did her best to keep her composure, but the anxious look on Juniper’s face made that almost impossible.

Mabel ladled the soup into four bowls, but brought them to the table two at a time; she didn’t dare take any chances. Once she had set the bowls down, she drizzled each with a few drops of black garlic oil, scattered the chanterelles on top, then carefully —oh, so carefully— sprinkled the last crushed juniper berries onto each portion. And then she excused herself, went into the back room, and waited.

An eternity later, she heard the front door close, then a single set of footsteps coming toward the kitchen. 

“Mabel?”

Mabel pushed herself up from the seat and rushed out. “How did it go?” she asked. “Did they like it? Did you like it? Was the juniper prominent enough? Did they say anything?” As the questions tumbled out, she looked Juniper up and down. The younger woman’s entire body was trembling, and her eyes were reddening with unshed tears.

Silently, Juniper bit her lower lip and nodded. “They loved it,” she whispered, then the words spilled out in a flood to match Mabel’s. “Oh, Mabel, they loved it! They ate every bite. They said they hadn’t realized how remarkable it would be, or that it would taste so different from the herbs and spices we already use. And— and they said they would push to research it this year. They even asked me to stay in Oakstead so I can learn about the process. It’s not quite a guarantee, but— oh, it’s the closest thing to one! It’s really going to happen.”

“You did it, Juny,” Mabel said, pulling the young woman into a warm embrace. She felt the younger woman’s frame winning the fight against sobs, but she also felt a wet warmth on her shoulder that meant that tears, at least, had snuck through Juniper’s defenses. They stayed like that until, with one shuddering breath, the tension went out of Juniper’s body. 

Juniper pulled back and gazed into Mabel’s face, not bothering to wipe away the salty wetness on her cheeks. “We did it. I’m so, so sorry you even didn’t get to try any,” she said, looking ready to start crying anew.

“As soon as there are enough berries, we’ll make a batch big enough to feed everyone in Oakstead,” Mabel promised.

“Of the same soup? You never make the same soup twice!” Juniper was laughing now, even as tears still glistened in her eyes.

“I’ll make an exception just this once. Now, are you ready?” Mabel asked.

“For what?” 

“To come home with me, Juny. You’ll need a place to live if you’re going to stay around for a while.”

Juniper’s eyes searched her face for what felt like a long time. Mabel hardly dared to breathe, in case something she did pushed the young woman away. Finally, Juniper gave her the most brilliant smile she had ever seen. “I’d like that,” Juniper said. “I’d like to have a home.”