Shoko Miyajima stood before her dresser, at a loss for what to wear.
Not this. It was too formal, something for parent-teacher day. This dress was cute, but it would look like she was trying too hard to doll herself up. This skirt was a little frumpy…
She hadn’t had this much trouble deciding what to wear since going out on dates with boys she liked as a teen. However, it was like this every week now. Before the tea parties, she pulled so many clothes out of her dresser there was nowhere left to step.
It was already one thirty. She really needed to focus on preparing the tea.
The smell of banana cake wafted from the oven. Yet here Shoko was, alone in her sweet-swelling room, on the verge of tears.
She wanted to cry, “Why is this happening to me?” but she already knew the answer.
It was that woman: Kaori Kanbara.
“Quite a few mothers with children in the same class live in this development. Why don’t we get together and have a tea party?”
After that, all the moms in the complex started having get-togethers with Shoko at their center.
Shoko’s husband was a doctor at the university hospital. She never intended to show off, but she felt that when in a new place, it was essential to be honest with everyone at the earliest possible moment. Otherwise, she might embarrass other women if they tried to boast about husbands and careers that weren’t actually impressive.
Before, she’d been around other wives with doctor husbands, but those men either had small private practices or worked at general hospitals that were far below where Shoko’s husband was employed. Her husband didn’t work for any old place. He was a surgeon for C. University Hospital. Plus, he was up for a management position next term. The man was anything but your average doctor.
Shoko knew that she’d always had a competitive personality. However, she couldn’t help it because she’d never actually lost at anything. It was in her nature at this point. When she entered a new environment or group of people, she let everyone know that she was now the best of them. That helped resolve things smoothly and prevented anyone else from being unpleasantly upstaged down the line.
So when the woman named Kaori Kanbara arrived, Shoko assumed she was ignorant like the others.
She doesn’t know who I am. It’s the only thing that explains why she invited me to tea. She doesn’t know that I’m on another level.
To counter, Shoko had turned the invitation back at the woman.
“Oh, if you want to have a tea party, we do that at my place rather often. Feel free to come by if you like.”
“Oh, really? Thank you for the invitation.”
Shoko didn’t like that everyone talked about how that woman resembled someone from TV. From Shoko’s perspective, Kaori’s clothes were worn out, and she looked tired and just plain old. Her hair was unkempt, and she did a poor job taking care of herself.
While Kaori Kanbara was at the tea party, Shoko told her the truth.
“It’s not just my husband; I’m a doctor, too. I’m taking a break from work because of our new baby.”
It always felt good to play that ace. My husband is special, but I’m someone, too. You common housewives could never imagine being this elite. However, Kaori didn’t even bat an eye.
“Oh, me too,” she replied with a grin. “It’s a secret, so I don’t go telling anyone, but I am, too.”
Huh? Shoko thought. That can’t be right. She examined Kaori closely, but the woman just sipped her tea and didn’t elaborate.
“What hospital did you work at? What university did you go to?” Shoko questioned, but Kaori only gave nonanswers like, “Oh, you know.” Kaori acted like Shoko was the weird one for demanding answers, and it was infuriating.
There’s no way you are a doctor. Do you know how much hard work it takes? Do you really think you can just lie through your teeth and not get called out on it?
It was irritating, but what angered Shoko even more was that Kaori didn’t take a single bite of her homemade treats.
“They look good,” she praised, yet she never touched them. Despite this, much of what Kaori talked about gave the impression that she loved cooking and made her own sweets at home all the time. It felt like a prank on Shoko.
Shoko didn’t like this woman, and it should have been a simple matter of not inviting her anymore. But for some reason, she found herself repeatedly calling her over.
They barely traded any words—the woman just sat there and smiled—but it threw Shoko completely off her game. Why doesn’t she mention how incredible I am? Why aren’t things going the way I want? Maybe that was why she kept inviting Kaori to her events—an intense desire to see her break and acknowledge Shoko’s excellence.
The doorbell rang.
The sound surprised Shoko.
The tea party guests were already here. Even that horrible Kaori had arrived, giving Shoko pumpkin tarts she claimed to have made herself.
“I made them with the pumpkins I get sent every year. Try one if you like.”
Shoko had made a banana cake for today. Did Kaori not care that bringing the same category of sweet to the host’s party was insulting?
Shoko didn’t know what to make of it when the other moms all squealed, “Ooh! They look so yummy!” Irritated, she served both the banana cake and the pumpkin tarts. It seemed the tarts were disappearing off her guests’ plates faster than her own handiwork, which irked her even more.
Kaori smugly refused to eat Shoko’s cake. She never ate anything Shoko prepared.
“By the way, what does your husband do, Kaori?” Shoko asked, determined to get an answer out of her today. Kaori didn’t reply. Instead, one of the other mothers responded, “It’s some kind of food company, right?”
Oh, just a salaryman, then. Shoko glared at Kaori.
The woman continued, “He’s an executive at Yotsumiya Foods, isn’t he? That’s amazing.”
“Oh, you know.” Kaori grinned. Shoko grew angry at the mention of “executive,” but Yotsumiya Foods was just a small, midlevel company, hardly some grand conglomerate. Plus, if you’re going to let other people talk about how “amazing” you are, you ought to return the favor once or twice, she groused to herself.
“Kaori, your little Niko has an older brother, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“How old is his brother? I heard he’s grown up; has he already left home to go to college?”
“Oh, I suppose you could say that,” Kaori replied enigmatically. She had her phone out, evidently typing a text. That, too, was irritating. She shouldn’t be playing with her phone at someone else’s tea party.
It was constantly aggravating that the topic of discussion always seemed to revolve around Kaori when she was present. The topic nearly turned to what a great college this “big brother” attended. He probably wasn’t a medical student, though.
I’m going to make sure my child goes to medical school…