The colours of her childhood play a bitter, cruel joke on her heart. These are the parks that gave her more than one scar, the school that bears her name tattooed on secret, abandoned corners, the store where Sawamura-san used to give her free candy. It's been years since Sawamura-san has gone, but Mimi always brings offerings to her altar when she visits. Her daughter carries on their family store and Mimi wonders if there's some other child who receives their candy now. Odaiba has changed, loads, but it is undeniably the same place that watched her grow.
Her parents, on the other hand, are still the same. Keisuke sports a few gray hairs that look fabulous on him; Satoe's funny little wrinkles on the corners of her eyes make her smile even more prominent. They go out for dinner the first night she's back, anxious to hear all about her new life. Mimi doesn't put up a fight; she tells them all about her job, her graduate studies, her life projects.
"Have you spoken to your friend, darling? The one with the flower shop."
"Takenouchi-chan?"
"Sora-chan, yes, thank you, pumpkin. She has a lovely little place, in Shibuya. We walk past there a few times, don't we, my love? She's doing so well."
Keisuke sips his wine, nodding vigorously. "Certainly. You should visit soon, sweetheart."
"Of course!" Mimi laughs. "I've seen pictures. Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow. As a surprise."
How things have changed. Now, her parents remember everything so well and she has to settle for listening about the lives of people she feels, she no longer knows.
.
.
Sora's shop is a small boutique, very elegant. The architecture speaks of a minimalism that somehow contrasts ideally against the traditional designs of her kimonos and else. Sora looks beautiful, definitely happy. Mimi catches herself longing for more than one of her pieces and Sora assures her she can customize it for her.
"Do you have time to stop by the atelier? I'll need your measurements."
She wants to say that's not necessary, but her enthusiasm for fashion has not diminished with age.
"You're the best. Has someone told you that yet?"
Her childhood friend laughs and it is warm and breezy. Mimi wonders if she always laughed like that, before.
"So you've said."
Flattering Mimi is easy, especially if they keep going on and on about her model measurements and porcelain skin. In a matter of minutes she is absolutely comfortable as one of Sora's assistants makes notes of her crisp, clear orders. This is when Mimi looks down and at her hand and screams. Sora pales instantly, gulps and Mimi snatches her hand, bringing it up to her eyes.
"Since when?"
Waiting for her heart to return to her chest, Sora reclaims possession of her hand (it's difficult; it seems to be glued to Mimi's) and coughs meaningfully. The rock glistens on her index finger (a respectable size, Mimi notes with a snicker) and her cheeks colour instantly, an action much more reminiscent of the shy teenager she used to be.
"Just recently," she murmurs softly. The colour has now poured down her ears and neck. "Last week. You're the first to know, actually."
Half-naked and with wet, glistening eyes, Mimi hugs her tightly.
"How could you let me talk about boring things like work," she chides gently. "When you had such news! I can't believe you. Congratulations, Sora!"
They make plans for lunch in two days, promising she'll introduce the lucky man. She learns that she's been dating a surgeon, from a very respectable family, very proud and successful and not much older than them. Reeling, Mimi suggests they celebrate an engagement party (everyone does so, in America!) and Sora promises she'll think about it. They hug again when they say good-bye and Sora promises her new clothes will be ready before her holiday is over. On the way back, she stops by two different jewellery stores and her gaze lingers on the pretty rings.
Silly Mimi.
.
.
On Wednesday that same week, she receives a message on one of her social media accounts.
[19:23] I'll be back in Tokyo in the morning.
Mimi smiles. Maybe not everything has changed.
.
.
If anyone asks, she'll say it was a coincidence. She's always been drawn to crowds and naturally curious, she approaches, not knowing what to expect. It's a half-truth; she had seen the commotion and immediately asked what was happening. The magazine on her hands offers much in the way of explanations (wedding, honey-moon, plans for the future). Mimi raises her eyes but it's already too late to duck; he's already seen her.
"Mimi?"
Her smile freezes upon her face.
"Ya-ma-to-kun."
.
.
There is something terribly defeating about running into the love of your life (former love, fuck, former love) and realising he is already in love with someone else. It's not like she seriously thought he would still be in love with her (maybe just a little bit, nothing extraordinary), but the news that he has found his one and only, his better half, his soulmate (and it is everything she swore she would be, back then), feel like a kick straight to the liver. So many years have passed since they ran out of that particular brand of love but somehow, she only just realises she never thought it was for good.
Maybe she always harboured some hope they would get back together. Or maybe not.
It doesn't matter, the bottomline is always the same — the news taste like failure.
.
.
Japanese beer is sweet, tastes like pink melon sorbet. She doesn't mean to summon old memories from summers in Shizuoka, so this is the first and last and now asks for some whiskey, the top shelf stuff. It's served neat, with some ice and a lemon skin on the side. Mimi doesn't knock it back, like in the movies. She kisses the glass and sets it back down and the ice has already melted when she picks it up again. She turns to her phone, holding her heart in her other hand.
[19:11] Same place as always.
Half an hour has passed since and she isn't sure she feels like waiting. Maybe she'll leave a message with the barman (she thinks this is kind of romantic, instead of a vulgar text), but at the end she decides to at least enjoy her drink. It's not because she's waiting for him anymore; she's had enough of this past, but there's nothing better waiting back home, either.
"Hey. Sorry I'm late. Did you wait long?"
Of all the changes she has seen since her return, his is the most violent one. Several years have passed but when she thought about him, she imagined him with long, wild hair, flashy sneakers and a captain's varsity jacket on broad shoulders. Or maybe, if she goes way back, she remembers him with scratched knees, sweaty shirts, a bright blue hairband atop his nest of hair (always blue and those stars), running across a football field.
Instead, she is met with a tall young man with smart, short hair and wearing a boring but well-cut suit. He is handsome; the women around them have been turning with interest and Mimi sits up straighter than usual, upping the wattage in her smile. She refuses to be the subject of criticism tonight (or any night).
"Ah, all this time hasn't done you any good," she says, annoyed. "I was just leaving."
"That's a pity," Taichi replies, signalling towards the bar. "I'll have the usual, please."
He turns back towards her and leans in for a hug (his cologne is softer than she expected and she let's herself go, just a moment) and a soft kiss on the cheek.
"It's certainly done wonders for you."
She rolls her eyes and pretends his compliment flies right past her but is betrayed by a smile she quickly drowns in her drink.
.
.
There is a certain comfort in the familiarity with which he addresses her. His movements are all natural, explosive, they command attention and she finds herself laughing, perhaps more than she should. She learns that Taichi is now in business, he's a senior partner in a hedge-fund and investing firm and he's actually doing very well for himself. He finds her job in public relations fascinating, too, and for a moment she feels a little better. It's not that she needs to be reassured about her own success all the time, but it's easier to remember how charming a certain life can be when seen through someone else's eyes.
"I like what you've done with your hair."
Taichi's fingers graze the nape of his neck, trying to keep his own satisfied smile while feigning embarrassment.
"I guess it was time. Look at yours, it isn't pink anymore!"
High school came for Mimi, with a whirlwind of makeovers. That (awful!) perm, bubble-gum pink hair (with golden stars!) and caramel highlights. Now the pink has faded and the effect is that of a dusty rose, almost golden, like a blurry memory of a delightful dream. Nostalgic, she hasn't realised how close she's grown to Taichi and the effect of his fingers brushing her shoulder (it's her hair, it's just her hair), is intoxicating. She blinks quickly and Taichi, silent, smiles openly.
"It looks good on you," he says. "I like it, too."
.
.
They had agreed on a glass or two but time, laughter and accidental touches have been ill-advisors for discretion and Mimi feels so warm, like there's a small flame in the pit of her stomach and she doesn't want to quell it. On the bathroom mirror she looks at her hair, the shine in her eyes that does nothing but convince her of how good she looks and she focuses instead on the tingling in the tips of her fingers as she walks back. Taichi is putting his phone away, offering her one of those smiles that take her right back to adolescence, the kind that arrested more than one of her classmates. Some other time, Mimi may have reproached him for it.
"Someone waiting for you?"
Taichi makes a face, a sigh she would have missed if she hadn't been looking for it. She pretends she didn't see it anyway.
"No," he says. "I was just looking at the time."
"Ah, so you want to go. Alright then, leave. It's not like I just flew across the globe to be here anyway."
The indignant princess part is one she plays very well and her reward is Taichi's open laugh; he draws closer and hugs her to him so she turns, tossing her hair against his face but he doesn't let go.
"Why do you like playing hard to get with me, hm?"
She shifts again, this time ready to fight him but his face is right in front of her and a retort is stuck in her throat. Up close, she can see herself reflected in Taichi's eyes; her hair is now messy and this minuscule detail makes her laugh, breaking the silence that threatened to grow between them. She pushes away from him delicately and her fingers linger more than strictly necessary against his chest. She can feel his skin through the thin material of his dress shirt and when they break apart, the tingling is still there. Her lips part and at the last moment she backtracks, smiling.
"Let's go somewhere else."
.
.
"Where do you want to go?"
Mimi shrugs. The city and all its colours and sounds, the neighbors she no longer knows, cats that have never known her before, these are all a mute sort of greeting, a memory of something she hasn't lived yet.
"What does it matter?" she asks, dreamy. "Here, there ... I don't know this place."
"What are you talking about?" Taichi stops, confused before smiling widely. "Okay, so come with me."
It's an open invitation but it's also clear to them she has no choice.
.
.
It's a small park, very traditional, right behind the local public school neither of them attended. It's close to the bay, you can see a famous bridge on the other side, colours waving from afar. If she tries hard enough, Mimi thinks she can recall afternoons walking around this neighborhood, holding hands with a boy or maybe locking arms with one of her girlfriends after an afternoon in the shops. If she's honest with herself (and Mimi almost always is), she thinks there's enough reason to suppose she has imagined all of this. Maybe she's never been here before, maybe it doesn't matter.
"You used to walk around here, when they closed the old station for repairs. Do you remember?"
She must've been thirteen, maybe less. The memory is blurry, like an old photograph that has been stained by too much sunlight. The repairs had taken longer than usual and her routine had been drastically warped that autumn. As a form of protest, Mimi would spend her afternoons having tea in a little shop nearby, drawn and defeated once again by spun sugar and artisan candy.
"The tea house," she murmurs, surprised. "How on earth did you remember that?"
"My team used to train in these fields twice a week. You always stopped for tea."
"Not the tea—"
"—it was the candy. I know."
Taichi shrugs, then clasps his hands behind his head like there is not a care in the world for him. For a split second she is envious, like somehow his life is easier, lighter, just that much happier. She thinks about Sora, about Yamato, Miyako's young neighbor tha she used to babysit and who is now a full-fledged lawyer; everything that felt so excrutiatingly overwhelming that afternoon and it all feels so faraway that it hardly matters anymore.
The tree they walk under is surrounded by a short brick wall. The corners have been softened by the years and the weather. Mimi kneels and counts three bricks upwards from the rightmost lower corner, then six to the right. The words are barely legible and she is surprised both by the fact that it's still there and that she actually remembered it.
"Was it you?"
"No, but I've always liked it. It's cute, no?"
In writing that has somehow beaten time, a word prevails.
FREE
.
.
"Mimi?"
She realises he's been calling her name for the past few seconds. Uncaring, she gets up and the tingling in her legs is more than just a cramp. She takes a deep breath and then releases it, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. The lovely buzz lent by that whiskey she had earlier has diminished and the alternative is terrifying. The night is well in and the idea of going back to an empty house is abhorrent.
She's been quiet for too long, she knows because Taichi is watching her much more carefully now, his brown eyes look concerned. She thinks it's sweet, him worrying about her. Her smile is slight, soft, a ghost of what it could become. What it should be.
"You look..." her fingers dig into his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. Then velvet fingers brush the side of his face, the scar on his left brow, barely touching the outline of his set jaw. Taichi closes his eyes, barely sighing when Mimi touches him and it's as if no time has passed at all, like he's a sixteen year-old boy who can still blush. He turns his face just a little and when his lips brush against her warm open palm, he presses a kiss that Mimi does not know how to catch.
When her eyes open, that melancholy has all but disappeared. His hand circles Mimi's thin wrist and her fingers feel soft, like cloth. She doesn't know how to move them, close them, she can only extend them more and draw nearer until that tingling sensation sits pretty once more in her gut.
"It's late," he murmurs against her skin, breathing in the hidden scent in the arch of her wrist.
There's no time to answer or think yes, it's late — yes, it's cold — yes, they are both so alone in this unforgiving city. Mimi stands on the tips of her toes (he's always been so much taller) and fits her mouth to his, unable to tell if if it's her lips or his hands, fingers digging desperately into her waist.
.
.
On the elevator, they are a couple of kids, eating each other one kiss at a time. They barely make it to his floor and she runs out the corridor with him trailing behind. He catches her and sweeps her off the floor easily (he's always been so much stronger) and throws her over his shoulder despite her protests, her breathless laughter, the moans that will make his neighbors complain all night.
A kiss descends from lips to neck, collarbones, the curve of a breast. The tingling spreads from the tips of her ears to her left pinky toe. The jar of butterflies she has swallowed, the ones that are alive and aflutter on her eyelashes, her mouth, her fingers. He kisses her and tells her she is beautiful, that he has never been with someone like her, that she is a dream he never thought would come true.
Mimi traps him between her legs, pulls him by the hips and bites down on his earlobe begging more, more, please, more.
.
.
She can see his silhouette against the light behind the curtains. It's barely been an hour, maybe more. Taichi is completely naked. On his hand he holds a glass of wine from the bottle they opened, it's only down half. Mimi stirs on the bed and pours herself a glass of water; her throat feels raw and dry and the cold water pushes back the sleep.
"Are you coming back to bed?"
"In a minute."
His voice stirs something inside her. She feels small, a little scared. Like anytime he's about to say see you, it's already so late.
"Taichi."
"Yeah."
He leans back carelessly and Mimi, sitting, pulls the covers over her naked chest. Taichi snorts, laughing under his breath.
"I've been waiting for this moment for ten years and you're denying me?"
She looks at him from over her shoulder, her gaze a secret between them both. Taichi stops laughing. His hand, previously playing with the edge of the sheets now pulls at her, bringing her to him. Mimi lets herself be drawn by the warmth of his hands, his gaze, the uncouth smile that may have stolen a clandestine sigh from her before. In a few hours she will have to face everything she has carried in but for now, in this moment, with Taichi promising to leave delightful marks on every inch of her skin, her hands are already full.
In a few hours, it'll still be today.
Notes: In the face of COVID-19 and mandatory preventive quarantines, please have some Michi.