Chapter Eighteen
Seto hadn't eaten so much in years. Each time he or Mokuba cleaned anything off their plates, Aunt Moriko was there, filling them back up.
"You're too skinny." She would say. "I can see the bones in your face."
There was something about her cooking that no five-star restaurant could match. There was an honesty to it, something Seto hadn't realized he missed until that first bite.
After dinner, Aunt Moriko sent Seto, Mokuba, and Kisa onto the back porch while she and the two younger girls cleaned up. Her voice was sharp and commanding as she sent them this way and that until she corralled them to their homework.
The evening air was heavy and humid, like breathing water. Boats sailed past in the growing twilight. Fireworks were being set off somewhere, filling the air with sharp pops, cracks, and crackles and leaving behind the telltale scent of gunpowder. Under it all, crickets played an old familiar tune to the lapping waves, to the gentle rock and thump of an old two-man sailboat tethered to the Miyoshi dock. The whole world seemed to spin slower there by the river. No rush. No pressure. No expectations. Kisa sat next to Seto in a matching rocker and slid her hand into his. Their fingers threaded together.
In that instant, Seto thought he understood why his dad preferred to stay.
The porch light flicked on. A moment later Aunt Moriko exited the sliding glass door. She had mugs balanced on an antique glass tray.
She handed Kisa a mug, "Mokuba, dear, you have homework you gotta do? You can borrow the desk in Kisa's old room if you need the quiet."
Mokuba didn't look away from the water. "Not yet."
Aunt Moriko looked from Mokuba to Seto. She handed him one of the mugs.
"We have a deal worked out with his school," Seto said. "They'll email his assignments Friday night and he'll have the weekend to complete them."
"Nice deal," Kisa said.
Mokuba shrugged. "I guess."
Aunt Moriko settled into the rocker on Seto's other side. "It's nice they're willing to work with you. What is it you do, Seto?"
"I have a business in the tech industry. We started with hardware manufacturing, but I've transitioned it to software engineering, programming, and some game development. I inherited it from our fa-" He tapped a finger against his mug. "Excuse me, from our adoptive father."
Kisa squeezed Seto's hand.
Aunt Moriko folded one leg under her. "I should've figured. Your daddy was a tech guy too. Cyber security, I think. He treated that old Windows machine like his third baby."
Seto couldn't suppress a small smile. Something was comforting in knowing he had more in common with his real father than just his looks.
Aunt Moriko shifted her eyes to Kisa. "And what about you? You haven't been all that forthcoming on what you're doin in that big ol city. Hear the girls talk about it, you've got a pretty cushy livin space despite not makin any headway on that big ol dream'a yours."
"Actually, about that." There was a sparkle of excitement in Kisa's eyes. "I got a call from Bayside Records a few weeks ago. They asked if me and the rest of Black Mesa could perform at this charity concert in December."
"That's fantastic, dear! Why didn't you say somethin sooner? The girls'll be over the moon."
"I was going to, but something else came up." She looked at Seto.
He hid his satisfaction by taking a sip of his coffee. "I told you I believed you had what it takes. The fact that it took them this long to sign you into anything is evidence of their poor judgment. With the exposure you'll get from this event, it'll be simple enough for you to find a different label."
There was a knowing look in her eyes. "Uh-huh."
Seto suppressed the urge to shift in his seat.
Mokuba pushed off the railing and stuck his hands in his pockets. "You gonna tell us what happened to them now? You said 'after dinner'."
Aunt Moriko looked at him over the rim of her mug, then cut her eyes at Seto. "Boy's got the memory of an elephant, don't he? Are you ready? We can always hold off till tomorrow."
Seto let his chair rock, feeling the pressure of Kisa's fingers and the brush of the wind through his hair. He took a long breath and nodded.
Aunt Moriko set her mug on the table in the center of the circle created by their chairs. "Come on and sit down, Mokuba. This's gonna be a long one."
Mokuba sat in the last remaining chair, weary, but interested.
"First things first," Aunt Moriko said, "I want you to know that nothin' that happened was your fault. That goes for both of you. Your mama and daddy loved you two to the moon and back and I'll be damned if you boys start blaming yerselves for stuff you had no hand in. Understand me?"
Mokuba nodded. When she looked at Seto, he did too.
"Alright." She rocked back and forth in a steady rhythm. "Your mama was a pretty thing, surely, but she weren't well. Anemic, I think the word was." She motioned at Seto. "Had an awful scare when you were born, but she pulled through just fine. Longer bed rest, but she was back on her feet in… three months or so. Said no illness could keep her down. God, I wish she'd been right.
"Your daddy called Yuuka one evenin, said your mama was bleedin and had to take her to the hospital. She'd been, oh… thirty-six weeks along with you." She nodded at Mokuba. "Wanted her to watch Seto till they knew what was happenin. Yuuka was always happy to do it. Seto and Kisa were already thick as thieves by then."
Her rocking stopped. They could see her throat work as she swallowed.
"Placental abruption, they said, and with her being sick like she was. Those doctors did everythin they could, kept her alive long enough to see her baby, then she just… faded away. You were in the NICU for over a month. Poor Shin'ichi was a wreck. I was over the next mornin, helpin Yuuka with th kids when he came in. Didn't make it two steps through the door before he was on the floor. He didn't know if you were gonna make it, fragile as you were. Now, look at you." She gave Mokuba a warm, teary smile. "Strong as they come, ain't ya?"
Mokuba leaned forward, arms on his knees, hands clasped together. He looked down at them, knuckles white, brows knit together, and chewed his lip.
Aunt Moriko leaned over to rub his shoulder. "Like I said, not your fault."
She didn't let him go until he looked up and gave her a tentative smile.
"Shin'ichi kept things goin best he could," she continued. "Got a job in the city that helped pay the bills, but it was two hours to, two hours back, and him with a newborn in the house. You were a finicky little thing. Up all hours of the night cryin your head off."
The word was out of Seto's mouth before he could think about it. "Cholic."
"What's that?" Mokuba asked.
"Means you'd be up for hours cryin for no reason," Aunt Moriko said. "Happens to some babies, I hear. Anyway, your daddy kept it goin like that for a few years, then there was that one night. Poor thing fell asleep on the beltway."
Kisa's thumb caressed Seto's fingers. "I remember. Mom tried calling your dad half a dozen times before she bunked us all downstairs. I guess she figured he'd forgotten to let her know he was staying late."
"Happened sometimes," Aunt Moriko said, "but he always let Yuuka know if he was bunkin up somewhere cause he was too tired to drive. "Yuuka called me the next day. Said the cops been up to the house after midnight with social services lookin for the boys. Scuse me, you boys. She convinced them to let you stay at least for the night. She wanted to tell you herself. Ended up takin care of you until the funeral. Gave them time to look up your next of kin, I guess."
Her rocking stopped and the air seemed to go still. Her voice grew hard, angry. "That bitch."
Mokuba sat straighter. Kisa stared.
Aunt Moriko's foot landed hard on the porch. "She rolled inta town like she owned the place, all glitz, and glam and fake tits. Took you, boys, after the funeral and we never saw you again. Two weeks later she got these guys at your mama's house throwin shit out the door like it was trash. Took some stuff, but most've it was left on the curb."
Mokuba's voice shook, as if he was afraid to ask. "Who?"
The name came to Seto without much effort. Sour and slick on his tongue. "Ayaka. Our father's sister."
"Bleach blond bimbo is what she was," Aunt Moriko said. "Married young from what I hear. Real young. Some slick-fisted lawyer from upstate with a big ol bank account and a small dick. Excuse my french."
"What about mom's family?" Mokuba asked.
"Yuuka was an only child. Her daddy died out in the middle east when she was a girl and her mama died when you were two. There was no one else. When I saw what she was doing to your mama's house-" She was wringing her hands, as if she could see their aunt's neck in her grip. "Your house, cause it was yours. She had no right to treat it like that. Could've ripped that fake ass hair off that empty head'a hers."
Seto decided then that he liked Kisa's aunt.
Kisa looked like she was trying not to laugh. "I'm mad too, Auntie, but let's not get violent."
Aunt Moriko huffed. "She deserves no less. Throwin around Seto's things, Mokuba's things…" Her hand hit her forehead so hard and so sudden, Seto was almost certain she'd hurt herself. "The box! I forgot." She got to her feet. "Wait right here. I'll go get it."
She was inside before anyone could ask what she was talking about. The door was left open behind her.
"Sorry." Kisa's voice shook with suppressed laughter. "Auntie's a firecracker, but she means well."
"So I've noticed." Seto set down his empty mug. "What's this 'box'?"
"Just some stuff we saved from your house before the dump truck took it away."
The sun had set. The moon rose over the horizon, full and glowing. Its reflection shimmered on the dark water. The last remnants of sailors eased past, the lights in their cabins flickering like stars.
Mokuba had gone very quiet. Seto was certain he was thinking as much as he was, trying to wrap his mind around everything they learned, the knowledge that their parents not only existed, but loved them until the very end. Nothing Gozaburo Kaiba had done could take that away. That, at least, was a comfort.
Kisa finished off her coffee and put her mug next to his. "What happened after she took you away?"
Seto leaned his head back in thought, eyes falling shut as he tried to piece his fractured memories together.
"I believe she kept us for two weeks," he said. "I remember a room, but not much else. We were never allowed into the main part of the apartment. It was as if she wanted to forget we existed. A man came to get us one day, but I don't remember if it had been her husband. He took us out to an orphanage in the country and left us there."
"Okay, never mind. I'd like to rip her hair out too."
Mokuba snorted.
"Honestly," Kisa said, "when you said 'adoptive father' I thought you were talking about her husband."
"A fair assumption," Seto said, "but no."
Aunt Moriko returned, a large cardboard box in her arms. She set it on the table, then went to close the back door. Written on the sides were the words: 'Miyazaki Property'. Seto ran a hand across the name.
"Miyazaki?" Mokuba asked.
"Your name." Aunt Moriko unfolded the top of the box with a dry 'pop'. "Your real name. I wasn't able to save much, but I think I got most've what you'd wanted to keep. Furniture can be replaced, but this stuff, this is sentimental."
She reached in and pulled out an old stuffed rabbit. Its grey fur was matted with age and dust. There were signs of wear on the tips of its ears, bare brown linen where the fur had been worn away.
Mokuba jumped out of his chair and grabbed it. Aunt Moriko didn't scold him, just stood there and smiled.
Mokuba's hands were shaking. His mouth opened and closed. His eyes grew wet. "Seto, it's… it's Peter. I remember Peter. He was-" He turned to Seto and glared. "You said he was lost!"
Seto was on his feet. "Don't look at me like it was my fault. I asked for it, but she told me it was gone."
"Him!"
"That's enough." Aunt Moriko put an arm around Mokuba's shoulders. "He was lost but he ain't anymore. Now sit down."
Mokuba's eyes stayed trained on Seto as he slumped back into the rocking chair. His arms wrapped around the old matted bunny.
Seto looked down into the box, still feeling indignant and insulted. The corner of a checkered wooden box poked out of the corner of the pile, beneath an old deflated soccer ball and the U11 trophy Seto had won. He pulled it out, never minding the clatter that followed, and wiped away the dust.
The chessboard was folded in half down the middle by tarnished hinges. It was handmade, with alternating birch and oak squares covered in scuffs and scratches. He sat down and opened it across his lap. The pieces rolled about in the green felt-lined interior, black and white marble chipped from age and overuse. Seto picked up a white knight and rolled it in his fingers.
"This was my father's. Someday, it'll be yours."
Seto closed his hand around the knight.
Aunt Moriko reached back into the box. There was another clatter and she produced a large photo album similar to the one he had seen at Kisa's house. She blew a cloud of dust off the cover, then held it out to Seto. Seto closed the chess set and set it on the table before taking the album. There was a gash in the soft padding of the cover. Cotton batting spilled from the leather.
Kisa got up. "Here, Mokuba."
Mokuba huffed. "I don't want to."
"Stop being a teen and get over here." She grabbed his arm and all but hauled him out of his chair and into hers.
Mokuba's arms stayed crossed around his old toy, but his eyes lowered to the album as Seto opened it. The binding gave a tired creak.
A wedding by the riverside. Noriko wore a flowing white gown. Shin'ichi was dressed to the nines in black. The party was large, sprawling. The last shot gave the impression of a warm summer breeze blowing back her veil as Shin'ichi dipped her into a kiss.
They flipped through the little house across the street being built, board by board. Their mother in overalls, their father hauling lumber. Winter passed, then they were looking through copies of Kisa's parent's wedding. Everything was pink and red for a Valentine's Day celebration. They watched the finishing touches being put on the house. The painting, the decorating, then the reveal of a baby's room. Powder blue walls painted with a sprawling fairytale castle, knights on horseback, and dragons flying through the clouds. As the months passed, they watched her proudly displaying her ever-expanding stomach.
The page turned and there he was, the baby named Seto Miyazaki. A tiny wailing thing in his first few moments of life. In one picture his father stood silhouetted in front of the hospital room window, holding Seto in his arms. The way he smiled was full of pride, pure unadulterated joy.
Seto's eyes burned, but he blinked away the ache. Mokuba leaned forward. He reached for the album and they held it together.
They watched Seto's childhood pass. First foods, first steps, sitting up with a tiny Kisa on the blanket next to him. There were a lot of photos of the two of them together, especially for birthdays and Christmases. Noriko was holding Seto above her head at two years old, her smile wide with laughter. There was another of Seto sitting on her lap, looking tired and sick with the flu.
A few years passed, a few more memories locked into place, and Noriko was pregnant again. Another baby's room was decorated, another series of photos displayed her progress, another baby shower came and went.
Seto turned the page and there, sitting alone in the middle of flat white space, was the only picture their mother would ever take with her youngest son. There was a sheet draped over her lower half. Their father stood next to her, holding out a tiny bundle. Her hand was on Mokuba's head and she was smiling down at him, full of love and happiness.
There was a tightness in Seto's throat. He tried to swallow, but couldn't. He pulled the photo out of its sleeve and held it out to Mokuba. Mokuba looked at it with misty eyes. Seto nodded and he took it.
There was a hitch in Mokuba's throat, a sob he forced back. His first tears fell. Seto put an arm across his shoulders and pulled his little brother tight against him. He put a hand over his face. Mokuba twisted and pressed his face into Seto's shoulder. Seto told himself he wouldn't cry. Not again. Not after the display he'd made of himself before dinner.
It seemed his poor tortured mind had other plans.
Kisa was at his side, smoothing her fingers through his hair. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. He looked at her and felt what he must have felt for her back then. That echo of emotion filled his chest with a warmth that grew stronger as he looked upon the woman she'd become. She was no longer the tomboyish, brash little girl with the skinned-up knees and sassy attitude. She was beautiful, strong. Steady and calm as the river with a passion that burned like wildfire.
He went willingly when she pulled him against her and hugged him tight.
Crawling into bed that night after downing his medication, Seto had no preconceptions of what they would do. He was tired, drained to the bone with only one desire. The blessed eternity of sleep.
Kisa slipped in next to him. Her old bed was small, but they accommodated, laying on their sides facing each other. One of his arms cradled her head while hers wrapped around his middle. He watched her fall asleep, just like he had their first night together. His hand caressed along her arm, her shoulder, down the length of her back. She smiled in her sleep and Seto kissed her forehead. He followed her into that darkness with one thought circling around and around in his mind.
He loved her.
He had always loved her.