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My biological father was 10 years older than my mother. While my mother was a swimsuit model-turned-actress, my father was an editor at a mid-sized publishing company. Although I wasn’t aware of where my parents had met, I knew they’d gotten engaged while my mother was 22 and my father was 32. After they’d gotten married, my mother had quit her job to give birth to me and my sister.
The family portrait within my memory was a joyful, harmonious one. At that time, I’d never doubted the permanence of that depiction. However, when I reflected back on it, I realized that my parents’ marriage had always been imbalanced.
When Haruka and I had become aware of our surroundings, our mother had still maintained her radiant youth and beauty. As young children, she had been our pride and joy—hearing how much we resembled her had always made us happy. Our father, on the other hand, wasn’t very handsome. As a desk worker, he’d quickly let himself go, receding hairline and all. I think it was the hair loss that acted as the straw that broke the camel’s back, as it seemed to bother him as well. In comparison to our perpetually beautiful mother, he’d probably developed an inferiority complex.
Perhaps in an attempt to compensate through money, he’d become a workaholic. He hadn’t just come home late—more and more often, he’d stay at work overnight.
Haruka and I repeatedly asked when our father would be returning, only to be met with the same response each time.
“You father has a lot on his plate right now,” our mother had always replied. “He’s working very hard for us.”
I’d retained strong memories of these dinner table exchanges due to the frequency of my father’s absence. And the less we saw of him, the more another man—Takashi Takao—began to visit.
“Oh, so your names are Haruka and Shigure,” he’d said when we’d first met. “The two of you are just as beautiful as your mom.”
Takashi Takao still regularly appeared in TV dramas, but we’d met him when he was barely 19 or 20 years old. We’d been introduced at a barbeque held by one of our mother’s friends from her acting days. It had been another weekend without my father, so my mother had decided to take us to the party.
The man possessed androgynous features, well-maintained skin, and a mop-top hairstyle streaked with red highlights. Everything about him—from his flawless skin and nails to his fashionable piercings—gave off a dainty, gentle impression. I vividly remembered my first impression being, “How can a man be so beautiful?”
Haruka had taken an immediate liking to Takao, but I hadn’t from the get-go. My opinion of him never changed, either. Even as a child, I’d felt uneasy about his relationship with our mother.
When Takao began staying at our house for long periods of time, that uneasiness had only grown. Our mother, who had loved and doted on us so much until then, would ignore us whenever she spent time with him.
Of course, these audacious, secret meetings hadn’t lasted very long. Our father had uncovered our mother’s infidelity in no time at all. Despite the fact, I could barely remember them arguing over it. Perhaps our father had felt so guilty that he hadn’t been able to muster any anger toward our mother. At that time, if our father had shown his emotions—perhaps even if he’d rebuked her through violence—things might have turned out differently. Hadn’t our mother continued the trysts—without even a single attempt to hide them—because she’d expected that passive reaction?
Now that I was older and more mature, I had a whole slew of thoughts on the matter. I had no way of confirming anything, though, as it was all in the past.
At any rate, our parents had gotten a divorce. Our family—which I’d naively believed to be permanent—had broken apart. Haruka and I had started living in separate households. I stayed with our mother, and she with our father.
Naturally, our mother had run to Takao for support, but—as you might expect from a man who had seduced a wife with two kids—he wasn’t exactly the greatest human being. “This whole thing was fresh and exciting when it was an affair. Now that you’re divorced, you’re just a middle-aged hag with two kids. You really think I’d stay with you?” he’d spat at her.
My mother had spent days drowning in her own tears, but I couldn’t bring myself to pity her. After destroying our family, ripping me apart from my sister, and thoroughly manipulating everyone around you, this is what you’ve come to? I’d thought coldly. How foolish she’d been.
Since then, I hadn’t clung to fantasies of love and romance that had been so typical among girls of my age. That still hadn’t changed, and I had no intention of doing so in the future. After all, I’d hate to become the star of that inane soap opera, remember?