The next morning, I woke up and stared at the white ceiling, wondering why I felt like absolute crap.
Then I remembered.
The date that lead nowhere.
Saki's infuriated face when she learned I had little interest in her friend.
Then her goading me.
Me slapping her across the face.
I groaned and buried my face into the pillow, wishing to hell that yesterday afternoon was just a dream.
But no, it had really happened.
Even though I'd been the one to do it, I still couldn't believe it. I, who had never hit anyone before in my entire life, had slapped my own sister across the face.
My stomach growled. I'd skipped dinner and fell asleep somewhere around eight and my stomach was not pleased with its empty state.
With a sigh, my head and heart throbbing miserably, I pulled myself out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen for something to eat. Unfortunately, my penchant for eating with my parents ended up with a cake in the fridge and a loaf of moldy bread sitting in my pathetically empty cupboards.
The thought of eating sweet chocolate cake on an empty stomach was enough to make me feel sick. I considered cutting the mold off the bread, but in the end, I just stuffed the entire loaf into the trash can and decided to wait an hour before the local noodle place opened and I could order some ramen.
The idea of going downstairs and facing my mother and Saki was enough to curb my appetite, and I turned on the TV, hoping to drown out the incessant guilty whispers echoing in my mind.
Then I remembered I had a few tangerines stashed in my work bag so a few minutes later, I was sitting in front of the TV, discarded orange peels on the table, stomach twisting from the acid eating through my stomach lining.
Someone knocked on the door, tentatively at first, but then harder.
"Rika? Are you awake?"
It was my mother.
Quickly, I switched off the TV, hoping she would think I was still asleep. After all, it was only eight on a Sunday. I usually slept in on Sundays.
I couldn't face her.
Saki was right when she labeled me a coward.
There was another knock, and then I heard a key sliding into the lock.
A flood of shame filled me as the door opened and Mom saw me sitting on the floor, staring at her.
"Oh," she said, her brows raised. "You're up. Why didn't you let me in?"
I tried not to look sheepish and failed spectacularly. "I, uh…" I looked over at the black screen of the TV and cursed. I couldn't use it as an excuse, crap.
I sighed.
When in doubt, tell the truth. "I wanted to be alone for a bit. I'm sorry, Mom."
My mother's lips thinned, and she stepped into the entryway, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
There was a covered plate in her hand and the smell of buttered toast made my gut tighten painfully.
"Mom, you didn't have to cook me breakfast," I protested weakly as she sat down across from me at the small table and pulled the condensing foil off the top of the plate to expose buttered toast and scrambled eggs with a spritz of ketchup and a few sausages cut into octopus shapes.
It looked like the children's meal at the nearby family restaurant, but more importantly, it looked absolutely delicious.
"Hush," she admonished lightly as I put the kettle on. "It's my privilege to cook for my family, and I'll do it for as long as I can. Some people might accuse me of babying you, but I won't be able to do this for much longer, so I aim to get as much enjoyment out of this as possible."
Her words sounded vaguely ominous. "What do you mean, you won't be able to do this for much longer? Are you sick?"
She snorted. "No, I'm healthy as an ox. I'm just saying that your father and I are getting old. We won't be here to look after you in twenty years, maybe."
I sighed. "Mom, I appreciate everything you do, but I don't want you to feel obligated for all this. I can take care of myself. I should start to take care of myself. If you die tomorrow, I'll probably just curl into a ball and starve to death."
"With the way you cook, maybe that would be less painful," she muttered.
I chose to ignore her and slipped tea bags into the cup before pouring boiling water into them. You can say what you want about electric kettles, but they could boil a cup of water in twenty seconds flat.
Grabbing a fork from the kitchen, I slid my mother a cup of tea and sat down in front of the laden breakfast plate.
My mother sat in silence for a moment, her hands wrapped around the warm mug, her eyes contemplative as she watched me eat.
"Saki left early this morning," she said after a while. "Her flight left from Haneda at eight."
"That's nice," I said with a mouth full of egg and sausage.
She took a sip of tea and let out a slow breath. "She wanted to tell you that she was sorry about what happened yesterday."
My appetite was starting to die, whether from the reminder of what transpired or because my mom, as usual, made too much food. "Really? Or are you just saying that because you don't want us to fight?"
"I mean it. She really did want me to apologize in her stead."
"Then why didn't she do it herself?"
She shrugged. "She wasn't sure if you were still angry about yesterday."
I pushed the almost empty plate away. "Mom, yesterday was…I can't even explain. It was embarrassing the way she was talking to me. In front of everyone."
She watched me over the top of her steaming cup. "And yet, you were the one to lift a hand, weren't you?"
My face flushed with heat and my right hand started to throb. "She shouldn't have said what she did."
"We taught you better than to resort to violence, Rika," my mother said gravely. "Saki's methods were wrong, there's no denying that. But her heart was in the right place. You might not know this, but your sister would die before she let anything bad happen to you."
I scowled at the table, unable to meet her knowing eyes. "I know."
There was another long pause as my mother continued to sip her tea, looking around the room with the practiced eye of a longtime landlord.
"Are you happy in your relationship?"
In the middle of drinking hot tea, I choked, the scalding water going down the wrong tube.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I coughed and hacked, hitting my chest hard, as though I could dislodge my lungs.
Wordless, she held out a box of tissues. I grabbed a handful, still coughing, swiping at the moisture pooling in the corners of my eyes.
"I—I beg your pardon," I stammered. "What relationship?"
She tilted her head to one side. "I wasn't born yesterday. I've been in love before and I know what a woman in love looks like. Also, you, unlike your sister, are a terrible liar. I'm not complaining, but it's the truth, dear."
I looked away, still coughing into the tissues.
"So?" she asked. "Are you happy?"
Even if I thought my mother was wrong about Saki's apology, she wasn't wrong when she said I was a terrible liar.
So, if I couldn't lie, I had to tell the truth, no matter the consequences.
I bit my lower lip. "It's not serious."
My mother's brows furrowed. "And you're okay with that? We don't want you to be hurt."
"That was the deal," I replied. "We're together, but not together. Our relationship won't go anywhere."
"I see," she said quietly. "And you're sure? Sure it won't go anywhere?"
"I'm sure," I whispered.
After a moment, she sighed and finished the rest of her tea. "Very well, then. Your father and I will no longer intrude in your love life, and we'll tell Saki to do the same. Like you said, you're not a child. You can take care of yourself. The least we can do is comfort you when you need our support."
The corners of my eyes prickled again, but this time it wasn't the tea's fault.
"Thanks, Mom," I said with a swollen throat. "I appreciate it."
She pursed her lips. "Just keep in mind, Saki wasn't wrong when she said you never fought for anything."
"Mom, I—"
She shook her head, cutting me off. "If there's something you want badly, then fight for it. Don't let it slip between your fingers and live a life of regrets, okay?"
I nodded. "Okay."
Her mouth softened and she reached forward, patting me on the cheek. "Good girl."
She took the plate and left me alone to stare at the blank TV before I managed to rouse myself to action. I checked my phone, but there were no messages so I spent the day reading and napping, emerging from my bed when my mom told me to come down for dinner.
At first, I hesitated, not sure how my father would treat m,e but as I crept through the front door, he just nodded in my direction and turned back to the sports news as I helped my mom set the table.
Dinner was a silent affair, as it usually was, and my mom slid the usual warm Tupperware into my hands.
"For lunch," she said, for the millionth time since I started middle school, and I went upstairs to prepare for the next day.
The next morning, I woke up at my usual time, went to work the usual way by bus and by the time I got to the office, it was to the strangely welcome sight of Nobuki's office light on and the sound of typing.
I stowed my bag under my desk, listening to the messages on the phone, forwarded three of them into Nobuki's personal mailbox, turned on my computer and started the Monday work day.
It should have been a normal day, but something felt off. I kept having to re-read the same passages, and when I got a short email in my email box from a distributor, I couldn't make heads or tails of it.
It took a few minutes for me to realize that the email was in French. After I forwarded the note to someone in the building who could translate, I felt mentally fatigued and out of sorts.
My eyes slid to the clock next to the door and my heart sank.
Only ten in the morning? I had been here for two hours, but it felt like it should've already been past lunch time.
It was no mystery why I was so distracted; yesterday afternoon's events had shaken me badly. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get my sister and mother's voice out of my head.
You never cared enough.
If you want something bad enough, fight for it.
But what did I want?
I looked at the half-open door to Nobuki's office, listening to the soft sounds of his conversation as he talked with someone.
It was true though. I had never fought for anything, because there was nothing to fight for. I was simply content with my books and just schlumping through life with no conflict.
What was worth fighting for?
What was worth the conflict and heartache?
Until now, I hadn't thought anything was worth it. No wonder everyone in school thought I was going to be a freeloader until my parents kicked me out of the house.
I took a deep breath, pinched my cheeks to bring some warmth to my cold face and plunged back into work, not emerging from the computer screen until Ayaka texted me for lunch plans.
It was a bit of a surprise to see Nobuki still at his desk and after psyching myself to face the proverbial lion in his den, I knocked softly on the ajar office door.
The light streaming from the large windows behind him almost gave him an ethereal glow. As he looked up from his computer screen, a soft frown marring his lips, I almost wanted to turn right back and pretend I had no business there.
"Yes?" he asked, his gaze flicking back to the monitor.
I licked my dry lips. "Um, it's lunchtime, and I noticed you didn't have any lunch plans scheduled. Would you like me to fetch something for you? Maybe order something for you?"
He shook his head, typing furiously, his attention already back on the computer screen. "No need. I'll grab something later. That'll be all, Miss Hasegawa."
With that dismissal, I merely bowed my head and got the hell out of there, my face beet red. I knew he didn't mean anything by it, but I couldn't help but feel as though I had been shunted aside without so much as a by-your-leave.
I snorted as I grabbed my lunch and headed for the elevators.
Even if I should throw handfuls of papers plastered with my "deal" with Nobuki from the top of the building, no one would ever take it seriously. I mean, I was in the relationship and I still had a hard time believing there was anything else between us but work.
Work and sex.
Sex and work.
That's all that would ever be between us.
That thought came to me while Ayaka was talking about the success of her date and the food stuck in my throat.
The rest of the week passed by in a similar fashion. Somehow, I got through the entire week without doing anything stupid. Or particularly noteworthy, for that matter.
On the other hand, there was no more mention of Yue in the office, and if Nobuki ever left for lunch, it was with other executives in our company.
But I didn't get any calls or texts from him either.
By Sunday night, I was at the edge of my rope. It was stupid, inane to worry about this. If he wasn't interested in me, then that was that. There was nothing I could do about it.
I found myself staring at the brightly polished key on my keyring, the one to his apartment and was almost halfway to the door before I finally came to my senses.
Or lost my nerve, depending on how you looked at it.
With a sigh, I tossed my keys on the floor and went to bed.
If you want something bad enough, fight for it.
When I opened my eyes the next Monday, it was to that adage echoing in my mind. And after I took a shower, I wiped the steam off the mirror and stared at my wide-eyed expression.
Fight for what you want.
But how do you fight when you've never fought before?
If Nobuki didn't notice me, then I had no choice but to force him to notice me.
Usually, I laid around in bed for an extra half hour to wake up, but that day I had gotten straight out of bed, prepared to wage war on an unsuspecting lover.
I paid extra care with my makeup and even managed to put on false lashes without losing an eye. By the time, I finished using the large electric curler in my hair, I almost looked like an Ayaka clone.
Wearing a pink bolero styled top with an A-line skirt under my yellow peacoat with sensible ballerina flats, I felt almost too pretty to take the bus.
So I splurged and grabbed a taxi, even though it was in the middle of rush hour, and I knew it would cost me more than I cared to think of.
But nothing mattered. Today, I would be a beautiful princess, ready to snare the eye of the cold-hearted prince.
Right.
As I walked through the lobby to the elevators, people stared at me as they tried to figure out why the plain Rika was dressed to the nines and why she smelled like expensive perfume.
At least, I hoped it was expensive perfume. It had been a leftover gift from an ex-boyfriend who didn't know that perfume gave me migraines.
Probably explained why he was an ex.
By the time, I made it into the office, my head was swimming, but I felt beautiful and confident. Maybe there really was something about this whole makeup thing after all.
After checking my compact to make sure the false lashes hadn't fallen off, I checked my email box and instead of sending Nobuki's messages to his email box as usual, I printed them up and tapped briefly on his door before walking in.
He looked up from his desk, a printed manuscript in his hands, a cup of steaming coffee by his elbow.
His glasses glinted in the light as he peered over the tops of them at me.
"Yes?"
And even though I told myself that this was no big deal, I still couldn't stop the faint shiver of excitement from running through me as I placed the papers next to his coffee. "Your messages, Mr. Miyano."
He quirked a brow at me and took off his glasses. A lock of dark hair fell over his eyes and I resisted the urge to sigh like a lovelorn idiot.
I was a strong, independent woman.
I didn't need a man.
But Jesus, did I want the one in front of me.
"My messages?" he echoed, looking at the papers before returning his gaze to me. "You usually just send them."
Good thing I had anticipated such a question. "Yes, but I thought maybe you would prefer it in paper format. It's bad for your eyes to look at a computer screen for long periods of time."
"I see," he said quietly, reaching for the papers. "Still, I think I'll risk a few more points to my eyesight if it means we can stay a relatively paper-free office. Unless it's necessary, I would prefer that you continue to forward my mail."
I shot him a brilliant smile, even though his answer had been the equivalent of an arrow through my heart. "Of course, Mr. Miyano. I'll keep that in mind for next time."
He nodded, and I turned to leave.
"Oh, and Miss Hasegawa?"
"Yes?"
He sniffed the air and his lips turned down at the corners. "If it's all the same to you, I would prefer that you not use whatever scent you've got on. It's giving me a headache."
My smile wobbled, but somehow I managed to keep it on. "Of course, Mr. Miyano."
"Very good," he murmured and turned back to the papers I had just printed out.
Trembling, I managed to walk out of his office with a modicum of dignity, but by the time I passed my desk and was out of the office, I was doing a fast shuffle for the bathroom.
Cursing under my breath, I wet a handful of paper towels and tried my best to wipe the areas I had sprayed myself. On my neck, the back of my legs, my temples.
My head spun as the perfumed soaking mess of towels went past my nose, and it felt like someone was jabbing daggers into my brain.
So much for impressing Nobuki.
What an epic fail.
With a sigh, I threw the paper towels into the trash and tried to do something about my mascara and eyeliner that was starting to fade and smear.
"Crap," I muttered, realizing that there was precious little I could do to prevent myself from looking like a raccoon, so I washed my face with soap and applied a little BB cream so I didn't look like a complete mess.
With the startling lack of makeup, I looked rather underwhelming, but it was better than spending the rest of the day with raccoon eyes.
When I slipped into my seat, I rubbed the furrow between my eyes, no longer feeling the brush of the fake lashes against my fingers. I had peeled them off when I washed my face and they were in the bottom of the trash, along with the paper towels that smelled of perfume.
Oh well, at least I didn't have to worry about my migraine anymore. With most the perfume wiped off, my head was already starting to clear.
The morning passed quickly, most of it spent replying to emails, until I heard the elevator ping outside and my eyes flicked to the clock.
Fifteen minutes before noon.
The heels came closer and closer. With a sinking heart, I caught the scent of a familiar perfume wafting through the air.
My migraine returned twice-fold.
Of course, it was her. Who else would it be?
But when she came in this time, she wasn't alone.
Holding her right hand, was a little boy dressed in a blue t-shirt and khaki shorts, his short hair flopping around his large ears as she stopped in front of my desk to sit him in one of the seats.
To me, she just asked, "He's in, isn't he?"
"Er—"
Without another word, she walked into Nobuki's room, an expensive Chanel purse dangling from one hand.
She laughed and said something in her husky voice. Then I heard Nobuki's low response and a creak of his seat.
The next thing I knew, she was almost dragging him out, one arm wrapped around his, as she shot me a cool look.
"I'm taking your boss to lunch, so I'd appreciate it if you could look after my son for me."
I couldn't understand what was going on. Everything was happening so fast, too fast. "Wait, please!"
Nobuki's eyes were on me and then they were both headed for the elevators, her heels clicking on the marbled floors.
I fell back in my seat, feeling whiplashed.
For a moment, just one moment, I could have sworn Nobuki looked panicked. There was a tightening around his eyes, the way his jaw was clenched…but that couldn't be right.
No one could force Nobuki to do anything, not even someone as forceful as Yue Kinou.
A small part of him must have wanted to go and that knowledge made my chest feel strangely heavy.
And now I was shackled to a kid I didn't even know.
I couldn't remember the last time I was in the same room as someone under the age of ten. What was I supposed to do with him?
He peered at me from over the edge of the desk, his fingers clinging to the edge. I gave him a big smile, showing a confidence that I didn't feel.
"I'm Rika. What's your name?"
"Shota," came his muted response.
Coming to a swift decision, I grabbed my bag from under my desk and stood up.
"Well, if your mother is going out to lunch, I think we should too, right, Shota?"