It was unlike anyone else’s. I couldn’t explain what made it special, but there was something different about it. I had never seen such generous expressions until now. They had made me miserable all afternoon. My parents had never smiled like that.
Guess I’m the odd one out, I thought. It was like I was the weird one.
“I’m a single mother, you know. The Nishikawa family helped me when I needed it most. Thanks to them, I get to rent a nice place in the area for cheap and get all sorts of accommodations at work. They’re really good people. You can trust them.”
“How can I trust someone who would buy five years of my life?” I grumbled. I wasn’t even trying to mask my irritation at this point.
Imagine appearing out of nowhere and making someone do whatever you want with your money. Imagine pulling up to someone’s school unannounced and abducting them. Imagine keeping them in your house till late and making your employee drive them home. The audacity reminded me of my father, and it left me fuming.
“Yeah, that’s fair.” Masudzuki-san didn’t try to argue.
How far did this scam go? How many people were being tricked here? There were too many unknowns.
“If there’s anything you want to know, just ask. We’re both employed by the family; we should get along,” she offered.
“If you insist.”
It suddenly dawned on me that I’d never had anyone in my life I could trust.
How could I? Never relying on others had always been the right choice—not my teachers, not even my parents. It was the least I could do to keep myself safe.
By now I was starting to miss Toyota. I thought of my mother’s ashes.
Masudzuki-san pulled the expensive vehicle up to my run-down apartment. It was sorely out of place, and so was I emerging from it.
“See you tomorrow!” Masudzuki-san called after me. I climbed the rusty metal stairs without turning back.
At the top of the stairs, I found someone sitting in front of the door to my place.
“That’s the car from earlier. Were you working this entire time?” Toyota asked.
“You again?” I teased. He grinned in response.
Toyota sat in front of my place, a plastic bag from the convenience store on the ground next to him. I saw Suzuka, his seven-year-old sister, a little ways away.
“Let’s have dinner. I know you’re hungry,” Toyota said.
When I let him inside, he jumped over the futon and pulled over the low table, on which he placed the convenience store bento. Then came the snacks and a two-liter box of juice.
“I already ate,” I said.
“You never eat dinner,” Toyota replied.
“Don’t worry, I won’t turn down free food. I’m always hungry nowadays.”
“You hit a growth spurt? Watch you become even more of a beanstalk than you already are.”
“Great, just what I needed.”
Toyota seemed to think of this as some sort of bit.
“I’ll bring you food if you let me stay at your place.”
Toyota had suggested that last June. When we started hanging out, my mom was in the hospital and my dad was gone, and I told him I lived alone. Toyota had nowhere to go, and I had no money, so we made it work.
I could see a bruise at the edge of his big grin. That was new. “Couldn’t dodge it this time?”
“It’s harder than you think.”
“Want some antiseptic for that?”
“The cuts are only in my mouth. I’m good.”
When I brought out the cups, Suzuka poured herself some juice. She also filled our cups without being asked, which I took as a good sign. To my relief, I didn’t see any bruises on her face or arms.
“You okay, Suzuka?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm, I’m fine.”
When they first came to my place, she’d been too nervous to talk to a stranger, but she’d gotten used to me by now. She’d reply when I spoke to her. Still, she refused to look at me even now.
Having eaten, Suzuka immediately fell asleep on my futon.
“Well, how much are they paying you?”
“Two hundred thousand a month.”
“Hey, that’s great.”
I told Toyota everything. It was too late to worry about the information reaching the wrong ears. He seemed impressed. With a mouthful of chips, he asked me what sort of rich folks I was working for.
“I don’t know. All I know is they’re loaded.”
“I don’t recall any fancy houses like that around here.”
“It’s about twenty minutes away by car. It’s toward the mountains, a huge white mansion.”
“Huh, which school does he go to?”
“Shirasaki Kaijo.”
“The fancy private school? They wear those white blazers. Can’t say I know anyone there. Why did they choose you?”
“Maybe they were throwing darts at a map.”
Why did they choose me? I wanted to know that myself. Why not Toyota? If they were looking into high school boys in the area, he fit the bill. Plus, he was way smarter and friendlier than I was. He’d have done just fine.
“So, how long are you gonna work for them?”
“For now, until I can hold a funeral for my mother.”
“Still? It’s been, like, a year. Then again, I know you haven’t had anywhere to put her.”
Our eyes turned to the urn. Toyota had never seemed freaked out by it being in my room. He’d only asked if my mom was in there. When I said yes, he prayed for her.
“I could cremate her only because it was required by law.”
Toyota looked at me. The warmth of his gaze felt awfully reassuring. It wasn’t overbearing, it wasn’t some deep affection, only a sense of kinship. The bare minimum level of concern. It was all based on having something to gain or lose. That felt just right to me.
There was something scary about the eyes of everyone in the Nishikawa residence. They all seemed transparent, and not in a way that represented their pure nature. It was a wise, discerning sort of gaze that made me feel like they could see right through me—my shallowness and all the dark memories I wanted to hide included.
I didn’t understand it, and that scared me. They might as well have been an entirely unidentified species, for all I knew.
“With a million yen, you should have more than enough for a funeral, right?”
“Not really. It might cover the funeral, a spot in a cemetery, and maybe a little of her medical debt. It’s still not enough.”
“Oh. That sucks,” Toyota said in a mostly emotionless tone. Apart from the compatibility of our personalities, we also bonded over our shared misery. We each felt at ease around someone who knew how hard life could be.
It was a simple sort of camaraderie.
“What will you do after the funeral?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t thought that far.”
“Bullshit.”
And because we were so close, I wasn’t surprised to hear him say that without judgment. Having been in a similar situation, having experienced similar emotions, our thoughts tended to align. Toyota must have known what this felt like, but he wouldn’t stop me.
That was a kindness on his part. It meant more to me than him trying to stop me on impulse.