Adachi to Shimamura - Volume SS1 - Chapter 32.1

Chapter 4:

What Came Next

AT SOME POINT, my life had become a single recurring question: 

Why is this happening? 

The thought dangled from my shoulder, like my purse. My toes tingled in protest as I hopped off the bicycle, then watched it glide smoothly into the space beside the garage. 

Alas, that despicable woman returned so fast, I half-wondered if she’d hit the wall and bounced back. She spun her keyring on her finger, jingling it like a bell, and I heaved my umpteenth sigh of the day. Again, I found myself wondering Why?

“Come on in!” She sidestepped into the entryway of her house, then turned back to face me, as if we hadn’t just ridden here together.

“Thank you for the lovely invitation,” I responded dryly. 

“What can I get started for ya?”

“Just let me in, please.”

“Would you like fries with that?”

“Never mind. Goodbye.” I turned to leave.

However, she grabbed me by the shoulder. “Come on. At least place your order before you go.”

“Could you drop the bit already?!”

Considering that she’d pedaled all the way to my house and back, I’d have expected her to be out of breath. Instead, the ghoul burst out laughing. 

***

Ah, I remember now.

It was a late winter day, around the time the spring buds had just begun to peek out from hibernation—roughly the time when my daughter was set to leave the nest. For some reason, she and I were invited to spend the night at the Shimamura family home…together.

A sleepover? With my daughter? Why? Nothing about it made any sense to me. 

Admittedly, I could simply have hung up the phone, and it was frankly a mystery to me why I didn’t do just that. What was it about that woman’s overwhelming energy and control of the conversation that steered me to agree? Honestly, I couldn’t remember—she talked so fast, I could never get a word in edgewise. I only recalled accepting the proposition…but that seemed stranger still. Was I going senile? 

I mulled that over as I sat on the sofa, one knee bent. My daughter had left the house earlier that morning, but I intended to take my time. My plan was to eat dinner at home, arrive around nine at night, walk straight into the Shimamuras’ guest bedroom and go to sleep, then leave early the next morning. That way, I’d fulfill the bare minimum requirements of this “sleepover.”

Anyone would’ve told me just to say no from the outset. Well, I had said no! Several times! But the goblin cajoled me into it somehow! Perhaps she was actually more dangerous than I’d given her credit for. She even had the audacity to hound me over the phone for not showing up earlier.

“Adachi-chan just arrived. Get over here, Ouka.”

“A beautiful name, but I’m afraid it isn’t mine.”

“It isn’t? Uhhh…Hana-chan!”

I hung up on her, and since I knew she’d almost certainly call right back, I turned my phone off. Setting it down, I let out a long breath. 

When I asked her before why she was pestering me, she responded, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” At the time, I had no answer to that. Now, as I sat with my chin in my hand, I contemplated whether it was true. I had considered a number of people my friends in the past, but I could no longer recall the metrics I’d used to judge such things—and besides, I couldn’t begin to evaluate this woman if I didn’t even know her.

Anyway, some time passed, and…

Ding-dong!

That wasn’t part of my story. 

I already knew who was at the door—I felt it in my gut. My eyes darted in time with my breaths, as if they were trying to escape. If I didn’t answer, I knew she’d just keep ringing, so I reluctantly headed to the door and opened it.

“Hey there!”

Her voice threatened to echo across half the neighborhood. Faced with her excess energy, I fell silent.

“Before you get mad, I did remember your real name on the way here. But ‘Hana-chan’ isn’t half bad either, y’know?” 

Her smile and cheerfulness were truly baffling. What part of this was fun for her? “You…”

“Yes?”

“Are so unbelievably stupid.”

“Ha ha!” 

As I grew older, I’d only ever felt an invisible weight grow steadily heavier on my shoulders, pinning me down. Perhaps there was a valuable lesson to be learned from her explosive dynamism.

By someone else, of course. Certainly not me. 

***

It might’ve been my first time riding double on a ­bicycle. Personally, I found it a little stressful not to be in direct control of a moving vehicle. I’d also have liked the driver to pipe down.

“Fine, then…” I continued outside the house. “I’ll order the yellowtail.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! We just ran out of sushi for the night.”

“Will you let me inside before I strangle you?!”

“Death threats over sushi? Really?”

This isn’t about the sushi, damn you!

Everything about this was just such a massive waste of time. Yet when I looked at her, I could tell there were people who enjoyed wasting it. As for me, I found that so exhausting that it drove me to needless aggression.

“Anyway, not to be a broken record, but come on in,” she repeated, dropping her keyring into a basket hanging over the shoe rack.

“…Thank you for having me,” I replied perfunctorily.

“You like sushi, huh?”

“Not really.” 

As I took my shoes off, I found myself examining the other pairs lined up. Which were Sakura’s? I couldn’t recall buying new shoes for her since her first day of junior high.

“Well, hurry up and get in here, my friends!”

“Oh, shut up…” Friends? Plural? 

With a final glance at my discarded shoes, which were surrounded by a sea of strangers, I followed in the babbler’s wake. At one point I tried—somewhat diffidently—to greet the others in the house, but I doubted they even heard me over the woman’s ceaseless screeching.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d walked down someone else’s hallway. What in the world did my daughter do here all day long? 

“Guest room’s on the second floor. You don’t mind sharing with Adachi-chan, do you?”

“What?!”

“It’s the first door at the top of the stairs.”

She gave me a little push on the shoulder to send me off. When we stood side by side, I realized she was slightly shorter than me; if we’d met as teenagers, I would’ve assumed she was an underclassman. Come to think of it, how old was she, anyway? Not that I’d ever concerned myself with other people’s ages. 

“You…!” What was she thinking, putting me in the same room as my daughter? I looked over at her in protest.

She simply shook her head. “Nope. I have no idea what you’re getting at with that glare of yours.”

“Liar!”

“Tell me like a grown-up. I’m all ears!” She’d basically shut me down with no hesitation, as though she wasn’t aware of the concept of discretion. 

I felt words bubble at the back of my parched throat, but when I opened my mouth to speak, I sensed that something tore. Alarmed, I withdrew a breath, making myself cough—and I realized that, if I voiced those bubbling words, I might never forgive myself.

Meanwhile, the woman’s narrowed eyes twinkled like jade crescents. “I’m clueless over here!”

“Just forget it.” 

I couldn’t tell whether she actually had a brain or not. All I knew was that she inspired nothing short of sheer frustration in me. In fact, this was the first time my dislike of someone had ever been so decidedly straightforward. No nebulous gray area, no ups or downs—just a single pure feeling, stretching on for eternity.

“You sure?”

“Go to hell, you dumbass!”

“Watch your language, potty mouth.” 

My fury fueled me up the stairs as I cursed my own stupidity for coming here. But when I glanced back, expecting to see her sneering up at me, I realized she’d disappeared. That pissed me off too. I was so angry, my vocabulary had turned as sharp as a blade; with nowhere to direct my fury, my only option was to take deep breaths until it melted away. Once my heart was calm and cold once more, I exhaled. In hindsight, it all seemed utterly inane.

How long had it been since I’d last walked into a room I knew my daughter was in? Even in the comfort of our own home, we rarely shared the same space.

“Ugh.” Clapping a hand to my forehead, I cursed myself again.

As I reached for the doorknob, a small sound inside the room made me freeze. Reassuring myself that this was indeed the first door at the top of the stairs, I spurred my cowering body forward, stiffening my heart to match my limbs.

Inside, the room was small and slightly dusty. Scanning it, I saw Sakura sitting in the corner with her overnight bag. She made eye contact, then promptly dropped her gaze to the floor. 

“…Hi.” 

We’d left our own house separately, only to reunite in someone else’s—it felt so backward. When I sat down a short distance from her, my skin started to crawl; as an excuse to look away, I set my bag down and pretended to fish for something inside it. Before long, my daughter rose and scurried from the room.

Smart, I thought. Except in a workplace, no one was ever obliged to be around someone who made them uncomfortable—even if it was their own mother. In Sakura’s case, I could only wonder which was stronger: her desire to live with someone else, or her desire to escape living with me. 

Then I heard a door open farther down the hall. When I looked up, I spotted a child walking toward the stairs, wearing onesie pajamas themed after some sort of brown, blue-tailed bird. Her little wings were spread wide, but she showed no sign of taking flight. Given her bright-blue hair, however, I wasn’t sure she was related to anyone here.

“Hello there!” she greeted cheerfully as she passed.

“Hello,” I replied with a nod. 

A question still practically dangled in front of my eyes. Was this girl friends with the family’s younger daughter…? Surely she wasn’t the younger daughter herself. That woman’s weirdness was relegated to internal traits only. 

“What kind of bird are you…?” I found myself asking aloud. I always had liked birds—more than I liked people, if I had to try to measure. 

At that, the girl came toddling back, peering into the room. “I am a red-flanked bluetail.”

“Ah. I see.” She looked more like a penguin to me—probably because of the way she waddled. 

She dashed off, screeching down the stairs. How was she connected to this family? Curious, I peered down into the hall. There, another girl—probably the younger daughter this time—snatched up the little bird, tucked her under her arm, and carried her off somewhere.

“The poor thing’s been poached,” I murmured.

Very little, it seemed, was normal about this place. 

***

To me, the Shimamura household was a box of mysteries. 

With nowhere to go and nothing to do, I was reading manga on my phone to pass the time when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. They most likely weren’t my daughter’s, and they sounded too heavy to be a child’s, so I had a good idea of whose they probably were. As I stared at the wall and ignored the intrusion, though, the presence approached me without any restraint. Since I’d already learned that ignoring her only made things worse, I reluctantly turned to look.

Smiling, the woman held out a plate of sliced apples in my direction. “Want some?” 

A small gap on the plate indicated that someone had already helped themselves.

“Well, since you’re offering… Sure.”

I set down my phone and took a slice, feeling its crisp chill against my fingertips. When I bit down, its mild sweetness flowed across my tongue, its juice reviving my mouth. I hadn’t even realized I was thirsty. Now my breaths felt a little lighter.

“All by yourself, huh? I bet Adachi-chan ran away from you.”

“Trust me, it was a merciful gesture.” I was sure she was a kind girl at heart.

“Yeah, I know. She’s down there snuggling with my daughter.”

“Snuggling?”

Truth be told, the nature of the girls’ relationship wasn’t really a surprise to me. I had thoughts about it, of course, but I felt it wasn’t a mother’s place to comment. On the other hand, since I’d failed as a parent in every other respect, another part of me felt it was a bit pointless to start pretending now.

Sakura was seeing someone. Romantically.

…Eventually, I couldn’t really taste the apple anymore. “I’m full.”

“No prob!” Yet there she remained, sitting by my side.

“I’m finished now, thank you.” 

“Was it yummy?”

“Right. I forgot you don’t take hints. Get out.”

“Being in someone else’s house makes you real uncomfortable, huh?” 

In a sense, her ability to go selectively deaf was truly masterful. She changed the subject nimbly without the slightest acknowledgment of the other person’s input. She was clearly used to disregarding people, and I suspected I could never hope to replicate that. 

“I’d say most people feel that way.”

“Ha ha ha! You sound just like Adachi-chan!” She clapped me on the shoulder, seemingly delighted. Then, as if she sensed that I was about to snap at her, she rose to her feet and cut me off. “Want to come downstairs and have a cup of coffee?” she offered, munching on the last apple slice.

“Can’t you tell I’m busy right now?”

“Okay, then. I’ll bring the coffee to you.”

“Fine…I’ll come downstairs. Happy?”

Evidently, the only say I had in this was our location… And for lack of a better way to put it, the more I caved to this woman, the easier she was to tolerate. I wasn’t sure why I’d chosen to spend all this time with her in the first place. Nevertheless, I set my phone down—not that anyone was trying to contact me anyway—and followed her downstairs. Contrary to my expectations, however, she turned and headed along the first-floor hallway.

“Isn’t the kitchen that way?”

“Just come with me.” She beckoned me over.

I followed her down the hall, frowning dubiously, until at last we reached the door at the end. There, she grasped the handle…and slooowly, silently cracked the door open.

“What are you doing?”

“Spying,” she whispered, pressing her eye to the tiny gap. To her credit, at least she was honest. She glanced back over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s safe to look.”

“What does that mean…?” 

She stepped out of the way. The longer we stood there, the more apparent it became that we weren’t going anywhere else until I looked for myself. Against my better judgment, I took her place and quietly leaned against the gap in the door. Inside the room, I saw my daughter between her daughter’s legs.

I realized belatedly that that description was unfortunate on my part. 

They were sitting on the floor and chatting idly. Sakura rested against the other girl smiling contentedly, as if she’d found true peace. I had never seen her so happy before—in fact, she looked like a different person entirely. What happened to the girl whose scowl mirrored my own? The girls’ joy bloomed before my eyes as if they were two wildflowers in a field of color. 

I hadn’t taught my daughter to smile that way. Unbeknownst to me, she’d learned to do it all on her own, and just for this girl she so clearly loved. Yes, I practically saw passion flow from their fingertips and burn holes in the floor.

Then again, I’d never experienced that sort of happiness myself, so I couldn’t be entirely sure. Perhaps those guesses were all just a patchwork quilt of my own imaginings.

When I moved away from the door, the woman reached over and carefully shut it once more. Our children had seemed too engrossed in each other to notice us, but in my opinion, that was for the best. Otherwise, this would’ve felt an awful lot like trampling on someone else’s garden. 

I looked into the woman’s eyes, silently asking her, Why would you show me this? 

She only grinned. “You said you’d never seen her smile, so…there it is.”

“…I see.” My voice came out hard, as if there were rocks in my mouth. I stalked back down the hall. 

She waltzed up beside me, peering at my face for my reaction, all the while smirking as if she’d done me a service. 

Ugh. “No need to trouble yourself on my account.”

She elbowed me jovially in the arm. “Trouble? Psssh. What are friends for?” 

“Go to hell,” I sighed before I could stop myself.

“Don’t want to.”

“Forget it.” 

When I tried to escape, she seized my arm in a vice grip and dragged me off to the kitchen. I expected it to be crowded with other family members, but it was fortunately (?) deserted. Empty chairs surrounded the table. Two didn’t match, and had clearly been brought in as last-minute additions—a perfect metaphor for the two outsiders currently visiting.

“Have a seat wherever you like.”

“Certainly. Which chair is farthest from yours?”

Grinning wordlessly, she sat down in the chair closest to the refrigerator. Seeing that, I chose the one at the opposite end of the table. When I sat down, though, she got up and moved to the chair next to me. I’d seen that coming, of course, so I headed to her original seat across the table. Again, she followed me over. Even when I could predict her next move, I couldn’t prevent it. 

“I may as well ask—is this fun for you?”

“Not really.”

Then knock it off! “I’ll let you win. Just go sit across from me.”

“Fine, fine. But only because I won.”

The woman didn’t make any damned sense, and being forced to compromise with her infuriated me. Once she’d returned to her original seat near the fridge, I sat back down opposite her. Ruminating on how pointless that little game had been, I waited for her to start chasing me around the table again, but she didn’t. 

“Well?”

“What?”

“I was promised a cup of coffee.”

“Oh, right.” 

Did she think we’d only come in here to play the world’s most boring game of musical chairs? Knowing her, probably. 

She walked over and fetched a mug from near the sink; she’d evidently poured the coffee in advance. When she offered it to me, I took it, expecting it to be hot to the touch. Instead, cold condensation met my fingers.

“Iced coffee? In winter?”

“Why not? It’s warm in here.”

“…True. Could I get some milk for this?”

“Sure. One sec.”

She set a carton in front of me with a thud. Feeling the chill of its contents against my palm, I watched her pour a copper-brown liquid into a plastic cup featuring Doraemon and Dragon.

“What’re you having? Barley tea?” 

“Coffee’s great and all, but at home, this is my go-to.” 

She dropped in a single ice cube, then raised the cup to eye level, as if to admire the contrast of the colors. I couldn’t quite explain it—perhaps it had something to do with her general air of restless exuberance—but the plain, unsophisticated tea seemed at home in her hands.

“That’s very…you.”

“Is that a compliment?” 

Ignoring her, I poured a little milk into my mug. When I handed the carton back, she for some reason took a swig before returning it to the fridge.

“Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle…!”

“You’re even louder than that ice cube.”

“Damn right! No hunk of ice is going to beat me.”

“Whatever you say, lady. Good luck with that.” 

My coffee tasted perfectly fine, though in truth I was never very particular about food or drinks. 

When Sakura was little, I would ask her what she wanted for dinner, but she just frowned. It quickly became apparent that, try as she might, she simply never had an answer. Each time I saw the panic in her eyes, I felt panicked in turn. She was never great at answering that kind of question—and I was like that myself, so I didn’t bother waiting. Therefore, I still had no idea what she actually liked.

Looking back, that more or less applied to every single memory we shared.

Then it hit me: I’d now finally discovered something Sakura was passionate about. It was too late for that to matter, of course—too late for it to connect us—but at the very least, I’d learned something. 

“Well…?” I asked.

“What?” She stopped swirling her ice cube and looked up at me, puzzled.

“Didn’t you want to have a discussion or something?”

“What would I possibly need to discuss?”

That…was a difficult question. A woman like her would sooner have led me into pointless tangents of idle conversation that together spanned the circumference of the globe.

“If you just want me to fill the silence, I can humor you for a minute,” she added.

“Just for a minute, hm?”

She swallowed my sarcasm with her barley tea. “What to talk about…? Well, my hubby—actually, that can wait.”

“Your husband? What about him?”

“You have sharp ears, huh?” 

I watched her tuck her hair behind her ear, then squeeze its lobe idly with her thumb and forefinger. I’d never given anyone’s ears much thought, but for some reason, her action drew me in.

“Perhaps. That would explain why I find your voice so grating.” 

“Okay, then. Let’s have ourselves a real pointless conversation,” she suggested. The girlish grin on her face suggested she wasn’t bored in the least. In that moment, she actually looked almost…pretty for a change. “Remember when we were at the gym the other day, and I chased you around, pretending to be an angry goose? Why did you kick me, Hana-chan?”

“How could you ask that when you kicked me first?” 

As she’d promised, this conversation was indeed pointless. Furthermore, I got the sense that she was trying to make “Hana-chan” my official nickname, and I was staunchly opposed to that. No one had ever called me that in all my life; for the most part, my friends called me Acchan. 

Of course, this imbecile wouldn’t think to ask about that first. For that matter, we weren’t really friends. Or were we? Hmm…no. But what was she to me, then? 

As I mulled that over, she blathered on and on without waiting for any response, as usual. If I let her, she would talk herself hoarse. At this point, I had to wonder why I was necessary for this “conversation” at all. But if I pointed out that I wasn’t needed, she’d decide it was my turn, then sit and stare at me at point-blank range until I said something. Thus, I was fine keeping quiet about it. Her chatter streamed like rain, and I just stared vacantly as I soaked it in with no umbrella. 

When I looked down to sip my coffee, I caught sight of the red-flanked bluetail creeping into the kitchen, flapping her wings with each sneaky step as she tiptoed toward the refrigerator. The other woman had noticed too, but was seemingly pretending otherwise. Then—right as the little bird passed behind her—she whipped around, grabbed the scruff of its neck, and tossed it back out.

“Gyaaah!” Tracing an oddly graceful arc through the air, the child landed on her feet and bolted down the hall.

“What was that about?”

“Huh? Oh, just a little game we play.” 

I watched the bluetail run away with her hands in the air, shrieking “Wheeeee!” Admittedly, she did seem to be having fun. “You must be good with children.”

“Duh! I’m a kid at heart myself!”

“I won’t argue with that.” At the very least, she seemed more comfortable with them than I ever was.

As if on cue, another set of footsteps approached, though this time their owner didn’t try to be sneaky; it was the woman’s husband. 

He took one look at me and froze like a deer in headlights. “Oh…pardon me.” 

I had yet to say hello to him tonight, so I inclined my head in greeting. 

He bowed back deeply. “Glad to have you here.” Then he paced back and forth near the cupboard for a moment. “Don’t mind me. You two have fun.” With that, he walked right out again.

“God, he can be so weird sometimes…” 

“That’s an insult coming from you.”

The woman squinted up at the cupboard. “Aha.” She nodded in understanding. “I’ll let it slide for tonight.”

“Let what slide?”

“Let’s just say my hubby’s a real snack. Get it? Nya ha ha!”

She truly couldn’t care less about my questions. To be perfectly frank, she was rude and obnoxious and generally the exact sort of person I couldn’t stand. Yet here I was, sharing a drink with her. I knew that the next time we encountered each other at the gym, we’d probably chat again. My feelings were at odds with reality. So what caused that? Did she somehow possess the power to bypass my heart? 

Once I had finished my coffee, I found myself scrutinizing this childish woman—this gremlin. I couldn’t think of any other way to describe her. 

“Well, I should excuse myself too.”

“Awww, come on!”

“Thank you for the drink.” Before she could drag me into something else, I rose to my feet and hurried away.

“I hope you’re looking forward to dinner!”

“Yeah, yeah…” 

For a moment I glanced back at her, wondering whether I ought to help cook—but her grin pissed me off, so I changed my mind and turned back. Her smile always seemed so genuine, so radiant, and if I had to, I’d guess that made it hard for me to take. 

Out in the hall, I found her husband standing around, staring up at something.

“Hm?”

“Heh heh heh! I saw that, Papa-san.”

Suddenly, the little bluetail dropped down to the floor in front of him. To my eyes, it looked like she’d fallen through the ceiling, but that surely couldn’t be right. 

“You snuck the treats out behind Mama-san’s back, didn’t you?” Smugly, she pointed a wing straight at the man’s face. 

Defeated, he unclenched his fist to reveal a bag of junk food. That must’ve been what he retrieved from the cupboard. But how could the girl have seen it? 

“I’ll let you have half if you promise not to tell,” he offered.

“Yay!” The bird raised her wings in joy. “Fret not. My lips are zipped.” 

“Hmmm…”

As he pinched her cheeks, they seemed as stretchy as rubber. Hardly reassuring. He slid his hands under her arms, hoisted her up, and carried her off into the living room. She flapped her wings in sheer delight—so exuberantly that I half-expected her to leave a trail of feathers behind. 

“Bribery…”

Down here on the first floor, every room seemed noisy. That was a stark contrast from my own house, which remained deathly quiet even when its occupants were home. Then again, I sometimes heard my daughter’s muffled shrieks from upstairs. That had started happening when she was in high school…probably after she met that girl. 

It was funny how other people had the power to change you. For example, ever since I’d met this woman, I’d gotten noticeably angrier. And more exhausted. But for better or worse, my relationship with her would never lead to any major changes, probably because I was a grown woman. As years passed, life’s experiences hardened you until there was no pliability left. 

How grown-up was Sakura now? 

As I listened to each sound in turn, I heard laughter from the room at the end of the hall. I didn’t need to peek in there to know it was my daughter’s. Still, I couldn’t have imagined the look on her face if I hadn’t come here tonight. 

“I see now.”

Fleeing from the warmth, I climbed the stairs and breathed in the wintry air, my lungs cold with equal measures of understanding and self-loathing. At last, I was alone once more in the second-floor guest room…and the relief I felt made me sick. 

***

Unlike other people, I didn’t associate the setting sun with fear for the time I’d wasted. On the contrary, it was a relief that the day would soon be over. As the evening sky blazed through the window, I was at peace. No one bothered me—not that woman, not my daughter, not even the little bluetail.

“Dinnertiiime!”

On second thought, scratch that last part. The child ran full speed past the guest bedroom’s open door. The ensuing loud thud suggested that she’d hit the wall before bouncing back to peer in at me.

“It is dinnertime! Let us be off!”

“O-okay…”

At her insistence, I rose to my feet, hesitation heavy in my knees. As she hurried off ahead of me, I watched her bird hood bobble energetically from side to side and half-wondered if she was leading me into a dreamscape. 

Then she turned back to look at me. “You greatly resemble Adachi-san.”

Unconsciously, I touched my cheek, surprised that a child with no prior knowledge of our familial relationship still recognized it. “You think so?”

“Yes. Particularly in your wavelengths.”

“Our what…?”

Chasing a strange little bird, I found my way down the staircase and into the light. It sounded rather like something out of a fairy tale framed like that. I watched the bird saunter into the brightly lit kitchen, then reluctantly followed suit.

Inside, everyone else was already sitting at the table. Sakura sat closest to the entryway, and when we made eye contact… Frankly, it was hard to say which of us was in a bigger hurry to break it. Still, the room was so bright that my gaze shifted restlessly. As was true when I’d found myself at the Shimamura family’s kitchen table earlier, the space felt unbearably cramped with the addition of two outsiders. It simply couldn’t accommodate us—in more ways than one. 

As usual, my daughter had chosen the farthest chair. Beside her sat the woman’s older daughter, then the younger, then the bluetail, in that order. Sakura now wore her usual blank expression, directed down at the table before her; gone was the smile I’d glimpsed earlier. Evidently, the stranger I’d spied on didn’t reveal herself in public. 

Well then, it’s hardly my fault for not having seen her, I lied to myself. 

Meanwhile, the aroma of sauteed onions wafted up from the plates in front of us.

“At times like these, nothing beats curry and rice for dinner.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because I love curry.” 

So…there’s no correlation, in other words. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Hey, what does that mean?!”

Ignoring her, I looked for the sole remaining empty chair.

Then she grabbed me by the arm. “You can sit next to me!”

“Excuse me?”

“Right here!” She patted the chair beside her—the one positioned directly across from my daughter. “Smoking or non-smoking?”

“There’s a smoking section here?”

“You’re such a goody-goody. I’ll bet you’ve never smoked in your life.” 

She forced me into the chair, and I came face to face with our daughters. Mine looked deeply uncomfortable, while hers wore a sheepish grin. The girl turned and whispered something to Sakura, whose lips curled faintly. When I saw how it eased her anxiety simply to avert her focus from me, I knew our relationship was too far gone to salvage.

Everything about this was so completely awkward—that woman, my daughter, the small talk, all of it. If I’d been given the choice to die on the spot, I might well have taken it. 

“Heh heh heh! For this occasion, I have lent my aid,” the little bird announced.

“Oh yeah? Right on. What’d you do?”

“Tonight, I peeled the shells from the hard-boiled eggs!”

“Wow.” 

Smirking, the bluetail crooked her fingers in a peeling motion, her cheeks smooth and glossy enough to put those eggs to shame. In response, the older daughter smiled softly. She had seemed so juvenile when I first met her, but now her countenance resembled an adult’s. Given her age, perhaps she was simply growing up. 

Then I realized…there were no eggs on the table. Was I missing something? If nothing else, I expected they’d be diced up in the salad at the table’s center, but I couldn’t spot any in the bowl. Frankly, judging from the look on that woman’s face, she’d probably eaten them all while she cooked.

“Whatcha looking at? You think I’m pretty?”

“Pretty ugly.” 

“Whatever you say,” she shrugged.

In truth, I’d snapped back purely on reflex and didn’t have any real issue with her looks. I usually didn’t even pay attention to other people’s faces, yet…I found my eyes lingering on hers. No, she wasn’t actually ugly. But correcting myself would only inflate her ego, so I kept my mouth shut. 

“Come on, folks, let’s dig in!”

At her prompting, everyone picked up their spoons—even the bluetail, using her fuzzy fabric wings in place of her hands. How does that work?

“You know, there’s something special about us all eating in the same room. Doesn’t it just feel like we’re in high school all over again?”

“I didn’t even know you in high school.” I looked around for someone to humor her in my place, but everyone else started eating while conspicuously avoiding eye contact. 

Was this family used to ignoring her while she rambled? If so, perhaps I was a fool to pay her any mind at all… Alas, she kept trying to talk to me regardless, and I didn’t have the mental fortitude to keep quiet the entire time. It was easier to respond with whatever came to mind.

“Man, I miss high school,” she continued. “I still remember the dream I had back then…”

“Oh?”

“I wanted to be a Pokémon trainer.” 

My interest had been merely a polite gesture, and just like that, she’d slashed it to shreds. “…I see.”

“Alas, I mostly couldn’t make it happen.”

“Mostly?” So she had, but only somewhat?

“What was your dream, Hana-chan?”

“To avoid having anyone call me Hana-chan.” If only I’d tried harder, maybe I could’ve made it come true. 

“Nya ha ha!” She jabbed me in the shoulder. 

As I wallowed in despair, I took a tentative bite of the curry. When was the last time I’d eaten someone else’s cooking? Its flavor was quite ordinary, unlike the woman who prepared it. “This is surprisingly mild.”

“Well, a certain someone likes it that way…”

“Talking about yourself in the third person?”

“I never said it was me! But yeah.”

When she burst out laughing, I felt my emotions come and go as if I were watching the ocean tide. Except the tide wouldn’t have a face or voice. 

“I also enjoy Mama-san’s curry very much!”

“Yeah, well, you eat for free, so you don’t get to complain either way.” 

In contrast with her sarcasm, her tone was as gentle as the hand that stroked the little bird’s head. It would almost have been a heartwarming scene if it didn’t involve a red-flanked bluetail spooning curry into her mouth. 

“Feeding the wildlife…” I muttered.

It felt like this conversation was taking place in a cage at the zoo. I glanced over at the two girls across the table. Even when she was talking to the woman’s daughter, Sakura hid her smile, as if saving it for a special occasion. She looked as uncomfortable as I was… For some reason, our familial resemblance always seemed strongest in our negative qualities.

My daughter never smiled in public. That sakura tree only bloomed for one person, and I would never see it with my own two eyes for as long as I lived. Like the curry, that was something I’d simply have to swallow. 

***

After dinner, the older daughter picked up the chipper little bird and set her onto her shoulders; then the two left the room. At no point had I seen that little bird actually use those wings of hers.

“What’s her deal, anyway?” I muttered to myself.

“Who among us is truly capable of explaining what their deal is?” came the reply I didn’t ask for, an overly familiar hand suddenly resting on my shoulder. “Do you know yourself well enough to answer that question?” 

“I know your deal is that you’re obnoxious,” I said aloud, feeling no particular need to keep the retort to myself, though I knew it wouldn’t mitigate any of the aforementioned obnoxiousness. 

“Youuu and meee… Whooo are weee? And what could that raised fist’s meaning beee?!”

“Stop singing or die.”

“You’re so mean! What’d I ever do?!”

What haven’t you done? 

Shrugging me off, the imbecile returned to the kitchen. I had noticed that her hand and sleeve were wet, so she was probably in the middle of washing the dishes. I stood there for a moment, then followed her.

“Do you need help?” I offered, to be polite.

“Mmm…nah, that’s okay. I’m almost done here. You should go spend some quality time with Adachi-chan.”

“Hah. Good one.”

“Come on, what kind of weirdo can’t play nice with her own daughter?” 

“…You’re the weirdo here.”

“No, you.”

“No, you.”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

“Stop copying me!” 

Every now and then, on exceptionally rare occasions, this woman made a painfully good point. In truth, I sometimes felt that I was never meant to be a mother. Nevertheless, the reality was that I had a child…and I wasn’t strong enough to wipe the slate clean with her. 

Fleeing the kitchen, I walked down the hall and past the bathroom, trying to think of a place where I could hide away. That was when I saw it: the red-flanked bluetail’s shed skin lying discarded on the floor. 

Hmm. 

Curious, I crouched and touched it; it was surprisingly soft, as if made of real feathers. Now I understood why these people all petted her constantly. The rest was still a mystery, however. From what I’d seen at dinner, not just her hair but her teeth glowed blue. 

Evidently, this onesie’s owner was currently in the tub with that woman’s daughter. I heard her gleeful little voice echo off the tile, as vibrant as the light she exuded. 

I take it Sakura’s girlfriend doesn’t bathe with her, then. Well, of course she wouldn’t…or would she? The harder I thought about my daughter having a girlfriend, the more my skull creaked in protest. What was their relationship even like? 

I imagined that the glimpse of them I’d gotten earlier answered that question. Still, I couldn’t comprehend how it felt. Sure, I’d been married at one point, but while my husband was seemingly in love with me, I couldn’t recall ever feeling the same. From my perspective, it had all just sort of happened—so, naturally, it all fell apart. Then again, “fell apart” implied that we’d built anything together in the first place.

Regardless, my daughter and I made a nest in the wreckage…and now she was preparing to take wing.

“A happy ending…” 

I walked down the hall aimlessly, my gaze fixed dead ahead, until I arrived at the living room. When I peered inside, I spotted Sakura sitting with her knees bent, her expression unguarded, speaking to someone. It was that weirdo’s husband—although, to his credit, he didn’t seem like a weirdo himself.

When she saw me enter the room, she bowed deeply to him, then got to her feet and hurried out. I didn’t speak up or try to stop her; I just watched her go. Left standing there with the woman’s husband, I turned back to him after a moment. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I offered, to be polite. 

“Oh, that’s all right. I said everything I needed to.”

From his voice and body language, I sensed that he was a mild man—a stark contrast from his wife, but then again, opposites often did attract. In fact, perhaps that sort of relationship stood to benefit from a full set of complementary traits. 

“Did you need to speak with my daughter?” I couldn’t pretend that didn’t come as a bit of a surprise. “What about?”

“Mmm…well, just normal things, I think. I told her I hope she’ll have a happy, fun life together with my Hougetsu. I mean, there’s not much more a father really can say, is there?”

“Guess not…”

He gestured for me to have a seat, and I did so, since it would’ve been awkward to refuse. An uncomfortable silence lingered—albeit different from the type I was used to with Sakura.

“For what it’s worth, since these are our kids and all, I figured we ought to get to know each other a little bit. Thank you for coming.” With a sheepish grin, he bowed to me. 

“Thank you for having me,” I replied automatically, bowing back on reflex. Internally, however, I was a little confused. 

“As you know, our daughters are getting a condo together.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“The road ahead of them is long, full of twists and turns and potholes. But as long as they work together—”

“Sorry, what?” 

The man sounded like a teacher at a school assembly; he seemed to realize that too, because he stopped short and cleared his throat. He evidently wasn’t particularly well-spoken—unlike his wife, who’d been gifted with altogether too much gab.

“My point is, if they’ve decided to live together, I don’t see any reason for us to stop them.”

“Right.” 

“They deserve a happy relationship, just like their parents do.”

“They do,” I replied. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was divorced, but it wasn’t important. A happy relationship was undoubtedly what was best for our children.

Silence descended between us again, broken by his forced laughter. “Anyway…I think that’s all I really wanted to say.”

“Okay.”

On the one hand, I didn’t see the point of telling me all that, but on the other hand, it did sort of make sense. If I figured he was essentially asking permission for our lives to weave together. Of course, that wasn’t my decision to make. 

“Well, I’ll be going now!” With that, he sprang up and practically fled from the room. 

I wasn’t planning to stick around, you know, I thought as I watched him leave. Now all that remained was the blathering of the television and a gust of cold air in his wake. It was suddenly starting to feel like the night before a wedding—but perhaps that had been intended all along. It would explain why that woman had dragged me over here to begin with.

“Good grief.” 

Knowing her, she’d done it not out of any sense of obligation, but purely because the idea sounded fun. She was a total enigma, yet somehow extremely predictable at the same time. Talking to her made me feel like I was attempting to communicate with an alien life-form. 

Debating whether to retreat upstairs for the night, I turned off the abandoned television and let out a breath. Then, as my eyes wandered, I spotted a tall stack of animal onesies sitting folded in the corner of the room—that eerie child’s other clothes, presumably. There were so many different colors and styles, she could practically have started her own zoo.

“The zoo…” 

I lifted an elephant onesie from the pile and thought back to the past.

Once upon a time, the Adachi family had gone to the zoo together. I couldn’t remember whose idea it was—either mine or my husband’s. It certainly wasn’t Sakura’s; even as a small child, she never asked us for much. Looking at the animals, her reactions were so muted, it was hard to tell whether she cared about them at all. Truly her mother’s daughter.

The only time I’d caught a glimpse of emotion from her was when we browsed the gift shop. She’d seemed interested in an elephant plush toy—but she didn’t ask me to buy it for her, so I didn’t. To this day, it was the one moment I would never let myself forget. Perhaps it was what marked the end of our short-lived mother-daughter connection. 

Sensing someone approaching, I looked toward the door, where my next visitor awaited. This time it was the woman’s older daughter, fresh out of the tub. She seemed like she was looking for someone—Sakura, most likely.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted me casually as she glanced both ways along the hall. 

Just as she walked away, I finally struck upon what I needed to say: “Look after my daughter, please.”

At first, she didn’t reply—possibly because my own response had been so delayed. But I didn’t need her to answer. In my mind, I was merely passing the torch, so perhaps it would in fact have been easier if she didn’t.

But she did. 

“Look, um…I’m not doing this to be her caretaker,” she explained, leaning back around the doorframe to poke her head inside the room. As I gazed back up at her, eyes wide in surprise, she continued, “I’m doing this because I want to be with her.” 

Her mouth was half-open, her dangling lower lip wet with emotion. Looking back, I got the feeling this girl only ever stood before me to shield Sakura. 

Meeting her straightforward gaze, I wondered how I could answer her. Her words had knocked all thought from my skull. I was still sitting, and the hardwood floor no longer felt cold against my palm by the time something finally rose to mind.

“She’s all yours.”

“…Thanks.” 

With my cheap blessing in hand, she withdrew, her footsteps audibly shifting into a run halfway down the hall. She must’ve felt so compelled to say that to me… The thought made me laugh out loud. Was it that surge of youthful passion that lightened the weight on my shoulders a bit? “The kids are okay, it seems.”

That was when she walked in. “Who, me? Aw, I’m not that much younger than you!” she declared, once again offering an unneeded response to my musing. “Or am I? Remind me, Hana-chan, how old are you again?”

“I’ll tell you if you stop calling me that.”

“Ah! So you’re two years younger than me!” 

Instead of trying to reach a compromise, she’d pivoted to reading my mind. Worse, I had the nasty feeling that she was right on the money. 

As she sat down across from me, I noticed that she held a glass of something in one hand and a canned beer in the other. “Can I interest you in a beer? I got it as a gift a while back, but no one in our family ever drinks the stuff.”

“…Sure.” 

I rarely drank alcohol of my own volition; most days, water was enough to satiate my body and spirit alike. But if this trespasser was going to drain me dry, perhaps a little extra hydration wouldn’t go amiss. 

I cracked the beer open and took a curious sip, filling my mouth with a bitter flavor I’d almost forgotten. It spread to every parched corner of my body, and when I sat up straight, I almost heard it sloshing around inside me. 

“Hang tight—it’s not quite your turn to take a bath yet.”

“That’s fine.”

“Look—it’s like I’m having a beer too! Doesn’t my barley tea look basically the same?” She swirled her glass, rattling the ice inside.

“You really love to change the subject, don’t you?”

“I’m just saying whatever comes to mind. You’re getting it straight from the source!” She cackled, as if she was the one drinking alcohol. Frankly, I was already getting a hangover from this overdose on her personality. 

“Looking at you makes me think of a burglar.”

In English, she demanded, “Whaaat?!”

What…am I talking about? Ugh. Shut up. “Well, it’s common sense to lock your door at night. But if a burglar wants to get into your house, they’ll bust their way in regardless. So, in a sense, there’s no point locking your door at all.”

“Ah, yeah. Scary thought.” She nodded, folding her arms. “Wait. What’re we talking about?”

“Breaking and entering.”

“Could you make it sound a little more whimsical?”

“Banditry, then.”

“Perfect.”

I hated that I was getting a sense of what she wanted from me. Not only had she waltzed into my heart uninvited, she’d practically set up camp in my backyard. By this point, she might have even started a fire. 

The beer was already almost lukewarm, but I took another sip, hoping the buzz would somehow blanket my queasy feeling. 

“I had a word with your daughter just now. She told me she’s doing this because she wants to be with Sakura.” 

“Yeah, so? You going to play the ‘over my dead body’ card? Let’s hear it!”

Ignoring her jokes, I continued to speak my mind. “This may sound harsh, but…I’m surprised anyone wants to live with my daughter.” 

As her mother, perhaps it was wrong of me, but I’d felt that from the moment Sakura informed me that she was moving out. Furthermore, I was shocked that she returned the sentiment, considering the extent to which she took after me. I had passively gotten married—­passively started a family—but now, I actively chose solitude. 

“Heeey! How could you say that, you little stinker? Hmm?!” She poked me in the side. Despite being fully sober, she was acting far more drunk than I was.

“It’s just that…she must have lots of good points, that’s all,” I said. 

If only I knew what they were. What a horrible mother I turned out to be. The Sakura I knew had inherited all my worst traits. Only now did I realize that I must’ve started avoiding her for the same reason one might hesitate to look in a mirror. 

“You should be proud.” 

No one on Earth was guaranteed a place to belong. Some spent their whole lives searching fruitlessly. But now that I knew my daughter had found hers, I could be sure of one thing: she wouldn’t need me in her life. In fact, she never had.

“What about you? Do you want grandchildren and all that?” I asked.

“Eh, I could go either way. If they come along, I’ll spoil ’em rotten, and if they don’t, then they don’t. We’re not owed these things—they’re gifts. Everyone in my life is a gift.”

“Hm…” Sometimes she said something so completely reasonable that it threw me for a loop. 

“The way I see it, all living beings have an instinctive drive to leave something of themselves behind. But suppose one day we meet an immortal alien or something. So long as we live on in her memory, it’ll surely fulfill that need, right?” Gazing up at the ceiling, she chuckled to herself, as if thinking of someone specific. “So, yeah, I’m perfectly content with what I’ve got now.” 

“…Maybe it really is just that simple. Minus the nonsense about aliens.”

“Ha ha ha!”

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll understand someday.”

“God, I hate you.” The longer I talked to her, the heavier my shoulders felt. In short, it wasn’t worth the effort. 

“The legend of tonight’s curry shall be passed on for years and years to come…” she added.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Yet…sometimes her words whisked me up into the stars. Addled by the alcohol, I found myself uncharacteristically chatty. “You know…”

“What is it? Tell me, tell me.”

“Whenever I talk to people, it reminds me of how much I dislike human beings.”

“Oh. That’s depressing.”

“It’s so much work to constantly read the room and…manage all their feelings.”

“Wait, you do all that? Every time? Wow.” Her lips formed a perfect circle that matched her widened eyes. Social etiquette probably sounded like rocket science to somebody who never stopped to consider anyone but herself. “If you put yourself first more often, maybe you’d actually start to like yourself.”

“…Maybe.” If only I had a friend whose feelings I never needed to manage—why, yes, that would be much easier. So how come the prospect made me so uncomfortable?

“Did you get a chance to speak with my hubby? He wanted to talk to you.”

“Yes. He was acting like our kids are getting married.”

“I mean, it is a serious commitment.”

“…I suppose.” How had I felt during my own wedding? This woman was so loud and obnoxious, I couldn’t remember.

“I gotta say, you look damn good holding a beer.”

“What? Oh…you think so?”

Frankly, she looked rather elegant herself, the way she swirled the tea in her glass. 

“Lemme see that real quick.” She took the beer can from my hand and raised it to eye level. “Two grown adults, sharing a drink on a quiet night… Hoo! They could write a book about this.”

“Where is this ‘quiet night’ you speak of?”

“Very…picturesque, some might say.”

“And where’s the other ‘grown adult’?”

“Since you insist, I guess I’ll try a sip.”

“You don’t mean you, do you?”

Ignoring all my retorts, she took a swig of the beer.

“I thought you said you don’t drink.”

“Hmm?” She furrowed her brow. 

Instantly, I was overcome with gripping dread. I should simply have run from the room, but the alcohol dulled my judgment.

“Whoa.” Once she swallowed that sip, she lowered the can and tilted her head to the side. “Hmmm.”

“What is it?”

“Ish really…”

“What?” 

Then she rubbed her stomach. “Eeugh…”

“Oh no.” 

I could think of a hundred different ways to yell at her, but they all swam around inside my head, trapped by my vertigo. Sweat beaded on my skin as my heart throbbed in fear, loosening the screws of reality until I floated in space. In contrast to my bodily senses, my mind felt distant, as if it were trying to make a break for it. 

Light erupted in my vision.

Then the rushing stream reached me.

Murky and brown, like the earth.

Washing away all the ephemeral feelings that had begun to sprout that night.

Making me regret ever coming here.

That is to say…she puked directly into my face.