TW: Death of a parent, grief
Dad tapped my shoulders and guided me to the table. A moment later, the part-timer brought two small cups and a bottle of sake. I was glad I ate, and Kawashita was there to bring food and distract me.
"Did you already eat?" Dad poured me the drink, and I did the same for him. "Were you busy with schoolwork?"
I nodded and took a sip. "Will Okamoto-san drive you home?"
"Seto-kun will. He lives next door," Dad said and drained his cup, and I poured him another. "I see you also bought some this year."
"Always. You know how much she likes them." I didn't dare say I forgot and had to run as if my life depended on it. I was lucky I made it in time.
Dad chuckled and nodded. "She eats them in succession without even savoring the taste."
I grinned. I couldn't remember it clearly anymore but Dad and Grandma often told stories of how much my mother liked sweets, wagashi, more than the green tea when she was young. I could recall her buying me some when I was a kid, making me attend ceremonies which I didn't enjoy. The tea was too bitter, and the snacks were too pretty to eat.
Somehow, I ended up as the one who buys it every time. It started when I stumbled upon the shop on the way home during my second year in high school.
Dad being dad asked me his usual questions about school, my wellbeing before we moved on to our yearly reminiscing. I didn't sniffle anymore like I used to when we talked about her, the way she snorted when she laughed or how loud she snored when she was drunk. Dad and I shared a laugh as usual, but as the conversations got longer and memories of her became more vivid, the sake grew hard to swallow.
We—I missed her terribly. The sound of her laughter, her smell wafting around the house, the mix of faint cigarette smoke and her favorite apple-scented lotion, or the way she brushed my hair and kissed me goodnight. My throat hurt from trying to stop my tears. Gods, I miss my mom.
I clutched my cup, breathed deeply, and waited. Dad touched my hand, and I looked at him. His forehead and eyes were etched with concern. I swallowed and nodded, pouring another drink, pushing down my feelings.
Dad said nothing. He just stared at me. I always used to cry until five years ago, before my sorrow became tainted with anger. The sake and not talking helped.
When the last customer left, we already emptied two bottles. Dad was far from being drunk, but I was starting to feel flustered. My ears and insides were hot. It must have been the beers. I could usually go for three to four bottles without being forced to go home.
Last year, Jun-senpai showed up unannounced to pick me up, forcing me to introduce him to my father. The year before last, Okamoto-san had to call a taxi apparently because I threw a tantrum if they were to take me home.
Once the chairs were stacked on the table, I took it as my cue to leave. It was better to be ahead, and it would be good for Dad to lessen his drink too.
"Papa." Dad looked up. It was the only time I could him that because of the certain tacit agreement we never had. "I should probably get going. I might miss the last train."
"You're not coming home with me? Mina cleaned up your room."
I know. She does it every year, I thought. I rubbed the back of my neck. "Is Ima—Mina-san coming tomorrow too?"
Dad stopped and creased his eyebrows. "Well." He put down his cup. "That is if it's okay with you. Anyway, just go home with me tonight. You haven't seen much of Miki. She had grown since the last time you saw her."
I glanced back at the bar. It was the photo next to me and my mom. The only thing I noticed that was different from last year. It was the family picture that Dad insisted we took on New Year. All of us were dressed in kimono that Mina picked for us and mine stood out the most like a bad apple. It was deep red with touches of white flowers.
Miki, my half-sister, was on Dad's lap. Sitting beside him was a short woman with a bob haircut, white skin, small nose, and perfect wife smile, Mina—Imai-sensei to me before, Mina to me now. But I would never drop the honorifics in front of my father or anyone else for that matter. I stood behind them with Daiki, Mina's son.
It was a reminder that Dad had moved on while here I was, still stuck with a mix of blurring grief and anger.
"I'm meeting with a friend," I lied, taking my eyes off the photo, grabbing my coat and the bag of wagashi. "Just tell Mina-san to bring Miki tomorrow."
Dad's shoulder slumped but he drew out a sigh of defeat. "Wait. I'll ask Seto-kun to walk you to the station."
He stood up then yelled, and the dark-skinned boy came. They talked for a while before Seto-kun, the part-timer, went back. Dad turned to me. "You can invite Fujisaki-kun next time, and your grandmother called. They're also coming tomorrow. You should call her more often. You know she misses you."
"I will," I promised, nodding as we walked towards the door. "Then, I'm leaving. Just finish up that bottle and go home. I'm sure Mina-san is waiting for you. We'll drink again tomorrow. I promise I'll be there."
"Reiko." I met Dad's gaze. His narrow eyes, thin nose, and lips were the same as mine, even my small ears. Dad brushed my head. "You know your mother would be as proud of you as every bit I am. She loved you. You know that, right?"