CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX – BRIGHT SPOTS (NatSuke)
Started with manga sharing, sealed with a kiss. For Daisuke, everything seemed quite normal apart from the blissful high he was still in, the kind that made one wonder if it was all real and not just some daydream from the many manga plots he had read. Every once in a while, he would touch the spot on his cheek that Natsuki kissed and try to reimagine the warmth it had given him, even if it had been three whole days since it happened.
That was not the only remnant of the encounter that had endured long after the festival. The next day, Natsuki had come to school without her face mask, the bruises on her face no longer as noticeable as before. And along with that came an air of sweet warmth—or as sweetly warm as Natsuki could be—that seemed to give her a renewed aura of confidence and openness. Having encountered the grumpy, reserved side of Natsuki for so long, Daisuke was immensely happy that the aftermath of a potentially troublesome episode at the festival had turned out a pleasant and invigorating result for her. She spoke more to their classmates, discussed her answers in class with more than a few terse explanations, and would sometimes lead the way in teasing Daisuke alongside his friends. And though she would fire one cheesy joke after another at his expense when they were in front of the others, Natsuki would always retreat into a softer, sweeter approach whenever the two of them were alone, cuddling up against him with her head resting on his shoulder as they read manga together.
Such a scenario was what the two of them were in right now: on their usual spot next to the open field, cuddled up against each other, with him reading one of the penultimate issues of Parfait Girls, and her reading Seiko's Calling for the first time. Daisuke still remembered the day he had surprised Natsuki with the book as well as the staggering revelation that had followed later that day, and he often found himself marveling at how much things had changed since then.
"How is it so far?" he asked her after a while.
"It's kinda good," Natsuki replied rather reluctantly. After a brief pause, however, she added, "Alright, it's not just kinda good. Like, I really wanna see this turned into a movie ASAP. It's really good." She let out a sigh, embracing the book against her heart for a moment. "The plot might not be anything too new, but the romance, the angst, the art style, that nostalgia it gives you for places you've never even seen . . . ugh, I just love it."
"You're welcome," Daisuke told her amusedly.
"Yeah, yeah," said Natsuki, slapping him lightly with the book. "I still owe you one for giving me this in the first place."
"You don't have to, you know? That's what I keep telling you."
"No, I insist. Just you wait! I'll make up for this, I promise."
Knowing it was no use arguing about such a thing while the two of them were still reading, Daisuke merely smiled and let the matter be. Again, silence descended upon them as the two of them kept reading. Natsuki would occasionally let out more noises of fangirling admiration as she traipsed through Seiko's tale of bittersweet soul-searching, while Daisuke would let out a chuckle or two as he read how Parfait Girls' eponymous roster was going all out in their antics as the series came to a close for him.
After a while, Natsuki spoke up again. "Have you ever written a poem?"
Daisuke looked around at her. "Is that like for school or for personal leisure?" he asked in return.
"More on the second one."
"Oh. Well . . . I don't think I ever have."
"Not even to impress a girl?" asked Natsuki, looking petulant all of a sudden. "Because it's too mushy for a guy to do, is that it?"
"Hey, it's not like that!" Daisuke said hastily, avoiding the corner that Natsuki was jokingly trying to box him into. "I just don't know how to . . . find the right words, I guess?"
"Well, you're not wrong about that," said Natsuki with a silent chuckle. "Anyway, I've been thinking about it since the festival. Writing a poem, I mean."
"Oh, really? What made you think?"
Natsuki straightened up, placing down Seiko's Calling on her lap. "It's something that started when I began talking to Yuri," she said. "Writing poems, thinking of the themes to go with them . . . it didn't seem much to me at first, but now I'm pretty interested in it."
"So you wanna try writing a poem for yourself?" asked Daisuke.
"Pretty much." Natsuki pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. Daisuke began thinking with her, wondering if he could somehow envision Natsuki being a poet in her own right.
"I think it's a nice idea," he told her, grinning. "You might come up with some pretty swell pieces, with all the manga you read and their themes and all that."
"Maybe, but I'm not sure. The way Yuri did it . . . she actually made a haiku on the spot. Like, it's hard enough to think of a good theme, and she just does one like that. And the one she made . . . well, it was pretty nice, to be honest."
"Oh. Yeah, Yuri definitely seems like someone who can make stuff like that. But I'm sure that she practiced a lot in order to be able to do that. Anyone who wants to be good at something has to start from there, right?"
"Yeah, she said as much when we talked about it for a bit."
Daisuke nodded. "I see. Anyway, I wouldn't have guessed that when I first met her back in sophomore year, though. She barely spoke back then."
"Oh. Did you have a crush on her or something?" asked Natsuki jokingly.
"Of course not," said Daisuke with a laugh, anticipating Natsuki's verbal antics again. "I didn't even get to speak to her that much."
"Uh-huh, sure," said Natsuki with mock skepticism. "But really, it's nice to see that she's starting to talk to people some more. Remember, she was the one who talked to me first. It's like she likes talking to me or something."
"Well, can you blame her? You're a nice person to talk to, after all."
"When I'm not being cranky and pushing people away, at least." Natsuki sighed, looking deep into his eyes. "There are times when I still wonder why you didn't just avoid me after I snapped at you on our first day of school."
"Well, I could sense that there was something more to you than just being grumpy," said Daisuke affably. "That, and you being a manga fanatic too."
"Or maybe you just have a thing for petite girls," Natsuki shot back. "Like all those gross guys out there."
Daisuke shook his head, feeling himself blush a little. "It sounds so wrong when you say it like that," he said with a laugh.
"Fine, fine." At that, Natsuki leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Daisuke drew back a little, feeling his temperature skyrocket in the same way it did back at the festival. Natsuki, on the other hand, merely stuck out her tongue at him, though her cheeks grew almost as pink as her hair nonetheless.
Daisuke glanced around for a moment. "Someone could've seen that, y-you know?" he asked nervously.
Natsuki pouted, leaning back against him and opening Seiko's Calling again. "Let them look," she muttered. "I'm just gonna keep reading. You gonna continue reading or what?"
"Alright, alright." Laughing, Daisuke reopened his copy of Parfait Girls and picked up where he left off. Between her façade of crabbiness and her attempts to pin him down with her verbal quips, this kind of sweetness was the last thing he expected from her. Still, he wasn't about to wish for it to stop, and given Natsuki's increasing openness about how she acted around him, he knew that she was thinking the same.
Within the privacy of her seat—or within as much privacy as a classroom seat could allow—Natsuki glossed over the words she had been writing for the past couple of hours in her notebook. With their professors writing down notes on the whiteboard up front for them to jot down, it had been relatively easy to hide the poem she had been attempting to create. Natsuki had been letting the idea stew in her mind for a long while, starting at the day of the festival when she had been talking to Yuri like she had told Daisuke. And along with the inspiration and hope she had gotten from her endeavors at the festival being a success, she had decided earlier after lunchtime to make the prospect a reality.
Still, inspiration was one thing, but putting together a cohesive poem that adhered to her personal standards was proving more complex than she had expected. At first, Natsuki had tried focusing on the things she loved—manga, anime, baking, anything pink and cute and fluffy in spite of her irritable façade when confronted about such things. But at the same time, she had wanted to make it slightly deeper than usual, to provide more of an impact and prove that such things, no matter how shallow they might seem for others, still held as much weight as anything else. And that was what she kept coming up short with, no matter how hard she tried to focus on the deeper themes of her favorite manga and anime or the nuances behind baking. Nothing just seemed to click, even if she tried inserting her favorite words and characters and such. The fact that Yuri could create a haiku on the spot by simply finding a theme in her surroundings had impressed her even more now—and made her feel slightly insecure about her own inexperience. Still, Natsuki was not about to let failure put her prospect to a grinding halt, and though she kept scratching out words discreetly on her notebook as she wrote, she was more than determined to turn in a poem for herself before the day's end.
Turning to a fresh page and leaving her previous attempts behind, Natsuki took a deep breath. She looked around for a moment, wondering if Daisuke was noticing what she was doing. Granted, she would be more than willing to share her work with him once she was done, but until then she had decided to work on this alone. Just like with her cupcakes, Natsuki was not the kind of person to turn in anything half-baked.
Maybe I shouldn't be trying so hard, she mused to herself in silence. Yuri made it seem so easy because she didn't overthink and overdo it. I need to follow that.
Staring at the blank page before her, Natsuki focused simply on the happiness she had been feeling in the following days, or the bright spots, as she liked to call them in her mind. The sheer emotion she had been feeling then ought to provide her with more than enough motivation and material to write, knowing that was how Yuri had created her on-the-spot haiku. Natsuki went back over what made it all exhilarating for her—the success of her cupcakes, the praises she had garnered from her peers, Yuri's companionship, her most daring step yet when she kissed Daisuke for the first time. This is what poems were all about, she knew; the little things that brought joy, or at least invoked a measure of emotion and spirit in the one who wrote them just as much as in the ones who would be reading them.
"Alright, class, that'll do for today," their History professor said suddenly, forcing Natsuki to snap out of her reverie before she could begin writing. "Just don't forget to include those readings about postwar Japan right up to Tetsu Katayama's term as Prime Minister. Akiyama, Eguchi, if you two would step out in the corridor for a moment, let's discuss that final deadline for your redone essays. The rest of you, carry on."
At that, the classroom slowly came back to life. Students stowed away their History books and notebooks to prepare for their next and last class. Natsuki followed suit, though she didn't hide away her chosen notebook for her poem just yet. Next to her, Daisuke stretched his arms and turned to her as if to talk, but one of his friends came up and began talking to him. Looking away from him, Natsuki cast her gaze upon the blank page before her again.
Maybe I'll do better at home, she conceded. In her mind, the bright spots remained, and that made her feel even more enthusiastic.
The walk back home, while silent, was rife with more attempts towards a coherent idea. Like cupcake recipes or manga characters, Natsuki went through each of them intently, though she was careful not to get distracted lest she run into someone or something as she walked while deep in thought. Though it was hard to think of a proper theme and a way to start a poem while also concentrating on walking, Natsuki felt her confidence and eagerness rise. The inspiration was making her feel like everything was going well, like there was actually something good waiting for her at home, and it seemed to brighten even the dreary reality that permeated the Fujisawa household. Paired with the joy and angst of reading Seiko's Calling—safely stored away in her locker at school lest her father come across it at home—and her relationship with Daisuke, everything kept Natsuki hopeful and optimistic, more than she had ever felt in the past few years.
But even so, when the familiar concrete fence of her house finally came into view, Natsuki felt her joy and optimism fade palpably, sweeping aside all thoughts of poetry and inspiration for now. Once again, she did not know what to expect from her father nowadays, especially now that his shady companions were starting to frequent the house even more during the late afternoons and evenings. Natsuki often snuck up to her room before any of them could show up and see her, not wanting to run into any of them face to face, and thankfully no one among them ever ventured upstairs, only doing so to use the bathroom for not longer than a couple of minutes. Most of the time, they simply stayed in the living room, drinking and laughing rowdily. Sometimes they brought women along from the bars in the sleazier parts of the city, and they would argue for their attention when the bottles and cans started piling up. Natsuki still had no idea who the men were or why they were there, and obviously to ask her father about them was tantamount to getting hurt for being inquisitive. Still, she was somewhat thankful that their presence often left her father passed out on the sofa in his drunkenness, leaving her safe from his infamous rages, and she was more than happy to deal with the beer cans, liquor bottles, leftover food and dirty dishes they left behind in the meantime, but her foreboding at their continued presence in their residence kept tugging at her every day.
Next door, an older woman was throwing out the trash in the bin outside their gate. She looked up as Natsuki drew closer, and their eyes met briefly. Natsuki slowed down her steps, wondering if she should utter a polite greeting or at least express it with a smile, but the woman merely turned away and went back inside her house without a word. As she left, however, Natsuki could not help but wonder if she glimpsed some pity in her fleeting stare, and she speculated just how many of their neighbors knew exactly about what often transpired behind the walls of the Fujisawa residence.
Natsuki had just passed through the front gate when the sound of voices from inside the house made her stop dead in her tracks. They were boisterous, louder than even the students back at the festival who had snuck in some sake to drink in the comfort rooms near the open field, and while she had no idea of the context behind their conversation, she recognized them all the same.
What the hell? Why are they here so early?
Her exhalations misting faintly in the cold air, Natsuki could only stare at the front door for a few seconds, like a deer that had just sensed danger in the wilderness before it. Slowly, she began to take a few involuntary steps backwards, as if her feet were leading her away from that danger on their own.
And then, the front door opened.
Four men strode out, still laughing and calling out to someone inside the house. On the outside, no one could ever find them suspicious—they looked every bit the salarymen that formed part of the daily queue downtown, with their long-sleeved white shirts, loose neckties, black pants and matching coats. However, Natsuki's instincts about their potential unsavory nature never diminished, and they skyrocketed now as she stood aside hastily to let them pass. However, none of them seemed to notice her immediately, given that they were all still too busy exchanging unruly pleasantries. The mixed aroma of eau de toilette and beer emanated from them as they drew nearer, making Natsuki wish that she still had her face mask on. From inside the house, she glimpsed her father making his way towards the door as well to see everyone out; compared to the better-dressed men, he looked particularly shabby in his grey shirt, white shorts and black slippers.
"Don't forget, Fujisawa, you need to be at the apartment at ten tomorrow morning," the tallest one among them told her father. "It's not easy setting this kind of meeting up, and Yamamoto's not the kind of guy who'd wait long for that p—"
But at that moment, before he could continue, a sideways glance drew his attention towards Natsuki, who froze with fear and foreboding beneath his gaze. He stopped abruptly mid-sentence, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. Noticing the sudden interruption, the other men looked around, looking surprised when they spotted her as well. Natsuki had never felt so exposed, vulnerable and small in her whole life.
"Who're you?" one of them asked, raising an eyebrow.
At that, her father ambled forward, half-shoving his companions aside. The glare he was giving off was one she knew all too well.
"You. In the house. Now."
Not wanting to stay any longer and risk creating a scene in front of these strangers, Natsuki bowed her head and walked as quickly as she could inside the house. Her eyes fixed on the floor and her feet, she felt their stares crawling all over her as she went, and she feared that her knees would give way before she could reach the stairs. Mercifully, she endured and managed to begin climbing up to her room, though not before she began hearing the men continue talking.
"Your daughter, eh?" she overheard one say.
"Yeah. Little runt is home early," her father grunted in reply.
"I see." The speaker then lowered his voice slightly, unaware that Natsuki could still hear every word he was saying. "Just don't forget about the arrangement, alright? Tomorrow morning, at ten."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just make sure you bring everything."
As she walked down the short hallway and into her room, the voices died down, though Natsuki did not dare to stay awhile to eavesdrop some more even if she wanted to. This was the first time she had heard her father speaking clearly to these men outside of their drunken conversations, and almost out of instinct, she found herself being even more unsettled and suspicious now that she had encountered the men up close. Granted, they seemed no different from the other working men that her father had been friends with back in the older, better days, but that did little to put her at ease.
She had just finished changing clothes when she heard footsteps approaching her room. She stood up straight in a flash just as her father opened the door. He had discarded the worn-out clothes he had been wearing earlier and was now in a more presentable outfit—a white shirt, black jeans and flats.
"I'm going out," he said, his tone making the hairs on the back of Natsuki's neck stand up. "Clean up the mess downstairs."
"Y-Yes, Dad," Natsuki muttered, her eyes fixated on the floor as she avoided her father's gaze.
"If you're gonna eat, there's some food in the fridge." And with that, her father departed, closing the door behind him rather roughly as if he was in a hurry.
"Some food" turned out to be a very small helping of yakitori, cold rice and soggy stir-fried vegetables, as Natsuki found out when she went downstairs to carry out her father's orders. She mused that they were leftovers from his drinking session with his friends earlier—that was always the case every time the men came over. Looking towards another gloomy, hungry night, Natsuki closed the fridge with a sigh and went to the living room to survey the damage that she had failed to see earlier.
The room still reeked of cigarette smoke, which combined with the darkness made the entire area very depressing to even be in. Natsuki walked in gingerly, as if she was trudging through the aftermath of a devastating war. As always, there were beer cans, liquor bottles, dirty dishes and scattered food wrappings everywhere. On the small end table next to the sofa, her father's ashtray was practically overflowing with cigarette butts, with some having fallen to the floor. Natsuki could tell by the number of cans, bottles and cigarettes just how festive her father's drinking sessions could go, though she noted that no women had been brought along judging by the absence of perfume in the air.
Natsuki shook her head, bending down as she began to clean up. Do you see this, Mom? Do you see what he does, what he's like ever since you died? The thoughts always came out of nowhere for her, making her remember her mother whenever she would be forced to clean after her father's messes or when he would unload his drunken anger on her. Natsuki knew that she would gain no answers—and such a notion hurt her badly during the first year after her mother's death—but she asked them nonetheless, as if daring to keep questioning her lot in life and wondering if there was actually an end to the misery she and her father were wallowing in. And somehow, in spite of all the bruises she had received and all the nights where she could not sleep properly due to hunger, Natsuki wanted to keep believing that there was an end in sight. She held on to such a hope fiercely, brought on by the bright spots that people like Daisuke and Mrs. Matsuda and Yuri Hoshino provided, not wanting it to dissipate in the storms that she was weathering almost daily for years now. And she liked to imagine that her mother, from wherever she was now, helped her stay afloat by influencing the fates and introducing people like Daisuke into her life, filling the void that she had left behind after her passing.
Natsuki had just finished sorting out things in the living room when someone knocked on the front door. She frowned to herself. Her father would never knock, she knew. Washing her hands hastily at the kitchen sink and patting them dry, she hurried towards the door and leaned towards it, silently resentful at her lack of height for preventing her from looking into the door's peephole. But before she could do anything else, her blood ran cold as she remembered her father's companions from earlier. The second knock that came forced her to begin weighing her options in a flash. If it was indeed one of them, she could always keep silent and pretend that no one was home, though that was not a viable prospect considering she had turned on most of the lights downstairs in order to clean up.
The third knock derailed all of her thoughts completely. Losing her nerve, Natsuki called out, "W-Who is it?"
"Natsuki?" said a male voice from the other side. "Is that you?"
Snapping to attention as she recognized the voice, Natsuki felt her dread screech to a halt. Still, she decided to make sure. "Who is it?" she repeated.
"It's your uncle, Ryota," the reply came. Sagging with relief at the confirmation, Natsuki quickly opened the door.
Clad in a black overcoat that covered his salaryman's uniform, Ryota Ito looked rather grim as he stood in the doorway, but his serious presence was a sight less foreboding than that of the men from earlier, Natsuki attested. It was the first time that she had seen him in months; given that he worked as a salaryman in neighboring Chūbu most of the time, he was rarely at his home in Eishima, and thus his sudden arrival at the moment came as a total surprise. Though she knew that they were about the same age, Natsuki marveled at how her father would look ten years older by comparison, even with the lines that were starting to form beneath her uncle's pale blue eyes. His short hair, tall bearing and eyeglasses reminded her somewhat of Daisuke's friend Naoki.
"U-Uncle Ryota!" said Natsuki, bowing politely. Behind her uncle, his white car could be seen parked next to their front gate. "You're back in town?"
"Yes, I just arrived around three," her uncle replied, his smile briefly dispelling the seriousness on his face. "I'm sorry if I showed up out of nowhere or something. I dropped by your Aunt Shoko's for a while before coming down here. I wanted to talk to Ichiro. Is he home?"
"N-No. Dad went out for the evening," Natsuki replied, her thoughts racing all of a sudden as to what her uncle's business with her father was. "He left around an hour ago."
Uncle Ryota clicked his tongue. "Sent him a text and all too," he muttered, shaking his head. "I wonder if he even saw it. . ."
Not knowing what else to ask or do at the moment, Natsuki said, "W-Would you like to come in, Uncle?"
Her uncle nodded. "Sure thing. It'd be nice to get out of this cold for a bit, but I can't stay long, I'm afraid. Maybe I'll just use your bathroom before I go."
"Oh, of course," said Natsuki, standing aside to let him pass.
At that, her uncle strode into the house, going up the stairs to where the bathroom was. Natsuki closed the front door and heaved a sigh of relief, thankful that she had managed to spray some air freshener right before her uncle's arrival, masking the odor of beer and cigarettes from earlier. She did not want to think about what her uncle might say if he noticed such things, nor did she know what she could tell him if he inquired about them. Wanting to ensure that everything was in place, Natsuki double-checked the living room for any clutter she might have missed as her uncle took care of business upstairs.
Uncle Ryota came back downstairs after five minutes. "It seems like your father's not gonna be coming home just yet, eh?" he asked her, looking around the hallway as he reached the foot of the stairs.
"I don't think so, Uncle," Natsuki replied. "He doesn't usually tell me what time he comes back."
Her uncle nodded, sighing. "I just want to discuss a few things with him, about all the money he wants to borrow lately," he muttered. "Shoko told me all about it. Ichiro says that it's for your tuition and some of your school needs."
Natsuki fell silent for a moment. She knew that her father often lied about where the money would actually go, but for her uncle to actually show up at their house to talk about it, she wondered if her father had been found out. If her uncle had shown up a bit earlier, he would have caught him drinking with his new friends, and Natsuki could not imagine what would have happened then.
"I don't know if I should tell it to you, Natsuki," her uncle went on, looking uncomfortable for a moment, "but I'm sure Shoko already mentioned it in some way before. Getting enough money to sustain you and your father . . . it's getting tough. Especially with how things are going where I work now that a lot of my friends are gunning for a promotion, same as me."
"Y-Yes, Aunt Shoko mentioned something like that," said Natsuki.
"If I can get that promotion, this won't be a problem, but I don't know if I'll be that lucky." Uncle Ryota glanced at the nearby wall for a moment, as if trying to find answers there. "Your aunt wants me to hold on for a bit longer until Ichiro finds a job, but he never tells us anything, not even to inquire about job offers and openings somewhere around here or outside the city, if it comes to that. I'd try to get him a spot in our company if I could, but his credentials wouldn't cut it, I'm afraid."
Natsuki nodded, thinking consciously about her next words in case she accidentally let something slip about her father's escapades during his continued unemployment. "Dad's been trying," she told her uncle, knowing that a half-truth could suffice. "He doesn't tell me a lot as well, but he still goes out to inquire on his own. So far, he hasn't really been lucky. The last place that he inquired about didn't contact him back, if I remember correctly."
"If so, his options here in Eishima might be running out," Uncle Ryota mused. "Maybe moving out is his best option, if he's willing. I told your aunt the same thing a few times before. But then, you'd be left behind."
At the thought of finally being free of her father's draconian authority, Natsuki's heart leapt as it had back when Aunt Shoko had brought up such a prospect. Still, she tried not to look too obviously excited about it in front of her uncle. "If it comes to that, I think I'll b-be fine," she said.
"Are you sure about that?" asked Uncle Ryota, grinning amusedly. "Are you going to keep the house running by yourself?"
That's what I've been doing most of the time for the past few years, Natsuki thought with dejection. "M-Maybe I can move out and rent a place. It doesn't have to be nice, of course. A lot of my classmates are doing it because their parents are working outside the city and they have no one else with them."
"Yes, that does seem to be the norm nowadays," said her uncle. "But renting a place will be hard, though. The down payment, the monthly rent, maintenance fees . . . that's if you're lucky enough to find a place that's feasible and not already occupied."
Natsuki bit her lip. "Well, if that's not possible, maybe I can just stay here at home," she admitted. "I mean, I don't do a lot around here, and I don't watch T.V. or play video games or anything, plus I'll be the only one using water so the bills won't be too much of a problem. And if it comes to chores, I can keep the house clean and wash my own clothes and everything. Dad can just send you and Aunt Shoko the money I'll need for my allowance and the bills, and I can just come over to your house and get it."
"Just like that, eh?" her uncle asked.
"Y-Yes." In spite of how nervous and childlike she was feeling, Natsuki stood straight and looked her uncle in the eye. "I'll manage."
As she finished speaking, Uncle Ryota looked at her intently for a moment, making her wonder if he was actually seriously considering her idea. Of course, it required that her father would clean himself up, move out of Eishima, find a stable job somewhere and start his life anew. It was the longest of long shots considering how disgruntled and deep in his vices her father was, but Natsuki sensed that if her aunt and uncle lent their aid, the miracle could be pulled off.
After a few more quiet moments, her uncle laughed a little, shaking his head. He strode over to the nearby wall slowly and looked at the pictures hanging there, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat. Momentarily startled by his words, Natsuki followed him with her eyes and saw that he was observing a picture of her late mother.
He looked back at her. "You really are Kiyomi's daughter," he said with a touch of sadness. "A tad youthful, but independent and responsible too. You even talk like her in some way."
Natsuki bowed her head, feeling quick tears welling up within her. Many times, she avoided glancing at the picture frames in the house if she could help it, not wanting to see her mother's smiling face. Still, she could never forget her, whether in her prayers or dreams, nor could she forget the last time she ever saw her alive. She swallowed to steady her breaths and her voice, but no words came to her.
Uncle Ryota walked over to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. We miss her too. And I'm sure your dad does as well, very much," he told her.
Natsuki sighed, looking away for a moment. Apart from the last time that he had beaten her up again, she had not heard her father mention anything about her mother again. If he did grieve for her, Natsuki was sure that he did so where no one could see, his anguish manifesting only sparingly for others to see in the alcohol he drank and the bruises he left on her countenance.
"Yes, I'm sure he does," was all she could say.
Outside, the evening had already grown darker. Natsuki followed her uncle to his car, looking around in case her father showed up all of a sudden. As he opened the door of his car and made to go in, Uncle Ryota turned to face her once again.
"Just tell your dad about my visit when he comes back, okay?" he told her. "I'll send him another text as well."
"Yes, Uncle Ryota," said Natsuki.
"Also, if you two are free, you can come over this Sunday. Shoko said she'll be cooking something special to celebrate me coming home. Not counting the meal she's already cooking as we speak." At that, Uncle Ryota shook his head with amusement. "She always does this, you know?"
"Yes. Don't worry, m-maybe Dad and I can go this Sunday," replied Natsuki, smiling in spite of her despondence at the empty prospect; her father would not even acknowledge such an invitation, let alone give her permission to go.
"Good," said Uncle Ryota, oblivious to her ordeal. "It'd be like the old days, y'know? Anyway, I'd take you along to have dinner with us tonight, but Ichiro might look for you when he gets back."
Natsuki balled her hands into fists, desperately wanting to express her desire to come along. "Yeah, it'd be better if I just stayed here," she said instead, the heaviness in her heart growing so palpable that it hurt.
"Speaking of which, have you eaten already?" asked her uncle. "Or are you gonna be waiting for your dad before you eat?"
"N-Not really," replied Natsuki. "Dad usually eats outside when he goes out like this, and I . . . I just eat alone when that happens."
"I see. You do have food, yes?" said her uncle. "Ichiro said he still had a few grocery items left from his last trip."
Natsuki glanced back at the house, remembering the scraps that would serve as her dinner for tonight. Her father's lie frustrated her once again, especially as she looked straight into her uncle's eyes and saw a hardworking man whose sense of family and generosity was being abused by his own brother-in-law. It felt like several lifetimes ago when she was a very small young girl, running around playfully as her parents and her aunt and uncle would set up the table for a nice Sunday lunch at the Ito residence.
"I haven't checked yet, but I'm sure there's s-something," she said tentatively, hoping that she had chosen her words correctly.
Uncle Ryota nodded, falling silent for a moment. Natsuki made to close the front gate already and watch him drive away when she noticed him reaching out his hand.
"Here. Add this to your allowance," he told her. Natsuki looked and saw that he was holding out two thousand yen, the bills placed in between his index and middle fingers.
"U-Uncle Ryota . . ." Natsuki stammered, at a loss for words all over again.
"Go on, take it," said her uncle genially. "Go buy some food if you need to. I'll just take it out of your dad's pocket money next month," he added jokingly.
Natsuki found herself daring to laugh at that, though her surprise lingered nonetheless. The gesture was more than anything she had ever received from her father in the past few years, and it made her wonder, not for the first time, how life would be if she had Uncle Ryota and Aunt Shoko with her instead. Gingerly, as if her father would pop up out of nowhere to lambast her for getting something extra for herself, she reached out and took the money.
"T-Thank you, Uncle Ryota," she said quietly, gratefully. Her uncle merely smiled in response, his tiredness dissipating momentarily once again. He closed the car door, started up the engine and drove off, honking once to say goodbye.
Back inside the house, Natsuki wiped away the tears of joy that had fallen after her uncle's departure. The money was still clutched tightly in her hand. She put it in the pocket of her pink skirt, making a mental note to store any that would be left of it once she had bought some proper food to eat for the evening. Knowing that she had very little time to waste before her father returned, Natsuki went back upstairs to fetch her jacket before stepping outside. As she made her way over to the staircase, however, she stopped as she noticed once again the picture that her uncle had been looking at earlier.
There was no timestamp to tell her when the photograph was taken, but Natsuki sensed that it was around the time when she was eight years old, judging by the length of her mother's hair and the clothes that she was wearing—a lovely pink blouse with a matching white skirt that she often wore during family outings. With her mother's pink hair and eyes as well as her petite frame, it was not hard to see where Natsuki had gotten her looks from—and some of her traits, as her uncle had stated earlier.
Gazing upon her mother's beautiful smile in the photograph, Natsuki could not help but grin as well, feeling the hope and optimism she had been channeling all day returning to her in spite of the tears that were starting to well up once more. She turned away and made her way to the front door, feeling a hundred percent sure that by the time she had come home and returned to her room, she'd have enough bright spots to help her write her first poem.
A/N: Just when I thought I'd get enough time to write up chapters faster due to the quarantine brought by the coronavirus, s**t happens.
Once again, I'm really sorry for the lengthy delay, guys. Getting this chapter up and running at the standard I wanted was pretty tough. Anxiety just gives me the worst instances of writer's block ever. But now I'm doing a lot better thankfully, and I wanted to finally upload this as soon as I could—after a crap-ton of edits and an entire section rewritten, that is. I hope the end result is up to par for you all.
Anyway, in the face of the coronavirus crisis around us, please stay safe and take care of yourselves. I'll see you in the next chapter. Cheers!