FORTY-SEVEN
"I'm home," she calls out softly, though she knows that Tsubasa is still at work.
The thought makes her pause. She looks around their apartment, because apparently today is a day of reflecting on the past, on every moment that she and Tsubasa have shared here.
Such as the coat rack, with its assortment of coats and scarves and hats: she remembers that when they first moved in, before they got engaged, Tsubasa had a habit of simply tossing everything on the nearest sofa. Even when Maria had gotten them a proper coat rack, Tsubasa kept forgetting—it took her ages to slow down long enough to put things away in an orderly fashion.
And the furniture itself: floral patterns that they had picked out together one day after Maria had accidentally spilled curry on an antique loveseat that Tsubasa's father had gifted them. She remembers panicking, though luckily Tsubasa managed to get the stain out, and then they bought a plastic cover for it as well as a whole new set of couches and armchairs.
The fold-out bed in their new couch actually helped a lot when they had Kirika and Shirabe over, since the apartment only had one bedroom. She especially loved the mornings when she would come out and find the two curled up together, with Shirabe hogging the blankets.
On the other hand, the coffee table, also a present from Mr. Kazanari, has survived many a tussle and accident. There are some scratches, but they're nearly invisible against the shiny gloss of the wood, and Tsubasa's love of doilies has helped quite a lot.
Practically every inch of their home has fond memories—and some not-so-happy ones, of course—and it makes her a little sad to have to leave this apartment.
But, she's been to the Kazanari estate, and she has to say that she likes it, with its old Japanese architecture and open air atmosphere. She knows it's the perfect place to raise a well-rounded child (children, though that's farther in the future).
It's the only concession that Tsubasa made to her family, that she would return to the estate to raise her own children, though it isn't much of a compromise because it works out so perfectly for them.
There's a kind of poetry in the fact that the space that had made Tsubasa so lonely as a child will become the playground for the next generation. They'll supplement all those bad memories with new ones.
However, moving day is still weeks away, and she hasn't even begun at her new job yet.
"Which reminds me," she says aloud, "I need to double-check the directions for the academy."
She leaves the living room for the office-turned-nursery-turned-office-again (she's never going to let herself live that down), where she had put the printouts on the desk.
Rifling through them, she finds the map in between her class schedule and a note from the headmistress.
Lydian Music Academy is only a few minutes away from their apartment, but it's forty-seven minutes away from the estate, though that time is halved if she takes the train.
It's been a while since she last sang, but she's eager to be an assistant choir teacher at Tsubasa's old school. Who knows? Maybe she'll inspire budding young artists to pursue careers in music—as noble a path as all others.