|Hatori|
My ten-year-old daughter, Sora, reminds me of a much younger version of herself today. She can barely sit still for all the excitement and anxiety coursing through her. She shoves a too-big spoonful of my father's famous miso soup in her mouth and attempts to talk around the liquid swashing around.
"Will da mooffers get to da new houshe berfore ussh?"
Her words come out garbled because she has her cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.
"Swallow first, Sora."
My father smiles over at Sora. "The moving van will be in Tokyo tomorrow. They'll meet you at the Sohma Estate in the morning."
"Where will the movers sleep tonight?" Sora's eyes go wide with concern, as always. My daughter's heart is too big and too good for this world.
"I dunno," I grumble around a bite of salted salmon.
"Chew first," Sora says, tossing my words back at me with a glint in her violet eyes.
She carries on with more rapid-fire thoughts and inquisitive statements as I finish my breakfast in silence. Her barrage of questions flows like a river after a rainstorm. It's understandable. Sora has lived in the same house for as long as she can remember. We're about to move to a new place.
Mayu and I lived on the Sohma Estate when we were first married, but we moved away when Sora was two. Our combined salaries as doctors in residence, along with the nest egg her parents gave us, made it possible to purchase a home in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in the Tennoji Ward, closer to her family.
Mayuko.
I shake my head and blow out a long breath, attempting to bring my thoughts back to the present moment and my daughter's antics.
I can't help but smile at Sora. I'm not known for my excessively warm bedside manner, or for letting smiles freely crack across my face. My mother used to tell me that she savored my smiles like a gourmet chocolate mousse after supper. I picture her standing in the kitchen, a warm grin and her soft voice as she said, "Your smiles are sweet, rich, and worth the wait." I never felt that I had to change my naturally reserved nature for her.
My daughter is the one exception to all other people in the world. She can draw a smile out of me at whim. And she knows it.
"Clear your plate," I tell Sora as I stand and walk toward the sink. "We need to be out front in ten minutes to catch our taxi."
She huffs and looks up at me with an exasperated expression, reminding me her teen years are looming on the horizon.
My father places his hand over Sora's and gives it a squeeze. "You don't have to call me every day. But you do have to call at least once a week, or else I'll be calling you. And I'll be expecting some photos of you once you find a tennis team up there."
"I'll call you all the time, Jiji! You'll get sick of me calling, that's how much I'm gonna call you."
"I'd never get sick you, Sora-chan."
"Jiji! That's my baby nickname."
"And it's what I'll call you all my days. You don't get to change your jiji. Trust me, years from now you'll be looking back on that nickname with a smile on your face."
"If you say so," Sora grumbles, but it doesn't have half the weight of the ones she sends my way.
"Dish. Rinsed. And grab your backpack," I tell my daughter. Then I turn to my father. "We'll be back for Christmas, and we'll send for you once we're settled in."
"Son, I'm a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon with a long list of credentials and a coveted position at a lucrative hospital. I'm certain I can make my way to Ota City to visit my granddaughter without you buying a ticket for me. You know what you need to focus on, and it's certainly not being my travel agent."
He clears his throat and gives me one of his looks. His expression conveys concern and a slight warning. After all we've been through in the past three years, I can't blame him for being a little wary or overprotective.
Nothing else needs to be said between my father and me. No words could change the strange trajectory of my life. I'm leaving behind a thriving medical practice as an internal medicine physician in one of the largest cities in the Osaka Prefecture to become the family doctor to the Sohma family once more.
I'm abandoning my daughter's childhood home, my father, my reputation, and everything I've built to start a new life for us.
I'd only sacrifice everything for one person: Sora. She deserves a fresh start and she needs women in her life. At the Sohma Estate she'll have cousins and other children her own age to bond with. And Shigure has assured me from the many conversations we've exchanged that there's still a network of women (and if there is anything I would entrust of Shigure knowing, this would be it) at the estate who will take Sora under their wings.
Sora has lost too much for a girl her age. First, my mother passed three years ago. And then Mayu battled cancer. When we lost her, it did me in. Somehow Sora grieved and seems to have moved forward for the most part. She was born with a spirit of carpe diem.
My father's words from a few weeks ago echo through my head as Sora and I climb into the back of our taxi and the driver pulls away from the curb.
"You both need a fresh start, Hatori. Look at this move as a clean slate. And you two need to move somewhere that doesn't ring with the bad memories of all you've endured. That girl of yours is resilient. But she's also only a girl. She doesn't always show her feelings. Maybe she's protecting you. I know she's prone to do that. Trust me. This move will be the thing you need, even if it isn't the thing you want."
My father's right. Sora possesses amazing resilience. And we have too many specters of Mayu's family in Tennoji—memories haunting us and keeping us tied to the past. We need this change. Well, we need a change. Whether this move will prove to be the change we need is highly debatable. Time will tell.
We pull into the airport and unload, Sora pops her backpack onto her shoulders and follows me into the terminal. As soon as we approach the area designated for departures, a commotion at the ticket counter captures my attention. A few passengers ahead of us in line are looking at one another and then at the agent involved in a conversation with a very animated passenger.
The woman, who can't be taller than five-two, flails her arms in front of her reddened face and paces a few steps in each direction as she seems to beg the agent for something. Then her phone rings.
Vivaldi's Four Seasons-Spring? That's a ringtone? This young woman looks more like she'd have an obnoxious K-Pop song blaring, or the repeated quack of a mother duck anxiously corralling her ducklings.
The staccato notes of stringed instruments playing Vivaldi echoes across the tile of the airport ticketing area, and this woman ignores the sound as she raises her voice to the agent, shaking her head of chestnut brown hair while becoming more and more frantic by the minute. An airport employee wearing a white shirt and tie steps up behind the agent, obviously some sort of supervisor.
Sora glances up at me with a look of interest and amusement. "What's wrong with that lady, Daddy?"
Sora's too sweet and young to be acquainted with the common frustrations causing adults to feel frazzled over life's minor upsets. She's led a charmed life up until the year her mom was diagnosed, and even the ordeal of surviving cancer second-hand didn't pull my effervescent daughter under. Maybe she'll always be my buoyant girl, rising above the waves of life that threaten to pull the rest of us under.
"I really don't know, but we're all going to miss our flights if they don't resolve it or move her out of the way."
"Daddy," Sora scolds.
"Hmph."
"You'd be the worst if you weren't the best."
"Thanks."
The supervisor ushers the agitated young woman to another kiosk, and the line starts to move. The gentleman ahead of us sends a relieved, conspiratorial smile my way. I nod back to him. People spend smiles too freely, if you ask me. This situation isn't cause for a smile. We're merely getting onto a plane we purchased tickets to board. No cause for joy there.
Vivaldi strikes up again. Would she just answer her phone? Not that I don't appreciate a well-written, well-played piece of classical music. I do. The Four Seasons is actually my favorite piece. I always did enjoy it. Those days of music appreciation came to a screeching halt less than five minutes ago. From now on I'll be forced to associate one of the world's great Baroque masterpieces with this moment of delay and inconvenience, and the harried woman responsible for tainting an otherwise smooth send-off into our new life.
Frenzied girl finally pulls her phone out and looks at the caller ID. She holds a finger up to the man attempting to assist her and takes the call. The supervisor's brows knit together. I gather he's not used to being told to wait while someone answers a phone call.
Along with the rest of the captive passengers waiting to check their luggage, I can't help but overhear one side of this woman's phone conversation. If the frantic passenger in question weren't nearly shouting, it would help us all to respect her privacy.
"Hey. Hi!…Thanks for checking.…No. I haven't found it yet.…Don't worry. It's fine! I'll be fine!…Yes. I'm sure. Don't worry!"
She's telling them not to worry? After the meltdown she's been throwing in front of a captive audience of customers and employees?
"I'm going to be okay. What's the worst that could happen? I'll be stranded here and I'll have to get a hotel, and then I'll figure the rest out."
What kind of situation would have her stranded?
The doctor in me tunes into emergencies by default. I'm a sucker for solving problems. It's in my DNA. I had two parents who were physicians. I married another physician. It's just what we do. But, I solve medical problems, not whatever this scattered, flustered young woman is dealing with.
Definitely not this.
"Daddy, do you think she needs help?" my bleeding heart daughter asks.
"Maybe. But she's a grown woman. She'll make it through."
Sora looks at me like I'm a criminal. "Daddy. Is that what you'll say when I'm stranded in an airport one day?"
Oh, for the love of...
"No. That is most certainly not what I will say when you are stranded. And do you know why? For one, you are brilliant and you will never be stranded. And for two, I will be here for you forever." Or as long as I have breath.
"What if she doesn't have a dad like you? What if she doesn't have anyone?"
"Not our business. We can't go around saving the world, Sora."
"You could."
She beams at me now. I don't hate it—the way she looks at me like I am her everything. I'm well aware that a time will come when she'll look at some else the way she's looking at me right now—like they are her world and can do no wrong. But that will be when she's thirty or forty, at the earliest, if I have anything to say about it.
The flabbergasted young woman chuckles into the phone. "I promise, Rika. I'd tell you if I were freaking out."
Um. no. She would not, Rika. She was just freaking out enough to be a five o'clock feature on the local news. But, I guess it's thoughtful that she's trying to quell her friend, or relative, or whoever is obviously worried over whatever predicament she's in.
"Yes. I promise. I'll call you when I land. Okay. Or if I have to stay.…'Kay. Bye." She hangs up, takes a long, deep, loud breath and returns her attention to the supervisor who has been standing still during her call, his arms folded, waiting for her to focus on whatever he's there to deal with.
Sora and I inch forward. We'll be next in line to the ticketing agent.
The befuddled woman looks around, her dark hair springing across her shoulders as she surveys the crowd. Her eyes catch mine. Why don't I look away? I don't generally make eye contact with complete strangers. I don't always even look my patients in the eyes, despite my training and my father's urgings to improve my approachability by practicing eye contact.
But, when this woman looks at me, her warm hazel eyes lingering, I can't seem to look away. She's…magnetic. No. She's just intriguing. And I'm only really curious what her situation is. That's all. A small smile dawns across her face and then she looks at Sora, and then the smile becomes a full halogen headlight aiming at me so brightly I have to look away or be blinded.
I glance down at Sora and she's smiling back at this half-crazed woman as if she's seen an old friend.
Strange.
The ticketing agent calls us forward. I tap Sora on the shoulder and we walk up to place our bags on the scale, scan my ID, and gather our boarding passes. Then we leave that bewildering calamity of a woman behind us.
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A/N: Soooo... I've been re-watching Fruits Basket for nth time. I've been in love with this manga/anime series for years. And Hatori has always been my favorite character. I've decided to finally cave and commit to a story about him.
This story is a bit AU, as you can tell. But the events from the manga will still be taking place in the background of this story! So, the curse hasn't been broken...yet. ;)
Please stay tuned for more!