Chapter 3
Time Spent in Waiting

Once someone asked me how much time I would spend waiting. How much of my life would be wasted by staring dazed and listless out the window as the world passed me by, as I became a shell and nothing else.

Tokyo, Japan: Past

Inuyasha was as good as his word. He tossed me a pair of skinny, expensive jeans and a billowy top. I caught the ensemble and marveled at the soft material. Hell, I thought, this family never does anything normal. And as if by magic, Inuyasha grinned and winked at me before throwing me a glass bottle of sparkling water. I visibly groaned.

"Hey, don't be so shitty about it," he said.

"Excuse me? I'm not being anything except for grateful. And after what your brother probably did to me last night…"

He jerked up his head skeptically. "What did he do to you?" he asked.

I hesitated, not quite sure myself (I felt like half of my head was missing that day and all the details filtered through the holes). I wanted to present a list of complaints and indignations but the reality was that I had nothing. I blacked out and whatever events transpired the night before was foggy and lost to me. Subconsciously I massaged my arms and winced. The pain had intensified and where the flesh was merely yellowing, there were large patches (butterfly quilt squares) of indigo, violet, and pale green. And that's when I remembered my fall.

"Umm, I don't remember," I admitted, not meeting his gaze.

"Did he…did he…"

"Did he what?"

He looked at me like I were stupid. Then I realized.

"What? Oh no! Never. I was probably just really tired and unconscious and banged myself up or something."

Inuyasha snorted. "You know, from you, it's actually very likely."

"I'm not always so clumsy," I responded lamely.

"Like hell."

"Don't worry about it, okay? We all know how goddamn clumsy you are. No big secret or anything."

I frowned in disbelief. "You really think so?"

He stopped sniggering and looked at me in all honesty and solemnity. "No."

I sighed at his blatant disdain and sarcasm. Youkai. Ridiculous, all of them.

"Thanks for the clothes," I murmured and took them limply.

I made my way to the bathroom (across the hall—fool) and shut the door tightly, clicked the lock in place, and sank to the ground. I peeled off my top and shivered from the morning chill. Slowly I pulled over the long-sleeved cashmere top Inuyasha gave me and snuggled for a second against its lovely softness.

Memory flooded me all at once. I remembered bits and glimpses of the night before, something about Sesshoumaru being an asshole (as usual) and waking up in the middle of the night. I was thirsty and moved my way groggily from the enormous bed to the bathroom. Only, I missed the door and walked—slipped—down the staircase, taking a tumble or two at it. How I managed to catch myself before doing some serious damage to my body was the mystery.

"You done yet, Rin?" Inuyasha called from the other side.

"Almost. Just one more stroke and I'll have brushed my hair a hundred times," I replied, dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on, I'll get you breakfast then drive you home."

I followed his lead down the hall, barely looking up from the plush white carpet. We walked down the spiral staircase. In the daytime, when the morning light was streaming through the sky-window above, the paintings and antique artifacts were even more breathtaking, but I had no heart to admire them. My mind was warped, wrapped, and withered. I was frightened and wanted to crawl into bed (my own) and sleep and forget that anything ever happened. But first, I wanted to kill Sesshoumaru.

My feet moved automatically and a swarming of bees commenced between my ears, sending off fried thoughts and half-muted grudges. I was so preoccupied with sorting everything out and thinking of a plausible way to relay it to Mama when Inuyasha gripped my hand. Hard. Like a signal he was trying to send me, I looked up (out of my reverie of goring a certain youkai) and saw that youkai sitting calmly at the table enjoying a plate of "barbaric, human food" and reading the morning papers. My breath started to quicken and my heart's rhythm swung out of regularity. At that instant, all I wanted was to hit him brutally across the face. And like he knew exactly what I was planning, Inuyasha rushed forward and pushed me into an empty chair.

"Sit and relax, Rin. I'll make your breakfast myself."

"Why so gallant this morning, Inuyasha?"

"What can I say? It comes and goes."

Before long, Inuyasha slapped an enormous pile of pancakes, eggs, and sausages onto my plate. I looked at the staggering mountain of food and felt a nausea rising from my stomach; rarely did I consume so much Western food, and so, the grease and butter did not suite my palate well. But I thanked him gratefully and carved out a sliver of egg. Warily I placed it in my mouth (Miroku had warned me multiple times before of Inuyasha's atrocious cooking that I was reluctant to try it). But I discovered that although the taste was ordinary and the edges a bit crisped and burned, it was edible, even delicious after my ordeal. Before I know it, I had finished my entire plate clean and white like bone.

"Rin, ready to go?" Inuyasha asked.

I quickly gulped down the last bit of tea (oolong with a hint of Japanese cherry for flavor) and stood up. Following Inuyasha out the door, I took a sneak peek at Sesshoumaru, who had not stirred the whole time but at that second lowered the shuffling pages and smiled at me. Flashing a hint of pearlescent fangs, making me shudder.

It was then that I realized Sesshoumaru and I haven't spoken a single word to each other throughout the meal. He was engrossed in his newspaper, and I was busy cleaving away at my food. But the whole time, I was fearing that he actually would avert his gaze from the top of the papers and peer at me with preternaturally precise focus.

"Inuyasha, your brother is a fucking sadist," I muttered to no one in particular.

Tokyo, Japan: Present

As a treat to celebrate my twentieth birthday, Mama ordered an artistic, beautifully created cake from an upscale bakery. It was a sublime white sheet cake with coconut cream (supremely fattening and sweet) with real roses and miniature glass pearls along the edges. Small and delicately ornate, it was too lovely to eat. I could fit the whole thing in two hands, cupping it with my fingers loosely around its velvety sides. My mouth watered at the lovely thought of sinking tiny teeth along its edges, nicking off just a small bite—to savor and hold in my tongue.

Earlier that evening, Mama, Kagome, Grandpa (who was nearing eighty-five), and some friends accompanied me to a nearby restaurant, a ritzy place famous for its genuine crystal champagne flutes and baguettes. We had all gotten quite drunk and happy with the exception of Grandpa who although swallowed down multiple glasses declared himself to be perfectly sober. And he proved this to be true when on the trip back to my apartment he was the only one who could walk without wobbling. Sango cried that it was the "best damn booze" she ever tasted and slyly whispered for me to do some "body-shots". I laughed and shoved her away, telling her that she was too far gone to know what she was saying. Mama was particularly exasperated with our adolescent antics, despite the fact we were all in our post-teenage years.

The city that night was ablaze with life and gaiety. The lights along my street were brilliant spheres encased in shadowy darkness, like a blanket covering their fragile hearts. Summer had never been so beautiful before; the air so fresh and uplifting; or I so alive and rising from the thought of infinity. I twirled around (made the doorman laugh audibly) and gathered the scarlet skirts of my bubble dress and spun on my heels. Sango clapped and wolf-whistled. I grabbed her hands and rushed our way up the stairs, too giddy and crazy to even contemplate the elevator. Kagome sighed behind us and helped Mama (whose bad knee sometimes pained her terribly). I felt—believed—that I was unstoppable. But then reality whisked me back into place.

Outside of my apartment door were three dozen yellow roses, trimmed till their stalks shone brightly and the petals brushed like fine velvet. Attached to the expensive bouquet was a note jotted elegantly on creamy parchment: Happy birthday. And that was that. Except I immediately knew who it was from and why it was there.

"Oh, Rin," Sango said.

I crumpled the note hurriedly and stuffed it in my purse. "It doesn't matter. Come on, let's go inside. I think I still have some of that wine left. If not, there's always the stash of vodka."

"Don't you think you—we both—had enough to drink tonight?" she asked hesitantly.

I snorted, "There's no such thing as enough to drink. Especially on my birthday."

"Well…"

And I knew I had her. Guilt-trip always worked with Sango sooner or later, and in her current state, she wasn't about to waste a second debating over another glass.

"Rin!" Kagome's voice resonated from the hallway, "Help me with Mama's purse. She's not feeling too well."

I rushed out the door and caught my mother just before she sank to the ground. She had always been a light drinker, petite and delicate, the quintessential Japanese lady. I knew that she had indulged for my birthday and was suffering the consequences for it now. Usually, she only took a sip or two, but at both my sister's and mine insistence tonight, she obliged to down a flute or two. Or three or four. Apparently, Mama actually really loved her champagne, loved how it "sparkled in the light like a thousand liquid crystal beads".

"We should get her to bed," Kagome said, eyeing our mother worriedly.

I nodded and helped move her down the hall and into my living room. Offhandedly, I remarked on the not-so-mysterious-mysterious missive I received. "Guess who sent me yellow roses today."

Kagome gasped and looked up. "No."

"Yes," I said as I lifted my mother's legs onto the bed.

"Was there a note?"

"Of course there was a note. Otherwise, it would be so improper."

"Rin, be serious. What did it say?"

"Oh you know, the usual: I love you dearly, my beloved. I regret every lie and terror I instilled in you. I hope you forgive me. Please take me back."

She sighed. "Just shut up," evidently not amused at my sarcasm, "You know, Rin, you really did bring this upon yourself. If you had simply answered him normally when he called, he wouldn't be torturing you right now."

"You know, Kagome, some think that it's terribly romantic for a husband to send his wife flowers on her birthday. Although I would have preferred a severed head."

"Let's see if you can keep that snippy wit of yours when he calls later." She smiled at me smugly.

She was right, even I admitted. He would definitely call and it would definitely be unpleasant. Yellow roses have long been a warning message between the two of us, and the precursory delivery of posh flowers heralded a disaster in the making.

"We'll see about that. I'm ready for whatever he's going to throw at me."

"Including reconciliation?"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "What the hell are you getting at?"

She shrugged innocently (so fake and incredibly vexing). "Oh nothing, simply that maybe he's got you cornered…again, and this time, you won't be leaving through your clever escape route."

I sighed exasperatedly. "You're drunk, Kagome."

"And so are you."

I muttered a half-hearted agreement.

"And the best part is, I know something that you don't!" She practically sing-songed the last part out.

"What might that be?" I snapped back.

"You can't fight both fate and the gods, Rin."

I glanced at her and was surprised by the seriousness of her face and somber cadence of her voice. She had discarded all jocundity and stared at me with utmost austerity and sincerity. In that moment, I felt every tension, every hurt, and every bitterness we felt towards each other. It was like I rewound back my life and saw the events swirl around in a kaleidoscope, the edges of each piece hitting and jolting each other.

And so, I walked out to the balcony, avoiding concerned expressions and questioning gazes along the way, grabbed the phone (and a half downed glass of chilled wine from Sango) and sat down on the benches. Out on the minuscule balcony, I let the rush and flow of the city wash over me as I waited for the inevitable phone call. All the while, I rehearsed my lines a million and one times, counting the stars and recalling their constellation names. I saw Orion and his hunt, nymphs and demons, and even that overrated North Star. My body became a tunnel and the world channeled through it, sifted and shape-shifting like hidden silhouettes against an orange brick wall.

Tokyo, Japan: Past

The first term was approaching its end with all of the students in a dizzy over finals and last-minute projects. I had little to worry about and barely skimmed over the packets that the cram school handed out. Unlike Kagome, I wasn't very academic at all and with the exceptions of mathematics and science, my grades were average (deplorable compared to my outstanding sister's performance during high school). Having entered school earlier than most, I was a year younger (fifteen) than my schoolmates. And some, like Sango, never let me hear the end of it.

We were walking to a small ice cream parlor after school, hoping to grab a couple of soda floats before the rush of cram school demanded our presences. I sighed and tried to create some plausible and inventive excuse to tell Mama on why I received another eighty-eight on my history exam. Sango told me to just say that since I was younger than everyone, naturally I had difficulty keeping up.

"Ha ha," I replied, "That's really smart of you. Thanks but no thanks. I think I'm just going to confess that I didn't actually study this time. Or any other time, for that matter."

"And then the great wall of tears will come flooding in! Call me when you manage to save your drowning body from them."

"Yeah, well, you didn't do so hot in Japanese literature either, Miss-I'm-So-Amazing."

"At least I passed, Rin."

"Ouch. That really did me in."

"Hey, are you free tonight?"

"Why? You wanna do something, Sango?"

She shrugged and adjusted the pleats of her skirt, pulling them down to actually cover her knees. "I was thinking we could check out that new store downtown, the one with the really cute scarves."

I frowned. Fashion had never been my thing and for as long as I knew it, it wasn't Sango's intent to deliberately torture me with a shopping trip. "Isn't it a bit early to be looking at scarves?"

She blushed. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you the truth! For the past couple of days Kohaku has been going down there constantly, and I mean every night. So I'm thinking that there must be a good reason why. And the reason is that cute salesgirl who works every night from eight to twelve."

"Oh, Sango, you have been busy!"

"Shut up. I'm being serious here! I caught him three nights ago, only I think he saw me and dodged away before I could grill him for answers."

"Maybe the reason he ran away was because he didn't want you to know! Ever thought of that?"

"So what. I'm his big sister. It's like my right to interfere. I just want to know for sure. Come on, please Rin, please?"

"Okay, fine. We'll go. But only for tonight. And if we're wrong then you have to apologize to Kohaku for meddling!"

"Sure, sure. Let's hurry up. Cram school starts in half an hour and I am just starving."

We made our way to the sweets shop and squeezed into the booth by the far end (our usual hang-out place). Sango dived straight into her pie, or to be precise, a composition of sugar, fat, and more sugar. The "House Special". I nearly gagged at the sight and quietly sipped at my soda. Sweets and I had never gotten along too well. I mean, I liked them well enough—as any girl could never say no to chocolate—but devouring cakes and pies and cookies by the shovels was just my thing. I was always the more traditional one among my friends.

But Sango and her brother Kohaku had been orphaned at a young age and passed along to relatives, foster homes, until eventually, an old Western gentleman agreed to adopt them. As a result, they developed an unhealthy palate for greasy, deep-fried, sugary dinners. The gentleman provided them with a spacious home, everything they needed (in Kohaku's case: wanted at first glimpse), and a loving, compassionate detached father-figure. While he toured the seas and continents as an esteemed professor of astrophysics, Sango and Kohaku stayed home. It had been a very good resolution, Sango commented once.

"Hey, Rin, you gonna finish that?"

Sango eyed my partially eaten cake slice. I sighed and pushed the dish towards her, which she happily jabbed at with her fork.

"Do you ever think that all this cram school business is just so dumb?" I asked.

Sango looked up, paused for a moment, and nodded. "Well, duh. But what can we do? We have to go to school, to achieve, to dominate the world in whatever vocational field we find ourselves in!"

She said that with so much conviction it took even me a few seconds to register that she was ridiculing the educational system.

"But why do we do it? Why do we let them dictate our lives?"

"Because we have no choice. If we don't then we will be reduced to the bums in the slums. Is that what you want?"

"No but I just don't get why we have to let others—the adults—mandate everything for us. I mean, we all know that we're smart, that we're capable of doing all this shit they deal out to us. So why do we still let them run us around like we were trained circus animals? Not that I approve of circus animals. Seriously, you should see the maltreatment that they endure—"

"Rin, there is always an alternative to everything."

"Oh really? And what might this be?" I bit down my lip, knowing where this was leading. I could speak the words for her, with every lilting nuance mimicked to perfection.

"Snatch a rich old man and rob his grave when he dies!" Sango sang the word in her beautiful enchantress voice.

I giggled. "Took the words right out of my mouth. Like my dah-ling sister!"

"Well, I guess ghra-duate school is better than high school."

"Yup, meaning that she's found herself a supremely rich one at that."

"I hope she's proud of herself."

"Of course she is. That's been Kagome's goal since birth," I said but almost immediately regretted my harsh words.

As much as I was annoyed with Kagome because of her late-night calls and insane sleeping patterns, it was unfair to say that about her. But I just couldn't (or wouldn't) consider the fact that she might earnestly loved Sesshoumaru. How could anyone? But in her defense, I don't think he loved her either. And so whenever I saw them together—observing like a nighthawk on the prowl (as Mama described my calculating eyes)—I kept trying to piece things together to create some fathomable grounds on why they were together. And have been together for this long.

"Rin, we better go or we're going to be late for class. Sensei is going to flip."

I nodded, grabbed my bag, left some money for the tip and rushed out after Sango. We sprinted the blocks to the school and ran up the stairs and managed to plunge into our seats mere seconds before our teacher arrived. He gave us knowing, quizzical looks (the typical rise-of-the-brow) and told us to open our workbooks to page 365, all in his usual monotone.

His voice softened (or was it my mind conjuring that?) and I felt myself being lulled to sleep. I propped my chin on my elbow, hoping that the support will at least make it appear that I was being attentive. But soon, my head was plummeting through wells and deep-ground rivers, through rapid moving waters and slow creeping ice. I saw years flash by, years that I don't remember. I dreamt of oceans and a mountain, of snowy peaks and bitter waters. Of a large, cloaked figure on a precipice, of a world and lifetime I never experienced yet felt was so familiar.

It stood on all four legs, was pearly white and cold. Terribly cold. It tossed its head at the moon and opened its mouth in a long, mournful howl. Another figure stood by, shoulder-to-shoulder. The second one, much smaller, almost feminine but I was too far away to tell for sure, leaned in to kiss the other. Around them, the alpine trees shook their leaves, dusting off powdery snow and sent the flakes wafting into the sky like miniature angels. Watching from the middle of the wintery ocean, I shuddered (not from the cold; I felt none).

And then I awoke as Sango shook my shoulders, hissing at me to write down the homework assignment fast. By the time we dashed out there, the dream had become a fuzzy notion on the horizon.

…

"Sango, is this really necessary?" I shouted.

We were shoved behind a rather upset and disturbed food vender's cart, ankle-deep in fried red bean pastries. For the past hour and a half, we half-crouched half-sat in that position waiting for Kohaku to arrive. But to no avail, not only did Kohaku not appear, it had started drizzling. A light, gentle spring shower, but nonetheless, soaked socks and a skirt did neither of us comfort.

"He's not coming, face it. And my legs are going numb. Plus, Mama is going to freak out unless I get my butt home in five minutes!"

"Rin, be quiet! He'll be here. I know he will. Come on, Kohaku, don't let me down!"

"Okay, so maybe he does like this girl. But what if he just didn't plan to come tonight? Because, oh, I don't know, he was smart enough to check the weather?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Maybe we are the only ones stupid enough to be outside when it's raining!"

"Don't be stupid. There is a ton of people still out. He'll be here, I promise."

I sighed and sank further into the low stool that the vender had kindly offered us, provided that we pay him double the value of his signature snacks.

"Look, look!" Sango punched me in the arm.

"Ow! What? Is Kohaku here?" I craned my neck towards the direction Sango was practically screaming at.

But instead of Kohaku and his anonymous crush, I saw Sesshoumaru and Kagome enter a glamorous restaurant on the other side of the street. I groaned, knowing where this was heading, and rose. Sango, not one to follow suit—only lead—jetted across the still bustling urban street (bypassing cars like a zigzagging bee). I caught up with her, not at all out of breath. After years of her megrims, I've become acclimated to capricious, sudden demands of intense energy. We made ourselves invisible by sneaking by the window as furtively as we could and choosing instead to loiter around outside, in perfect view of the hapless couple.

We debated over whether it was worth getting caught to enter the restaurant and snag a better stalking position. However, the thought of imminent dismemberment and a million years of grounding stymied any further thoughts of that. Instead, we settled on trying to make the most of what they were saying through lip-reading (of which neither of us knew how) and body-language. Now that we were experts at.

"You know, this isn't exactly what I envisioned our snooping to be, but hell, this is so much better," Sango said, all grins and devious winks.

"Definitely. I just wish we could hear them."

"No need; I think I have a good idea of where this is heading."

"Really? Do tell."

"I think he's going to propose."

My mouth dropped completely. Impossible. No way would that ever happen.

"What…how can you tell?" I said after a moment of grasping the concept of having Sesshoumaru as my brother.

"Pay attention. He's being really suave and trying to play it off as 'casual'. So predictable."

"Umm, Sango, I think you're going crazy. Sesshoumaru isn't capable of showing emotions at all. Besides annoyance."

"Then what about the flowers and the suspicious-looking box?"

"Flowers are a symbol of the courtship ritual, and that box could contain anything. If I'm lucky, then it'll be a discreet bottle of arsenic."

"Flowers are symbolic of human courtship rituals. For youkai, I always thought that they preferred something along the lines of beheaded enemies. You should've read up on that part in history class. So since he brought her flowers, he must have something especially evil in mind."

"Whatever," I scoffed in disbelief.

However, Sango's remarks were right on the mark (just not on that night). What Sesshoumaru produced from that box was an exquisite necklace. Damn the arsenic. And the flowers were merely for show. I must say: I was mildly disappointed. I had been expecting something dramatic and showy, nothing short of ostentatious for the rich and fabulous. That and Kohaku's no-show made the whole event quite anticlimactic.

Tokyo, Japan: Present

Right on cue, the phone rang a quarter after I perched—kicking my feet up—on the sticky, plastic lawn chair. On the seventh ring, after a momentary brush with death: heart racing from panic and getting short of breath, I picked up the phone. It was our mutual understanding that when he called (I never initiated) I would always, always pick up. No matter what. But the stipulation was that I would at least pretend that I couldn't be bothered, completely nonplussed at the call. Our marriage was based on a series of contracts and previously formed mandates, and it would be absolutely verboten to break any of them.

"Sesshoumaru, to what do I owe this pleasant phone call?"

"I assume you received the flowers."

"Yes, and they were riveting. Thank you so much for the constant reminders. The highlight of my pathetic life, I recall you saying once."

"At least feign to be an adult for only a moment."

"Sure, but that should go for the both of us."

"I am so…vexed at your annoying retorts. Why must you be so difficult?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sesshoumaru. Why did you marry me?"

"You know why."

"Actually, I don't. Care to refresh my memory?"

"Rin."

"What."

My hands rummaged for the buried pack of cigarettes and lighter I stuck inside my flimsy summer robe. I was still swathed—strangled—in my cocktail dress but at least the robe covered me somewhat. I hated the thought of being naked. I shakily lit up a cigarette and dangled it in one hand as I patiently waited for what's next.

"I want to arrange a formal meeting with you."

At that, I was intrigued. Although Sesshoumaru threatened these person-to-person encounters, he never deigned to actually implement them. Besides, I had thought they were simply empty air because of the divorce papers I kept serving him.

"Huh. What for?"

"To settle things." Human.

"You know, if you would just sign the damn papers, we wouldn't have to bother with all these nuisances." Least of all civility.

"Let us establish a rapport."

"My, my, aren't we feeling loquacious this evening?"

"Your incessant stupidity never fails to amuse me."

"Great, just fucking great. I just live to serve you. Seriously, why do you want to meet all of a sudden?"

"Are you still smoking?" he asked with a hint of aggravation.

I shivered and instinctively looked around for hidden cameras before deciding it was impossible and grudgingly stubbed my precious cigarette.

"No, of course not."

"Remember what the doctor said," he sneered.

"I know what the doctor said." You egotistical asshole. "Anyway, go on. I'm all ears."

"I think you would agree to a meeting, in person, if you knew whom it regarded."

"None of our mutual 'friends' or 'acquaintances' can be of any interest to me anymore."

"I'm sure you'll find him to be most interesting."

"No…you're lying."

"I never lie."

"You mean—that…umm…"

"Yes."

I could barely make out the rest of what he said. The conversation trickled through like strips of memory; only catching a few trains of words here and there. All I could think of, the only thing that resonated like a perpetual ache. Bankotsu. I hadn't thought of that name in a while. And I could feel this powerful, concentrated loathing that I haven't known in years: a sharp, haunting throb that snapped me into pieces. Too small and scattered to become whole again. I've been mad for a long, long time.

"Well, in that case, sign me up."

And we continue with our game of cat-and-mouse. Only, this time, I am the tiger waiting between the bamboo lines.

Tokyo, Japan: Past

Unfortunately, Sango's premonition of a proposal occurred sooner than I anticipated. If my prayers were truly answered, a proposal wouldn't have eventuated at all. However, by the end of the month, Kagome, Mama, and I (damn that Souta, he was so lucky to have been missed) were invited to an elaborate dinner party at the Taishous' model-size palace. I was caught off guard and had no choice but to attend. Mama was more than happy to acquiesce. Kagome grinned in that knowing way of hers, and I knew that something was up from the look of it. As for Souta, he made a hasty call about being out of town on an important trip (for educational purposes—the liar) that weekend, but to send his regards to the Taishou family (a shameless liar too). Kagome waved it off and Mama didn't seem to care either. A son just wasn't appropriate when it came to doll-dressing.

So, it was then that I found myself as the unwitting victim. Narrowed between Mama and Kagome, I had no choice but to comply. They came at me with flying brushes and lip glosses and a myriad of other miscellaneous "beauty treatments". My face was rubbed raw and painful, moisturized till I couldn't breathe, and then painted over with hues from a Baroque palate. My lips stung and my cheeks were sore from the rubbing, pinching, and even itched from the finishing "dusting off". I probably sneezed ten times at least from all the facial powder and most likely developed a nasty rash underneath my perfectly dolled up exterior. But as long as I looked great, little else mattered.

Mama had pulled me aside right before we exited the lobby that if I thought to make this night difficult (insufferable was the word she chose) I would be grounded until I was forty. I agreed too readily, of which she was suspicious that I had some secret agenda. But truthfully, I really didn't want to ruin tonight for Kagome. Her days home—resting from the "accident"—had been fairly well. The peculiar absence of our previous petty fights had been a great blessing and even better silence. She even helped me with schoolwork, which we both understood was not my strong point. And from this moratorium of constant cat-fights and bitching, we even expanded the nonexistent sisterly bond between us. Needless to say, if I caused any mayhem, however tiny, tonight Kagome would never speak to me again. And would probably kill me herself.

The thought of having Chanel ruby red manicured claws in my flesh was not pleasant. So, I resolved to "be good" for the sake of us both. Besides, I had promised Sango that I would only be a keen observer, recording every minute detail down for her with utmost alacrity. And I would call her the moment I was liberated so we could laugh our heads off over all the ridiculous things Kagome and Sesshoumaru said to each other. My bet was on Kagome being the absurd one. Sesshoumaru would just be his usual emotionless self. Absolute boredom there.

"Welcome to our home, Hitomi," a perfect soprano practically sang out from the inner foyer.

"Thank you, my family and I are very grateful that you have invited us over," Mama responded and bowed deeply.

I followed suit (Kagome was already inside by the time we arrived—"a prior engagement" she explained). Inuyasha's mother smiled at me, which I returned warmly. She was a nice lady with a quiet demeanor, but ran her household with an iron rod shooting through her spine. She had to, after all, being the mother to a wild, rebellious teenage boy and surrogate mother to the step-son who enjoyed toying with the world. All the world's a stage. And we are the pawns—characters—humoring him.

"Rin, Inuyasha tells me that you're quite the genius."

I blushed profusely. "Umm, not really. Just in math, I guess."

"Don't be so modest, Rin," Inuyasha said, popping up from behind his mother. Just like a puppy, only I would never mention that to him aloud.

"Why don't we all move to the parlor?"

We followed her to beautifully arranged platters of hor'dourves, everything from the vile caviar all affluent people perceived to be vital to a party to the cheap sesame cookies found at every corner stand. Everything was piled high on wonderful, high-end English Worcester bone china and young woven bamboo trays.

I discovered from my last visit here that every room in the Taishou residence was decorated to replicate an era and nation. The grand staircase was adorned after early nineteenth century France while the parlor was reminiscent of Tang Dynasty China (with a few Ming urns tossed in just for the hell of it). And from what I remember, Sesshoumaru's room must have been dedicated to fifteenth century Romania, starring Vlad the Impaler as inherent host.

"Touga will be here momentarily, trying to fix on a tie. Well, you know how they are, Hitomi."

Mama nodded and gave a lighthearted laugh. Although daddy had died years ago, caring for grandpa all these years and then the strife of Souta's teenage years convinced Mama that indeed, men were all the same: slovenly and hopeless without their ladies.

"And where are Kagome and Sesshoumaru?" Mama asked.

"Oh, those two, Sesshoumaru stopped by at six this morning. Woke everyone up with the garage, grabbed something, and left. I haven't seen him since. Touga tried to reach him on the cell and received a brusque message that he'll be back—with Kagome—around six. But of course, it's nearly seven now and they're still not back."

"Probably doing it somewhere," I whispered to Inuyasha.

He laughed loudly and muttered something about a chemistry joke when his mother glowered at him.

Soon enough, Inuyasha's father came downstairs. I gasped when I first saw him; he was a spitting image of Sesshoumaru (and what Inuyasha threatened to become in a few years' time). He looked dashing and a bit daunting in a pressed three-piece linen suit with silk lining and silk shirt. The tie was loosened casually, and his hair was tied sleekly at the base of his neck. He had the characteristic crimson inuyoukai stripes across his cheeks, and when he smiled, there was just the bare hint of pearly fangs.

"Hello, dear, nice of you to finally join us," Izayoi stood on her toes to give him a peck on the lips.

She stood an astounding eight inches shorter than him. I stifled the urge to laugh, but I admit it was kind of cute.

"Ah, Hitomi and Rin, lovely for you two to join us. Where is Souta?"

"On a class trip," Mama answered perfunctorily, "But it appears that he is not the only one missing."

"Yes, my first son and your first daughter."

Izayoi hit him gently on the arm, a warning not to try anything witting. The underlying message being you're not funny.

"So, why don't we wait for them in the dining room? If they're not here in the next half hour, we'll eat without them. I'm just about famished," Touga continued.

And Izayoi hit him again.

"Sorry, my wife doesn't think that my sense of humor is appropriate for company."

"Mom's right, Dad," Inuyasha added.

"Anyway, let's get a move on," Izayoi interrupted smoothly and led the way into her dazzling dining room.

There was a long glass table set for seven with enormous authentic crystal chandeliers dangling precariously overhead. A butler (I swear these people were insane) pulled back my chair, and I awkwardly sank into the plush material. Everything was hip, chic, and impeccably ornamented. There wasn't so much as a single carpet hair awry.

Izayoi personally popped open a champagne bottle and poured everyone some, including Inuyasha and I. Mama looked at me with a warning, telling me not to get too carried away and above all else, stay demure, silent, and amicable. I nudged Inuyasha under the table and we exchanged conspiratorial looks. We were quiet for a while, the adults speaking in hushed tones—as if any loud sound would break the placid ambience like an ultimate taboo. Inuyasha entertained me by flexing his puppy-dog ears and I responded with my signature pout. The one in which I half-raised and half-lowered my mouth so that my lower lip was impossibly puckered and full.

After nearly fifteen minutes of further waiting passed did we hear the front door open, a soft, subtle sound but distinct enough for Touga and Inuyasha to hear. We all turned our heads in perfect synchrony, just in time for Kagome to walk into the room, head-over-heels happy. She sat down next to me, squeezed my shoulder reassured, and that's when I felt the incisive jab.

"Kagome…" I began, but she shook her head.

She stood again when Sesshoumaru entered. He placed two bottles of expensive wine on the table and announced that he and Kagome were engaged. Plain and simple. No emotion, just matter of flatly stating some mundane event.

"What? You can't be serious," Mama whispered.

"It's true. Aren't you happy for us?" Kagome beamed, "What about you Rin?"

"I-I-I…sure, yeah. Real happy for you guys," I choked out, barely comprehending what just occurred.

"Oh, Kagome, Sesshoumaru," Izayoi managed to say, "that's wonderful news. Isn't it, Touga?"

Touga let out a low laugh, trying to lighten the deadly mood. He reached over and hugged Kagome closely and nodded to Sesshoumaru (knowing that his son was not one for emotional displays).

"Sit, sit, everyone," Touga commanded in his deep baritone.

I felt my legs crashing against the antique oak or mahogany or hell, even paulownia (the princess tree). The numbing sensation shot straight through my back and ended up lodged as a curious headache. A conversation started somewhere far away, but I wasn't present enough to decipher the muted words. Someone laughed, might have been Izayoi's clear, euphonious voice. Inuyasha spilt wine: a bit too tipsy?—his father asked jokingly. Izayoi sighed and reprimanded him on his table manners. Kagome giggled and offered her consolations, said it was nothing, don't worry about it. Sesshoumaru gave him a withering look, even a blind person would have been able to see that. And then tall talk ceased, heads turned to me, only I didn't realize that I was asked a question.

"Rin, are you okay?" Izayoi asked.

"Huh? What, oh yeah, I'm fine," I answered.

"Maybe you should ease up on the wine, dear," Mama smiled.

I looked at my glass. I drank only a quarter of it and made a face.

"It's very vulgar for a lady to get drunk at dinner," Sesshoumaru said plainly.

I gritted my teeth; I knew he was just itching for a fight. And here was the prime opportunity. I was not drunk, thank you!

Instead, I smiled brilliantly at him and replied, "And it's very vul-gar for perverted old men to hit on young girls!"

The entire table hushed immediately. I had no idea where that one came from. I didn't even know his exact age to be honest, and Kagome wasn't "young" either. She was twenty-three and knew precisely what she was doing. Just the other day, I was chiding Mama to stop treating her like a little girl.

"Rin, that's enough. No more of this nonsense," Mama said after a while.

I sighed and resumed picking at the gourmet meal, suddenly having lost all appetite or interest in what I was eating. Eventually, the others eased back into a cheerier mood, with Kagome rattling off plans of the upcoming wedding to Izayoi. I discovered that Touga was just like his younger song, not at all reserved and loved to have fun—almost to the extent of in excess. Sesshoumaru barely ate anything either, was sipping at his wine glass constantly. Mama talked animatedly with Kagome and Izayoi, the two matrons trying to convince the stubborn bride-to-be that shocking colors was just too inappropriate for a wedding dress. Inuyasha and I were the only ones who didn't speak, and if we did, it was only to answer a direct question.

Neither of us could explain why the other was in such a horrid mood. My headache was getting worse; I probably was getting quite drunk. And Inuyasha was naturally sullen, I suppose. Sometimes, I would catch Kagme giving Inuyasha understanding, inside glances, and he would brighten up for a moment. But that could have been my imagination. I also imagined that Sesshoumaru was staring at me throughout the night. Yet, whenever I tried to catch him in the act, he would clandestinely avert his gaze, never giving me the pleasure of getting the best of it. What had promised to be an airy, informal formal "family dinner" turned out to be quite cataclysmic internally. On the outside, it was cordial and homey.

"To a prosperous marriage," I mocked as everyone proposed a toast to the happy couple.

Toko, Japan: Present

I spent nearly the entire morning trying on clothes, after I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower—thankfully, the water was piping hot upon entrance. This skirt with that dress? Why a skirt at all? How about a dress? Or would that be too cool for the evening air? Hell, who was I kidding. It was blazing in the middle of summer, too hot would be a better consideration. After hours of tossing everything out of my closet and an ever-increasing accumulation of shirts, pants, skirts, dresses, and miscellaneous other items threatened to completely dive from my bed, I was exhausted. Absolutely drained. And I still had nothing suitable to wear. I felt stupid and childish, a fifteen-year-old girl again on the verge of tears because she didn't have a knock-out dress to wear on a date. Only, I was no longer fifteen, and this was no date. This was torture and blackmail and bribery. Rather than feeling giddy over the impending doom, I should consider suing him.

Every few minutes or so, I would sigh histrionically and kick a random sandal out of the way. Mama poked in every other minute and inquired if I need some assistance. I declined, thinking that although she was just being kind, her fashion taste was dreadful. Then, I would reprimand myself on why I was getting so obsessed over this. I wasn't particularly interested in fashion even if I had what some of my more trendy friends called "a body to die for" (real funny). However, one of my closest friends happened to be a major fashion designer—even had his own couture line—and thought that I would make a perfect guinea pig. And so, despite my curses and disgusted looks, I never refused him when he asked me to model in exchange for designer clothes. I was a hypocrite, and did he let me know it.

"Suikotsu, I am going to kill you," I muttered under my breath, willing every fiber of my being to implement the malediction.

"Did you say something, Rin?" Kagome asked.

I shook my head. "Did Mama sent you to check in on me?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that…umm, well, it's getting kind of late. So we both thought that it might be best if I just picked something out for you."

"I'm not a kid, Kagome. I can dress myself."

"I know, I know. I'm just here for advice, if you want any that is. Not that you need it. I mean, you have a fabulous sense of style and a killer wardrobe."

"Technically the wardrobe is on-loan, and we both know that I can't distinguish a fedora from a beret."

She laughed at that one. "I guess, but hey, don't worry about it. Very casual right? Just dinner, just to talk, right?"

"Yes. Nothing else. There couldn't possibly be anything else. I am going to finalize some matters and for Bankotsu. Yes."

"Oh, I'm convinced," she said sarcastically, "It's very smart of you to attend dinner with your husband on behalf of some other man."

"I told you: it's a very civilized, professional meeting between two civilized, professional people!"

"Okay, okay, no need to snap my head off. Anyway, how about this?"

She held up a soft white silk dress with varying shades of tiny, light blue flowers polka-dotted over it. It swept into a rounded collar right around the clavicle, not too low but not strangling high either, and best of all, it was backless. I thanked Kagome profusely, complimented her on her impeccable taste (which was true) and her keen sense of practicality (also true, in this case). I was dreading the blistering summer heat, not even slightly alleviated by the sinking sun, but a backless dress would be the ideal solution. She recommended that I tie my hair into a mid-ponytail so that enough tresses would cover my back but I would still be kept cool by a breeze.

"Great, fantastic. You outdid yourself, Kagome."

"Uh-huh, just remember, you owe me next time we go out," she mumbled through a mouthful of safety pins.

I was so thin by then that even sample sizes were too loose sometimes. Most girls would have rejoiced at that, but I was anxious over the looming future of whether I'd be able to fit into clothes at all. And so, it had become a habitual routine for Mama or Kagome or if I were desperate, Sango, to take in the extra fabric.

"Really, I appreciate this. Thank you."

She turned me around, jabbed a pin into the side, barely missing my thigh. "Just promise me, Rin, don't make an ass of yourself tonight."

"I never."

"Promise. Me," she said with deadly seriousness.

"Fine. I won't say anything remotely insulting or rude. I'll be the perfect lady. I swear.

"I don't want you unnecessarily pushing his buttons either. Get what you need and get out of there. No lingering, no goading, no taunting. Got it?"

"Yes," I muttered indignantly.

I knew that Kagome had every right to berate me for behaving horrendously considering that the last time Sesshoumaru and I met "in person" I tossed a glass of wine on his shirt. Or rather, poured an entire bottle over him. He was furious and contained all that rage behind a lividly expressionless mask. It was beautiful. I knew he would never react unwholesomely, and it got me out of there sooner than anything. Worked like a charm. And I got even. He ruined my night, so I ruined his suit. Divine retribution.

"There! All ready. I'll just sew this in a bit and you're off to go. Just be careful not to make any sudden movements; we both know that I'm not the most talented at domestic skills. And don't sit down carelessly! I'll have to leave some of pins in so caution is wise."

"Got it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to paint up my face for a prick."

She sighed loudly, alerting me on exactly what she thought of me that moment. "I just don't get you, Rin."

"Join the family."

…

The restaurant that Sesshoumaru chose did not turn out to be some fantastically gaudy behemoth. It was very charming. I was surprised. He was not one to do anything quaint or sweet. For Sesshoumaru, the commercial and business world was separated into two very distinct categories. One being expensive and pretentious (for the humans) and the other brusque and simple (for the youkai who had no use for frivolities). And as it so happened, since this meeting fell under neither of those genres, it was only right that he did something unexpected. Except, I was shocked at being shocked when I should have anticipated it all along.

I stepped out of the cab gingerly: one heel first, make contact with the pavement and walk. It was drawing towards late afternoon, the skyline already bursting with fuchsia and indigo. I began wringing my hands together, a habit that I'd developed in the face of something dreadful. But even before I stepped inside, the maître d' rushed out and personally welcomed me. He was a short, squat man with a greenish tint to his skin and was at least in his sixties, but he had a baby face bereft of any wrinkles and smiled kindly.

"Madame Taishou?"

"Yes," I said, trying not to cringe at the "Taishou" part.

"We have your table all ready. Your husband is waiting for you."

"Oh. That's…unfortunate."

He laughed and waved me in. I followed him to a private room with large French windows and a modest sized chandelier. I frowned at the display of gleaming candles and the beautiful flower arrangement. What the hell is he getting at. My previous thoughts of exasperation rapidly evolved into feelings of loathing and severe disgust.

"Sit," he commanded imperiously.

I glared at him, sitting so calm and at ease across the table (set for two, mademoiselle!). Obviously, he was not fazed and even smiled back, amused as if to say that he would gladly accept any paltry challenge of mine.

"Oh great. I see that you're still alive and icy as ever. How's life these days? Still traumatizing innocent old ladies?"

"And I see that you are as insolent as ever."

"Yeah but it's only on weekends now."

"It's Wednesday, Rin."

"Damn, must've lost track of time. You know, since I am so sick and pitiable. Speaking of a divorce, let's get signing, shall we?"

"Who spoke of a divorce?"

"Why, you did, just now. And if you insist, I have the papers right here, which you so uncouthly mailed back to me unsigned."

He opened the wine bottle and poured some for both of us.

"Out of the question."

"But you didn't even hear the question."

"Rin, stop being ludicrous."

I whipped out my purse and produced the inexorable papers. He raised an eyebrow at my show of persistence.

"I thought you were here for that idiot."

"And for the divorce."

"You can only pick one." He smiled viciously.

"Fine. Divorce."

"If you say so. Then there is no use for me to tell you—"

"Wait! I changed my mind. Bankotsu. Tell me. Now."

"Mercurial, aren't we?"

"Oh shut up and get on with it."

"You're such a child."

"Sesshoumaru, I'm not fooling around here. Tell me."

He leaned in closely. "Are you sure?"

I reciprocated until our faces were practically touching. "Yes."

"He's alive."

"But you…how…"

"Must have 'missed'."

"You lie."

"No, it's true. You can see him tonight, if you'd like. Do you want that, Rin?"

"Yes."

He laughed again, just as every bit low and cruel. But I didn't care. All of a sudden, I didn't care about the stupid divorce or trying to get even. I just wanted to know. To see. To ascertain that Sesshoumaru was telling the truth.

"Take me to him, please."