Gift Fic For natsunonamae (4/4)
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Michiko-san had felt a little tired upon waking, but still insisted on working on the draft of her will. Shihori was watching her like an overprotective mama hen, whipping Kato-san and Ninomiya-san into shape. The four of them stayed cooped up in Michiko’s room for the better part of the day, getting things in motion.
As for Sho, he’d gone off for a drive with Aiba after breakfast, with Sho claiming that he was going to take some photos along the coast to give to Michiko. Jun, however, saw through this ploy immediately. It had been foolish, kissing Sho, and even though Jun had enjoyed it, more than he’d even imagined, things would be so awkward between them now.
Because Jun was still the person Michiko was suddenly adding into her will, and Sho was the person who’d worked so hard all these years to prevent such a thing from happening. To try and distract himself from all the ways he was screwing up, he took a walk into town. Tateyama was a tourist hotspot come summertime, with people swarming the beaches, but it was much calmer, more subdued in winter.
He wandered through shops, visited bakeries to scope out what others were doing, looking for ideas he might bring back to Mr. Bake. He sat at a picnic table near the water, calling Ohno just to make sure the shop hadn’t burned down in his absence. Everything was just fine, Ohno assured him, and thankfully he didn’t bother to ask Jun anything about how things were going with Michiko (or with Sho). Sometimes Ohno just understood which topics were not to be breached.
But the winter sun set early as always, so he trudged back to the house. Michiko was already in bed for the evening, despite the early hour. Sho and Aiba had returned, and Aiba refused to let Jun make dinner. Instead he and Sho had picked up some fresh seafood on their day out, and Aiba was going to take care of everything.
The tension in the living room while they all waited for dinner was nervewracking. To break the ice, Kato and Ninomiya went over what had already been decided. It turned out that everyone in the house at that very moment - Sakurai, Matsumoto, Aiba, Kanjiya Shihori - was set to be a beneficiary. In addition, since Kato and Ninomiya were handling Michiko’s affairs, they too stood to receive money for their efforts in carrying out Michiko’s final wishes. Because of this overwhelming conflict of interest, the will as it currently stood was not final. Once they got back to Tokyo, Michiko-san would hopefully allow a few independent parties to sign off as witnesses.
“But who?” Shihori was asking, curled up on the couch looking frustrated. “Anyone else she knows is getting money from her.”
That included her doctor that paid house calls, the doorman of her apartment building, and the caretakers of her other houses. Jun tried to float Ohno as a suggestion, but Kato shook his head. “He’s too closely associated with you,” the lawyer said. “Of course, it’s possible, but with such a big estate like Michiko-san’s, we really don’t want there to be anyone involved who could call the whole thing into question.”
The fact that Kato had looked directly at Jun when saying so made him want to sink into the floor.
Ninomiya was hopeful that some colleagues of his from a different accounting firm would participate, and their stamps and authority on a final will would make the entire thing unquestionably legitimate. The problem, of course, was convincing Michiko to allow them close while she signed and stamped the document.
Their dinner was quiet, and though Aiba had done a spectacular job, their appetites were not what they could be. After the meal Sho volunteered to take Kato and Ninomiya back to the train station, and Jun would have done anything to go with them, to get away before things got any more awkward.
Instead he went back upstairs, trying to distract himself with some pointless game on his phone. The minutes ticked by, and the house quieted back down. Sho would be back soon, and Jun would have to expend all his energy to stay away from him. His vision blurred, quickly losing interest in his game. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore how perfect it felt to touch him, to feel his mouth move against his own. But everything else that mattered wasn’t perfect. What kind of relationship could the two of them have anyhow?
He heard stomping on the staircase, and soon there was furious knocking on the door. “Who is it?”
Before he’d even finished, it was Aiba, shoving the door open. His face was white as a sheet. “It’s Michiko-san.”
Sho and Shihori went to the hospital with Michiko-san in his car, the old woman refusing an ambulance (and this after a great deal of protest about going to the hospital at all). Jun and Aiba followed behind in Aiba’s small car. Shihori had gone in to check on her shortly after dinner, and Michiko had been burning up. Any sort of fever, any ailment at all in a woman her age, could be a problem if not instantly treated.
Shihori was allowed to stay in the room, speaking with the doctors about Michiko’s condition, but the three of them were stuck in the waiting room. Sho was clearly upset with himself.
“She’s been slower the past few days. All of this was too much,” he was mumbling. Aiba was sitting beside him, saying nothing but rubbing his back to try and comfort him.
Jun felt like he didn’t belong, pacing the floor with his arms crossed tight. This was all his fault, all of it.
Shihori looked like death warmed over when she finally came to speak to them, the men getting to their feet to hear the news. “She didn’t want to, but they’re going to admit her. With the fever, it could be symptomatic of something more serious. I don’t have the equipment to monitor her properly on my own.” Shihori covered her mouth with her hand. “I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have let them bother her all day.”
“It’s not your fault, Shii-chan,” Sho said, moving across the waiting room to wrap his arms around her. Her cries broke Jun’s heart. He and Aiba could only stand there while the two people closest to Shiroyanagi Michiko beat themselves up for something that in all likelihood could not have been prevented. They’d done everything possible to give her proper care, to mind her health and what she ate. For someone with such a phobia of strangers, of getting proper medical care, Michiko had people looking after her that did their best with what she allowed.
Sho wandered off in a daze, clutching his cell phone. He was going to call Kato, call Ninomiya. One of the most important factors in Michiko-san’s will was that she was of sound mind when she signed it. The copies Kato and Ninomiya had in their possession, witnessed by Aiba and Sho as a temporary measure, could be called into question if she was feverish now. Jun knew the woman was sharp as a tack, but it wouldn’t take much for someone to be suspicious.
Sho and Shihori both refused to go home, were planning to stay overnight to monitor the situation. Even Aiba’s gentle coaxing wasn’t enough to change their minds. He and Jun headed back for the car, to return to the massive beach house alone. Jun wasn’t liking the idea that he’d be shut up in that big house all alone for the night, and seeming to sense this, Aiba mumbled some excuse about wanting to see what it was like to sleep on the couch for once. Jun thanked him with a squeeze to his shoulder, and Aiba smiled back kindly.
They took the elevator down to the parking structure beneath the hospital, the both of them exhausted. While Aiba fumbled in his pocket for his car keys, Jun couldn’t help looking over when he heard footsteps in the next aisle of cars.
His heart seemed to stop when he saw the person who was just getting into his car, who apparently hadn’t noticed Jun. It was that scary looking guy, the bodyguard, assistant, whoever that worked for Shiroyanagi Masaharu.
Jun took off running before he even realized it. “Hey!” he screamed as the guy turned his car on. “Hey, get back here!”
“What’s going on?” he heard Aiba calling behind him, his sneakers squeaking on the ground as he tried to keep up. “Jun!”
But Jun was seeing red, furious at the thought of Masaharu spying on him, spying on all of them. The car backed out, started heading for the exit. “Hey!” he shouted, waving his arms, so loud his voice was echoing off the walls. “Hey!”
He tried to give chase, but he wasn’t fast enough, the car pulling out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. Jun doubled over, breathing heavily, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Masaharu would know now. He’d know that Michiko had been admitted to the hospital. Michiko, who still didn’t have a valid will.
Aiba finally caught up, putting a hand on Jun’s back. “What is it? What’s wrong? Who was that guy? Jun, answer me!”
But Jun could only stare at the exit, knowing it was just going to get worse.
-
Sho nearly dropped his phone.
“Elder abuse?!”
“They’re reaching,” Kato assured him. “We have everything she’s done for decades, and you know Ninomiya’s got the same on his end. But the timing is, of course, the absolute worst.”
Sho paced the floor of the Tateyama house, wanting to punch a hole in the wall. “Elder abuse, Shige, are they for real?”
Michiko was still in the local hospital a week later, and while her fever had gone away after a day, the doctors there, in consultation with Michiko’s personal doctor, thought it was best they keep her. Sho knew that Michiko hated it, being poked and prodded by strangers. Blood draws and tests and people in and out of her room at all hours. Kato had already had to force Shihori to leave, now that the lawsuit had been filed. Now Michiko had nobody, save for her own doctor, and even then it had to feel like a betrayal.
Sho kept up with his newspaper trawl every morning, having hoped they’d at least allow her that much. He emailed his findings to the nurse’s station, and they promised him that everything he sent along was being communicated to her. Sho, of course, had no way of verifying it or not. As soon as the suit from Shiroyanagi Masaharu, on behalf of the entire Shiroyanagi family, had been filed, Sho too had been forced to abandon his employer.
The lawsuit had initially been nothing more than an inquiry from “the family,” curious about where Michiko had been for all these years. She’d never been far, of course, but that hadn’t seemed to matter to them until now when she was in the hospital. The accusations of elder abuse were new, and Sho had never felt so sickened to his core.
They’d all been named liable. Shihori, for not getting Michiko proper medical treatment. Kato and Ninomiya, for negligence in administering Michiko’s money and property, for purchases that were deemed “outrageous” and “evidence of a troubled mind” like her commissioned dollhouses. And Sho came across as the ringleader of it all. Keeping a feeble-minded elderly woman locked in her apartment, never letting her out. Mental manipulation for ten years. All four of them, the suit accused, were after Michiko’s money and had insinuated themselves into her life so fully that she had no awareness of what was happening.
Each and every accusation a thorough lie. The Michiko Sho knew, that Sho cared for, had spent the better part of their time together telling Sho exactly what she wanted, pushing back every time Sho suggested other options. There was no manipulation whatsoever, and Kato told him that his firm was going to do everything in their power to take on the Shiroyanagi suit. But Kato himself had been taken off of Michiko’s account, and Ninomiya was under scrutiny at his own firm.
It had gone downhill so quickly that there was no question that the lawsuit had been a long time in coming. Shiroyanagi Masaharu had been planning this for a while, and even as Kato and Ninomiya had seemingly convinced themselves that he was involved, Sho knew in his heart that Jun hadn’t known.
“The suit was filed by the family,” Kato had kept saying. “He’s one of them.”
But Sho knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He’d had plenty of time that week to realize it. He’d gone over every conversation they’d had, every interaction Jun had had with Michiko. It was impossible. But unfortunately, the filing of the lawsuit meant that Jun wouldn’t have the opportunity to prove his innocence to Sho. Lawyers from Kimura, Kato, Inagaki & Partners had advised Sho and Shihori both to completely cut off all contact with him, at least until the prosecutor’s office had conducted their own investigation and determined whether to pursue the suit from Shiroyanagi.
He was lost, so unsure of what to do. His parents urged him to come home, to get out of Tateyama. But as long as Michiko was stuck in the hospital here, he refused to leave. Shihori remained too, only eating when Aiba could get her to do so. She’d always been cheerful, no matter what. It ached to see her this way. The house felt so empty without Michiko in it, even though it had been without its owner for more than half a century.
And unfortunately, Kato had explained to Sho, there was no way they could move forward on the will. The will as it stood was witnessed by Aiba and himself, two people who stood to inherit millions. Michiko had decided all of the monetary awards when she was holed up with Kato and Ninomiya, and Sho had only found out he was due so much money when he’d been called in to stamp the document. The money was the furthest thing from his mind, but if Michiko didn’t approve of the will as it stood with unbiased witnesses, everything would go to the next of kin, her family, anyhow.
Shiroyanagi Masaharu had probably known this, and with his perfect timing on the lawsuit, he’d all but guaranteed that Michiko would not be signing a new will any time soon. They’d have to wait until the lawsuit was dismissed to approach her about it again. If his lawsuit went through, the will Kato and Ninomiya composed would be void. If his lawsuit was dismissed, any subsequent will Michiko signed would be scrutinized harshly, and Sho had a feeling the woman wouldn’t be able to deal with it.
And there’d been the heartbreaking news from the morning before. When he’d called for a status update from the nurse, he’d been told that Michiko was in good spirits, was feeling as well as could be expected. But when she’d been asked what day it was, she’d been wrong. She’d been a day behind. It was being in the hospital, Sho figured. She was all out of sorts. But it was just another hurdle to overcome. She had to be judged of sound mind to authorize any wills moving forward.
He, Aiba, and Shihori sat quietly in the kitchen that evening. It was Aiba Masaki he currently owed his remaining sanity to. Defying the orders of the lawyers, Aiba had gone back and forth to the Tokyo apartment, hauling a few dozen of Michiko’s photo albums back with him. One of the doctors at the hospital was a friend of Aiba’s from high school and had assured him that Aiba could bring the albums to her, if only to give the old woman some small measure of happiness during her confinement.
Shihori sat between them, flipping through the pages, her fingers lingering on them. “I still really hate dolls,” she said with a chuckle, tears in her eyes.
“Why do you think I stay in the cottage?” Aiba teased gently. “If I stay in the house here, it feels like they’re watching me.”
“They’re not so bad,” Sho complained, turning the page for Shihori. The three of them came face to face with Michiko’s set of Chinese terra cotta warrior dolls, exact duplicates in miniature that lived at the house in Aichi. Their faces were always so angry, ready for battle. The three of them burst out laughing, unable to stop until their sides ached.
“Alright, alright,” Sho admitted. “Those ones are scary.”
Sho could only hope that their feelings, that their love for her, came through when Michiko had the photo albums in her arms again.
-
Jun’s grandmother was always thrilled when he showed up with treats. “It always smells so sterile here,” Matsumoto Atsuko complained, greedily snatching another cookie from the tin he and Ohno had put together for her and her friends in this wing of the care facility. “At least we can smell the sugar and sprinkles for a while.”
They’d already been up and down the floor twice, Jun pushing his grandmother in her chair while she proudly shook the tin. “My grandson’s back,” she’d call out, earning little cheers from the other residents. “Aoyama-san, won’t you come out and have some? There are sugar-free ones today!”
Jun accepted the compliments, inclining his head and offering smiles for the elderly men and women who made up his grandmother’s circle of friends. After his grandfather had passed a few years ago, Atsuko had hated living alone, and though Jun’s parents had wanted her to move in with them, she’d refused. One of her friends from the neighborhood had moved here to Tulip Garden, raving about the place. It was more active than Jun had imagined. They had classes for the residents, flower arranging and crafts, book clubs, all sorts of things to keep the mind sharp.
“Your grandfather would have hated this place,” she’d whisper, grinning. “He was always a wet blanket.”
Valentine’s Day had already passed, but the halls were still dotted with paper hearts and Cupids. He pushed his grandmother back to her room, and she placed the tin of cookies near the door. “Then the nurses can have some too. I swear, you’re trying to fatten me up, Jun-kun.”
“What, you’re as stylish and thin as ever, Grandma.”
She turned, covering her ears. “No, no, none of that. Why can’t you be more like your sister? She comes here and she says ‘Granny, let me bring you some new slippers, those are looking ratty.’”
“Arisa should mind her manners,” Jun complained, sitting down heavily in the chair beside his grandmother’s bed. She settled in, turning on her small TV set, putting on a bawdy comedian’s variety show. Another thing Jun’s grandfather would have disapproved of.
They sat there in companionable silence for at least an hour, his grandmother only making brief little comments here and there about the commercials that played. “Oh, what I’d have given for a vacuum like that when your father was a messy little boy!” “You can make just about everything in a microwave now. Times are changing indeed, Jun-kun.”
Jun kept looking over, watching her with pain weighing heavily in his heart. The family resemblance was uncanny. Matsumoto Atsuko, born Shiroyanagi Atsuko, looked so much like her Aunt Michiko that it was scary. Of course, Jun had never known a thing about Michiko-san, so it was only now that he realized it.
He hadn’t been given the opportunity to speak with his father or his sister about everything. Masaharu’s lawyers had done all the talking for him, showing up at Jun’s parents’ house while they were sitting down to a Sunday afternoon meal all together as a family. “That’s nothing to do with us,” Matsumoto Hiroki had protested, face turning red in anger as it usually did. “We have no interest in that old woman’s money, we don’t know her.”
But it had all come out, the future of Shiroyanagi Management, the part Jun was set to play. If the Matsumoto family added their names to the lawsuit, the horrific and completely unfounded elder abuse lawsuit, they too could inherit Michiko’s riches. “Won’t you think of your son and daughter? About your grandson?” the lawyer had said so slyly, and Jun thought his father was about to have a stroke.
It took his mother’s calm, gentle dismissal to get the Shiroyanagi lawyers to leave. But she hadn’t been able to calm her husband’s rage once they were gone. Arisa, as expected, had been incensed at first, clearly angry with Jun for not letting her in on the whole plan, but she changed her mind almost instantly, realizing the wealth that her little boy stood to gain. Even Keisuke, who had never been much of a material person, had questioned Jun, asking just what it could mean for Yosuke. But the conversation died right there, and his father had erupted.
“You want to be a part of that family so badly, then go join them!” he’d shouted, raising his voice at Jun in a way he hadn’t since Jun was a typical whiny teenager. “You’re an adult, Jun, so you pick your side. And that goes for you too, Arisa. You want to go crawling on your belly to a person like that for that poor old woman’s money, then go.”
“Hiroki,” his mother had tried. “Hiroki, let Jun explain…”
“Let him make his choice. He’s the one who has to live with it.”
With the way his grandmother was behaving that afternoon, Jun wondered if his parents had spoken to her about everything yet. He didn’t want to bring it up, to remind her of the painful memories of her youth. Instead he just watched more TV with her, chatted with her about the store. She asked after Ohno, who always went the extra mile in decorating cookies for her. He was the artist, and Jun knew it. He’d stopped competing on that front.
“What about your big plan?” his grandmother asked. “The one you were telling me about before Christmas?”
Jun’s mouth went dry. His silly ambition, his desire to expand the business. That was up in the air, depending on what happened with Masaharu-san. Since Tateyama, Jun had refused every request the man had made. There was no way he could look the man in the eye ever again, not after he’d played Jun like a violin. Sending Jun to Michiko had just been one idea, the lawsuit another one he’d kept in his pocket. No matter what, he was determined to get Michiko’s money.
Though Jun was one great ball of anxiety about Mr. Bake’s future, Ohno was far more understanding than he ought to be. “She’s a tough old lady,” Ohno had said, patting Jun’s shoulder. “She might still get to sign that will.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Jun-kun,” Ohno had said, rolling his eyes. “We’re too good at making bread to ever shut down for good. If we sell it from this shop or from a stand on the side of the road, we’ll figure it out. Stop worrying.”
Jun was quiet for a while, not wanting to worry his grandmother. “The shop’s doing well. We do decent business.”
“That’s good, I know how happy it makes you.” Her smile then was so genuine, so encouraging, that he had to look away. Just like Michiko, his grandmother had complete faith in him. But how easily Jun had let himself be dragged in to Masaharu’s mess. Because of Jun, he’d ruined everything. And if Masaharu’s foolish lawsuit went anywhere, it would have dire consequences for Ninomiya-san, Kato-san, Shihori-san…
Sho would never be able to recover with such a stain on his character, nothing but lies. And it would be Shiroyanagi money, Shiroyanagi lawyers, that ruined him. All thanks to Jun.
He wondered what Sho even thought of him now. Surely he had to be thinking that Jun was involved. The lawsuit had been issued mere hours after Masaharu-san’s assistant had left the hospital. It had only been weeks ago that they’d all been in the house, playing with those silly dolls. With Michiko assuring him it would all work out.
As the days slipped by, Jun was becoming doubtful that was true.
-
It was the middle of March when the prosecutor’s office wrapped up their assessment. After speaking with Michiko, with her doctors, and with all the parties involved, Shiroyanagi Masaharu’s lawsuit had been dropped. By going through years of well-maintained financial records, from interviewing the people Michiko had commissioned work from, there was little doubt that the old woman had made all her own choices when it came to spending her money. There was no evidence of wrongdoing on Sho’s part, on Shihori’s, on any of the people who represented her interests.
But even with the lawsuit dropped, clearing the way for Michiko to settle on her will, the harshness of her new life in the hospital had taken its toll on a woman who’d spent so many years living life on her own specific terms. The lawsuit’s dismissal meant that she could have visitors, that Sho and Shihori could be part of her life again, but after speaking with her doctors, there was very little that could be done.
Shihori, medically trained and capable, returned to the Tateyama house from Michiko-san’s hospital room that first day with tears in her eyes. “It’s a broken heart. They’ve broken her heart,” she’d cried, clinging to Sho and hoping for answers that he didn’t have.
Sho was able to see his employer for the first time in nearly seven weeks on the second day after the lawsuit was dropped. Michiko had always been small, popping out from underneath her comforting mound of blankets, but it was clear to Sho within just the first few moments that all the spark, all the life that had been overflowing from the elderly woman had been snuffed out. If there was any elder abuse to complain about, it was keeping her trapped in this hospital, separating her from the only people she trusted. The only “family” that meant anything to her.
Sho sat at her bedside with his laptop, reading her the news headlines. She simply nodded, taking in what he was telling her. “You’re much better than that box, Sho-chan,” she said, gesturing to the TV, her voice more subdued than he’d ever heard it. “You’ve always been so much better.”
“Is there anything I can do for you today, Michiko-san?” he asked. He didn’t dare show any of his own sorrow, keeping a smile on his face, desperate to make her happy.
She had grown frail the last several weeks. He couldn’t even imagine how traumatizing it had been for her, being cut off from them. It seemed to take a lot of effort for her to speak. “Let’s look at the pictures.”
He stayed with her as long as the nurses allowed him that day, flipping through the photo albums that Aiba had fortunately brought for her. Aside from them, there was not one thing in the hospital room with a personal touch, nothing inviting or remotely friendly. When it was time to go, he set the album back. They’d been looking at dolls from the Tateyama house, and Michiko had looked at them with none of her usual cheer. Before she’d been so content with her pictures. Now it was clear she wanted so much more, and it was too late.
He buttoned up his coat, ready to head out for the night. Tomorrow he, Shihori, and Aiba had plans to come together, pending the staff’s approval. They’d rotate in and out of the room if they had to. She needed to be coaxed back to some measure of safety, of happiness.
“Sho-chan,” her weak voice called out when he was just at the door.
He turned. “Yes, have I forgotten something?”
“Do you think Jun-chan might make me some croissants? I’ve missed them so.”
He simply nodded. “I’ll bring them for you. Get a good night’s sleep so you can eat a dozen in the morning.”
“A dozen?” Michiko scoffed, the faintest spark returning to her eyes. “Shihori-chan will never let you give me a dozen.”
“What Shihori doesn’t know won’t hurt her!”
Michiko pointed at him weakly. “Naughty, naughty boy!”
When he got to the parking structure under the building, his cell phone told him it was already after 7:00. The Mr. Bake shop in Ikebukuro was closed. But he didn’t care, getting in the car and heading for the highway.
He called Aiba, told him he would be spending the night in Tokyo, that he’d be back in the morning. Aiba hadn’t asked any questions. Sho hesitated with his phone the entire ride, not even making the call until he was already parked on a side street near the shop.
Jun’s voice, a sound he hadn’t heard in over a month, was hesitant when he answered. It was almost 10:00. “Sho-san?”
Sho wanted to say a million things. He wanted to tell Jun that he knew he’d had nothing to do with the lawsuit, that he wasn’t angry. That he was desperate to see him again, that he’d missed him. He said none of those things. “I’m actually sitting outside your shop. In my car.”
“You’re in Tokyo?”
“Yeah.”
Jun exhaled. “Why?”
“Michiko-san wants some croissants tomorrow. Baked fresh. I was hoping you could do it.”
“Give me forty-five minutes, I’ll be there.”
Sho waited, nervous as hell, checking the time on his phone nearly every minute. When there was a knock on his car window almost an hour later, he jolted in his seat, honking the horn by accident. It was Jun, waving with a nervous grin on his face. He unlocked the door, and Jun got in.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, flashing that smile that had won him over so completely. “I had to get things from the shop.”
He had a massive shopping bag with him, and Sho was confused. “I thought…wait, what’s going on?”
Jun rummaged through the bag. “These take hours to make, you know. We work on big batches of dough beforehand so they just need to be baked in the morning. It takes forever to get the butter layer right. I spend half my afternoons working on croissant dough sometimes.”
“I thought you just rolled them up?”
“Sho-san, if all you had to do was ‘roll them up’ then I’d be out of a job.”
He found himself smiling despite himself. It was almost too easy, how they’d slipped back into casual conversation. “Please pardon my usual ignorance.”
Jun lifted a cold pack from the shopping bag. “Now if you don’t mind, this stuff has to stay cool. You’d better get going.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“If she wants them fresh, I’m going to bake them in Tateyama. Then you can run them right over to her.”
He knew it. He just knew that Jun had been loyal, had stayed true to Michiko. He’d been an unfortunate pawn in Shiroyanagi-san’s schemes. He could have kissed him, right there in the car. But then, where would that leave his precious dough?
It took almost another three hours to get back to Tateyama, and it was just after 2:00 in the morning when they pulled into the drive. It had been a long, dark ride, and they’d kept the radio on, the two of them quietly singing along with some old classics. It seemed like neither of them was ready to talk about what they’d been up to the past several weeks. Sho had a feeling that Jun’s experience had been just as rough as his own. For right now, it was enough that Jun was here, willing to help.
“What time do visiting hours start?” Jun whispered as they walked up the stairs.
“10:00 AM.”
“Wake me at 6:30.”
As soon as they were in the door, Jun put his things in the refrigerator, barely getting out of his coat before collapsing onto the couch in his jeans and t-shirt. Sho grinned, picking up his coat and hanging it by the door. He tiptoed quietly through the living room, putting a blanket on him. Michiko was going to be so happy to see him again.
Sho came downstairs again at 6:30, but Jun was already in the kitchen, probably running on fumes after sleeping a handful of hours on the couch. He had his dough spread out on the counter, using a pizza cutter to slice it up evenly. Sho sat in a chair at the table, saying nothing as he watched. Jun was methodical, exacting in his work. Once he’d sliced up the dough, he did the part that Sho knew something about, rolling them up into the proper shape. He then cracked an egg into a bowl with just a splash of water, using some sort of brush to coat them.
He then set them aside, looking up. “Morning.”
“You rolled them up.”
“I did,” Jun admitted.
“So I wasn’t wrong.”
Jun rolled his eyes. “These need to sit for about ninety minutes. Guess that gives me time to make you breakfast, huh?”
Sho blushed. “Well, if you’re offering.”
Shihori came downstairs as soon as Jun had a pot of coffee going, mumbling some morning greetings. They were soon joined by Aiba, who was in pajama bottoms and had clearly come from upstairs as well. Jun offered no commentary, rummaging through the fridge to see what he could throw together. Soon enough they were all gobbling up tamagoyaki and rice.
While Sho volunteered to clean up (since he never had anything to contribute cooking-wise), Jun got everything ready to bake. Soon the kitchen smelled incredible, and he pulled them from the oven to cool. The whole house had a sinfully buttery scent. Michiko-san had conditioned them all to have a firm appreciation for croissants, and Sho had to struggle to keep his fingers to himself, desperate to yank one off the rack where they were cooling.
Shihori rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out a food storage bin. “We’ll toss them in here. Sho-kun, go upstairs, get one of the doll ribbons, we’ll make it a little pretty for her.”
While Shihori and Jun got the big delivery ready to go, he headed upstairs. The perfect ribbon, the perfect ribbon. He was digging through one of the tubs in the spare room when he heard his phone go off. “Ah, not now,” he grumbled, up to his elbows in tissue paper. He answered the call.
“Hello, this is Sakurai.”
-
It had been peaceful. Painless, the doctor assured them. Simply her time, one of the nurses had said.
But it wasn’t, Jun knew. If he’d never interfered, Michiko might have never left the comforts of her Tokyo apartment. She might still be alive, thriving to the extent any spunky old lady might. But they’d never know.
He didn’t know what to do to help, and he had barely slept. When Sho’s call had come the night before, he’d dropped everything. Hell, he’d taken half the croissant dough from the shop and had left Ohno some half-assed note in explanation. He’d left Mr. Bake with little notice, and he could only hope Ohno would understand why.
But standing in the hospital, knowing they’d been too late, he felt rotten inside. Almost angry with Michiko. Why couldn’t you have waited a little longer, he thought. Why couldn’t we have been here with you at the very end?
She’d passed away in her sleep, and before Sho even allowed himself to take a breath, to react, to even mourn, he had his phone back out. He was calling the law firm. He was calling Ninomiya. And Jun knew, Jun just knew, that Masaharu had won. There was a little more than a week left in his precious fiscal year. And here was his windfall.
The week that followed was a blur.
To add insult to injury, the Shiroyanagi family - Masaharu, his wife, distant cousins - they all got involved. By default, the execution of Michiko’s estate fell to them, and they decided that organizing Michiko’s wake and funeral was their responsibility too. Though weeks earlier they’d falsely accused Sakurai Sho and Kanjiya Shihori of wishing Michiko harm, they were tactless enough to invite them to the wake. It was scheduled to be held in the same parlor where only months earlier, Jun had made the mistake of showing sympathy for a cousin he didn’t even know.
Now the Shiroyanagi family was paying Michiko the same courtesy, a woman they’d never bothered to meet, to know, to love. They threw her a grand wake and funeral that was the complete opposite of the wishes she’d expressed in the will that meant nothing. The people who were coming to mourn hadn’t met her. To Jun’s surprise, Arisa didn’t go. She’d said nothing, offered no complaints when the Shiroyanagi lawyers came back around, when Matsumoto Hiroki told them to get off his property and leave them alone.
After speaking with Aiba shortly after the funeral, the caretaker told Jun that Sho had organized something quiet, something private at the Tateyama house. Would Jun be kind enough to come?
He and Ohno took the bus, bringing cupcakes frosted in some of Michiko’s favorite colors. Croissants, Jun had decided, would just be too heartbreaking. The house had been transformed, and from the dark bags under Sho’s eyes, Jun knew instantly that he’d been the one to get everything organized. All the furniture was moved, covered in drop cloths. There were photos everywhere, enlarged and printed out, tacked up on every inch of wall space.
Sure, there were a few of her dolls, but most of them were not. There were pictures of all the property she owned - the mountains in Nagano, the sea in Chiba. There were pictures of Michiko herself over the years, taken by the various assistants she’d employed. There were pictures of the people who’d worked for her. A photograph of Aiba Masaki offering a peace sign, a demolished bathroom behind him. A photograph of Kanjiya Shihori in bright yellow sunglasses, waving at the camera during some well-earned vacation time in Hawaii. Jun went from room to room, finding only one picture of Sho in the entire house. Maybe after all those years there’d only been the one.
It was the photograph of him and Michiko together, sitting on the couch here in the Tateyama house. It was the picture Jun had taken - Michiko holding her beloved doll, Sho watching her with such love that it made Jun choke up, hurrying from the room before he made a scene.
The group gathered for Michiko’s real wake was small, no more than 30 or 40 people. Her inner circle, people from Kato’s law firm, from Ninomiya’s office. A handful of craftsmen and artisans from all over Japan who had been hired by Michiko over the years. But at the very least they’d all known her, had spoken to her, exchanged letters with her. Been frustrated by her.
On May 1st, Aiba explained to Jun, all of the property of Shiroyanagi Michiko was going on the market. Her houses in Aichi, Nagano, and Chiba. Her apartments in Tokyo. Her furniture. Her dolls and her dollhouses. Her artwork and her jewelry, anything of value. According to Kato, it was Masaharu’s wife who was taking charge of all the auctions. The proceeds from all of her precious dolls and jewels were going to the charities Michiko had supported throughout her long life. A small concession, Jun knew, considering that Shiroyanagi Management was taking all the money Michiko had in the bank, in the stock market, in the sale of all her property.
Her caretakers - Aiba in Chiba, a woman from the Nagano property, a middle-aged man from the Aichi property - were now out of work. As of yet, Aiba didn’t have any plans, but he didn’t seem too worried about it. “I’ve got a ton in savings thanks to Michiko-san,” he admitted. “She’s taking care of me now.”
Shihori was the dutiful hostess, explaining the contents of several of the pictures, smiling sadly as she moved through the room. Ohno had struck up an odd conversation with the lawyer, Kato. Apparently they shared a fondness for fishing. At least Jun didn’t have to worry about his partner being unable to mingle with these people. He had only seen Sho briefly, when they’d come in, and they hadn’t spoken yet. In fact, Jun hadn’t seen Sho for quite some time now.
Ninomiya managed to corner Jun near a collage of photographs of the Nagano mountains. “Maybe he’ll become a photojournalist,” Ninomiya said, smirking. “He’s always reading the papers, you know. He’s like an encyclopedia with all that useless knowledge.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?”
Ninomiya nodded. “I think so. It’ll be longer for him than for most, simply because of how close they were. Finding a job though, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
“Why do you say that?”
The accountant grabbed another of Ohno’s cupcakes from the table, picking at the wrapper. “Kato had a letter for him. All he has to do is include it in a job application, and I’m sure he’s all set.”
“What kind of letter was it?”
Ninomiya, who’d been all numbers since Jun had met him, actually looked sad for a moment, his chin quivering the slightest bit before he recovered himself. “She wrote recommendation letters for him and Kanjiya-san. Kato’s had them on file for months, she did it without telling them. She never could be bothered about that will, but she wanted to make sure the two of them found a job after she was gone. They’re really nice.”
Jun stepped back, letting Ninomiya enjoy his sugar. He headed upstairs, past the lawyers and the dollhouse makers, finding Sho in the bedroom he’d used at the end of the hall. Aiba had shifted most of the furniture around, covered it with cloth. Sho didn’t seem to mind, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. He was in his suit and tie, not seeming to care if it got wrinkled while he sat.
Jun decided he didn’t care either, shutting the door and moving over to him, having a seat next to him. He looked so tired, like he might fall over at any moment. His eyes were bloodshot, his round face streaked with tear tracks. There was paper at his feet, a few sheets stapled together, printed out. The letter from Michiko-san.
“I never hated you. I never blamed you,” Sho said quietly, staring straight ahead. “I’m sure you’ve been beating yourself up about this.”
“Sho-san…”
He let out the saddest little sigh. “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself for what happened. If it hadn’t been you, I’m sure that man would have tried something else. She was happy, so happy, that week we were here. It truly is thanks to you, Jun. You changed her life for the better.”
He could feel his eyes burning. “I’m so incredibly sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Sho scooted a little closer, his head dropping lazily to rest on Jun’s shoulder. “The auction house actually called me the other day. They wanted me to help in getting things organized, her dolls, so they could be sold. Can you believe that?”
“Well, you did do an incredible job,” Jun replied. Sho was a warm, calming presence at his side. If Jun had never gone to Daisuke’s wake, setting this whole mess in motion, they might not have met. He wondered if it was selfish of him to be happy they’d found each other.
“I really did,” Sho admitted, and when he chuckled, Jun could feel it all the way to his bones.
They were quiet for a while, letting the chatter from downstairs punctuate their silence.
Eventually Jun poked at the little bundle of paper with his foot. “Can I read it?”
“Sure, if you want.”
Sho moved, sitting up properly. He looked away while Jun read through it, biting his lip. The final page nearly broke him fully, and Jun suspected that was the reason why Sho was up here in this room, mourning alone.
…and let it be said, future employer, that Sakurai Sho-san is not just a person of incredible work ethic, a person of skill and thoughtfulness who will work harder for you than anyone else on your payroll. No, there’s more to him than the person who earns a salary like all the others.
He is warm. He is gentle. He is articulate. He is focused. He is dedicated. He is kind. He is steadfast. He is uncompromising. He is a perfectionist. He is generous.
He’d go to the moon and back if it meant helping out someone who needed him. And I can tell you from personal experience that I needed a man like Sakurai Sho. I keep mostly to myself, you see, and I hope you’ll forgive the ramblings of an old woman, but from the day I met him, I just knew that he would do whatever it took to make me happy. He was a young little punk, a boy with his ear pierced and some foolish hairstyle. Despite those trappings, he had an impressive academic pedigree, but he never once spoke down to me. He never once presumed that because he was young and I was old, that because he was a man and I was just an old lady, that he knew better.
I had previous assistants who tried to change my way of living. “Michiko-san,” they’d say. “Why don’t you go live with family, it’s their obligation to care for you.” “Michiko-san, stop throwing your money away on such silly things.” Sakurai-san instead showed his flexibility in adapting to me instead. I never made it easy for him. I sent him all over the country. I made him go back and forth on the work projects I commissioned. I made him work unreasonable hours, I stole him away from family vacations and holidays. I teased him and I expected him to give me everything I wished, even when it was near impossible, and I tell you without hesitation that Sakurai-san delivered on every promise to me.
I’ve always been the type to be happy with things as they are, preferring to experience the world from the comfort of home. It’s earned me names like eccentric, like crazy, like mentally incapacitated. Sakurai-san offered no judgment on my way of living.
He respected me.
He was my dearest friend.
While I shut myself away, he was my eyes. He was me, the person I couldn’t be, running my errands, negotiating my whims, being my voice in a world that to this day still has me wary. All of it, he did all of it, without much complaining, though I certainly gave him cause. I cherish every minute in his company and consider myself one of the luckiest people to have known him.
What I need you to understand, future employer, is that hiring Sakurai Sho can only benefit you. He’ll work so hard that he’ll bring up any of the slack-offs or layabouts beside him. He’ll treat your customers, your clients, with the respect they deserve. He’ll be your company’s eyes, your company’s voice, elevating everything you do. Am I exaggerating? I certainly don’t believe I am, but have a look yourself. Have a chat with Sakurai Sho, and may you have the utmost fortune of discovering what I’ve known to be true for ten wonderful years. Please keep him in your favor.
Shiroyanagi Michiko
2014 September 19
“She certainly had a high opinion of you. What a letter,” he said when he finished. But when he set the letter down, he could just see Sho shaking from the corner of his eye. He looked over, saw fresh tears sliding down Sho’s face. “Oh Sho-san…”
All Jun could do was open his arms, and he let Sho cry until he had no more tears to spill.
-
ONE YEAR LATER
-
If there was one thing he’d missed while he’d been traveling, it was the scent of Jun’s cakes. And Ohno-san’s too, of course.
Sure, he’d passed bakeries in almost every city, trying his share of sweets. But nothing really seemed to compare. He was happy to be home, back in Tokyo. His initial plan had been for a month. But then he’d expanded his itinerary, had been unable to say no to his own ideas when he clearly had the money and time to burn. Here he was, five months later, “Mr. Global Traveler.” Or at least that was what Shihori had changed his name to in the LINE app whenever she sent him a message.
Seventeen countries, a whirlwind trip he’d always dreamed of but had never been able to undertake. He’d started working for Michiko right out of college, and that had been the end of those sorts of ambitions. Not that he’d ever resented her for it.
The auction company had paid him quite handsomely for his assistance in organizing her dolls in the weeks after she passed away. In fact, they’d been so impressed that they’d come right out and offered him a job. He’d informed them of his future travel plans, and they’d been kind enough to hold the offer until he returned. Today was his first day of work, only the second job he’d ever had in his entire life. He would have a supervisor, multiple supervisors in fact. He’d wear a suit and tie now. Very different from the Sakurai Sho who’d answered that strange ad over a decade ago.
The company was headquartered not far from Shibuya Station, and no matter how long he’d been away from Tokyo, it was impossible to forget the proper timing - taking the train up to Ikebukuro and back. He had plenty of time as he opened the door to Mr. Bake, smiling at the sight of Ohno-san standing behind the counter. He hadn’t changed at all, with his sleepy eyes and welcoming smile. He gestured to the swinging door.
“He’s got it ready for you, go on in. He knows you’re on a tight schedule.”
Sho nodded in acknowledgment, heading on through. He found Matsumoto Jun there, putting the finishing touches on a “Michiko Special” box, the newest promotion Mr. Bake had going. It was a combo box in a cheerful orange, filled with two croissants in one compartment and a slice of banana cream cake in the other. Though Sho had sent at least a dozen messages doubting that anyone would buy such a combo, Jun had replied that it was a hit. Breakfast and a treat for later, it seemed to work for some people.
He was happy that Mr. Bake was still here. After Jun had told him everything he’d gone through, all the nasty threats from Shiroyanagi Masaharu, Sho was surprised the man hadn’t swooped in with his money and forced Ohno and Jun out. In fact, the opposite had happened. Once he had his money, the money he’d done absolutely nothing to earn, Shiroyanagi-san left Jun alone. Though rents were still on the upswing in the neighborhood, it was doubtful Mr. Bake was going anywhere.
Which didn’t bode so well for Sho’s diet. Traveling the world, he’d been on the go so much that he’d dropped several kilos. He anticipated that a lot of that would come back now that he was back in the land of the Michiko Special combo box. All that butter and whipped cream, it was dangerous.
He stood opposite Jun by his work table, seeing the other trays of sweets prepared to go out into the store once their first morning batches sold. They were still a fairly small enterprise, but their customers were loyal. Jun in his close-fitting apron was definitely a highlight of Sho’s morning, worth the extra travel time.
After everything, they’d been a little unsure of what to do. With Sho’s planned travel and Jun’s worries over his business, those first few months had been confusing. Were they together? Should they be? How would it work? Instead they’d tabled the discussion, and Sho had gone on his trip. He’d been back in Japan for almost a month now, readjusting to life again. And part of that readjustment had included Matsumoto Jun.
Sho really was enjoying this adjustment, watching Jun slide the combo box across the table. “I’m not doing this for you every day,” Jun said, as ridiculously honest as he’d always been.
He smiled across at him. “I’m not asking you to.” He peered into the box, rolling his eyes when he saw how large the slice of cake was. “This seems abnormal.”
“I have no idea what you mean, Sho-san.”
Sho closed the box again, checking his watch. “I’ve got about 10 minutes before I have to head for the station.”
“Oh,” Jun said, leaning against his table. “Is that all?”
He grinned. “Don’t we have a dinner date later?”
Jun laughed. “You may be right. I do remember someone whining and whining that I had to try this Italian place in Ebisu. Was that you?”
“You have a lot of admirers, Matsumoto-san?”
“Only one that’s worth an extra big slice of cake.”
Sho moved first, seeing Jun take a quick glance at the swinging door in embarrassment. But Sho doubted Ohno-san was going to pop his head in any time soon. When he reached for Jun, Jun stepped back.
“Idiot,” Jun said, “wait a second.”
Sho realized that he’d been about to wrap his arms around someone adorned with powdered sugar, and he waited impatiently for Jun to tug his apron off, to make sure he didn’t have anything on his hands that might get on Sho’s brand new suit. Sho discovered that Jun had been sampling his own merchandise, could smell banana cream on him when they kissed.
Today was the start of something new, and he tucked the Michiko Special box in the bag Ohno held out for him once he came back through the kitchen door. It was a little scary, a little exciting, and he knew that somewhere out there, Shiroyanagi Michiko was looking after him kindly, perhaps a little annoyed that she hadn’t gotten her croissants yet.
Sho had a spring in his step when he left the shop, heading for Ikebukuro Station, for his new job, and for a new chapter of his life that could only get better and better.
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Michiko-san had felt a little tired upon waking, but still insisted on working on the draft of her will. Shihori was watching her like an overprotective mama hen, whipping Kato-san and Ninomiya-san into shape. The four of them stayed cooped up in Michiko’s room for the better part of the day, getting things in motion.
As for Sho, he’d gone off for a drive with Aiba after breakfast, with Sho claiming that he was going to take some photos along the coast to give to Michiko. Jun, however, saw through this ploy immediately. It had been foolish, kissing Sho, and even though Jun had enjoyed it, more than he’d even imagined, things would be so awkward between them now.
Because Jun was still the person Michiko was suddenly adding into her will, and Sho was the person who’d worked so hard all these years to prevent such a thing from happening. To try and distract himself from all the ways he was screwing up, he took a walk into town. Tateyama was a tourist hotspot come summertime, with people swarming the beaches, but it was much calmer, more subdued in winter.
He wandered through shops, visited bakeries to scope out what others were doing, looking for ideas he might bring back to Mr. Bake. He sat at a picnic table near the water, calling Ohno just to make sure the shop hadn’t burned down in his absence. Everything was just fine, Ohno assured him, and thankfully he didn’t bother to ask Jun anything about how things were going with Michiko (or with Sho). Sometimes Ohno just understood which topics were not to be breached.
But the winter sun set early as always, so he trudged back to the house. Michiko was already in bed for the evening, despite the early hour. Sho and Aiba had returned, and Aiba refused to let Jun make dinner. Instead he and Sho had picked up some fresh seafood on their day out, and Aiba was going to take care of everything.
The tension in the living room while they all waited for dinner was nervewracking. To break the ice, Kato and Ninomiya went over what had already been decided. It turned out that everyone in the house at that very moment - Sakurai, Matsumoto, Aiba, Kanjiya Shihori - was set to be a beneficiary. In addition, since Kato and Ninomiya were handling Michiko’s affairs, they too stood to receive money for their efforts in carrying out Michiko’s final wishes. Because of this overwhelming conflict of interest, the will as it currently stood was not final. Once they got back to Tokyo, Michiko-san would hopefully allow a few independent parties to sign off as witnesses.
“But who?” Shihori was asking, curled up on the couch looking frustrated. “Anyone else she knows is getting money from her.”
That included her doctor that paid house calls, the doorman of her apartment building, and the caretakers of her other houses. Jun tried to float Ohno as a suggestion, but Kato shook his head. “He’s too closely associated with you,” the lawyer said. “Of course, it’s possible, but with such a big estate like Michiko-san’s, we really don’t want there to be anyone involved who could call the whole thing into question.”
The fact that Kato had looked directly at Jun when saying so made him want to sink into the floor.
Ninomiya was hopeful that some colleagues of his from a different accounting firm would participate, and their stamps and authority on a final will would make the entire thing unquestionably legitimate. The problem, of course, was convincing Michiko to allow them close while she signed and stamped the document.
Their dinner was quiet, and though Aiba had done a spectacular job, their appetites were not what they could be. After the meal Sho volunteered to take Kato and Ninomiya back to the train station, and Jun would have done anything to go with them, to get away before things got any more awkward.
Instead he went back upstairs, trying to distract himself with some pointless game on his phone. The minutes ticked by, and the house quieted back down. Sho would be back soon, and Jun would have to expend all his energy to stay away from him. His vision blurred, quickly losing interest in his game. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore how perfect it felt to touch him, to feel his mouth move against his own. But everything else that mattered wasn’t perfect. What kind of relationship could the two of them have anyhow?
He heard stomping on the staircase, and soon there was furious knocking on the door. “Who is it?”
Before he’d even finished, it was Aiba, shoving the door open. His face was white as a sheet. “It’s Michiko-san.”
Sho and Shihori went to the hospital with Michiko-san in his car, the old woman refusing an ambulance (and this after a great deal of protest about going to the hospital at all). Jun and Aiba followed behind in Aiba’s small car. Shihori had gone in to check on her shortly after dinner, and Michiko had been burning up. Any sort of fever, any ailment at all in a woman her age, could be a problem if not instantly treated.
Shihori was allowed to stay in the room, speaking with the doctors about Michiko’s condition, but the three of them were stuck in the waiting room. Sho was clearly upset with himself.
“She’s been slower the past few days. All of this was too much,” he was mumbling. Aiba was sitting beside him, saying nothing but rubbing his back to try and comfort him.
Jun felt like he didn’t belong, pacing the floor with his arms crossed tight. This was all his fault, all of it.
Shihori looked like death warmed over when she finally came to speak to them, the men getting to their feet to hear the news. “She didn’t want to, but they’re going to admit her. With the fever, it could be symptomatic of something more serious. I don’t have the equipment to monitor her properly on my own.” Shihori covered her mouth with her hand. “I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have let them bother her all day.”
“It’s not your fault, Shii-chan,” Sho said, moving across the waiting room to wrap his arms around her. Her cries broke Jun’s heart. He and Aiba could only stand there while the two people closest to Shiroyanagi Michiko beat themselves up for something that in all likelihood could not have been prevented. They’d done everything possible to give her proper care, to mind her health and what she ate. For someone with such a phobia of strangers, of getting proper medical care, Michiko had people looking after her that did their best with what she allowed.
Sho wandered off in a daze, clutching his cell phone. He was going to call Kato, call Ninomiya. One of the most important factors in Michiko-san’s will was that she was of sound mind when she signed it. The copies Kato and Ninomiya had in their possession, witnessed by Aiba and Sho as a temporary measure, could be called into question if she was feverish now. Jun knew the woman was sharp as a tack, but it wouldn’t take much for someone to be suspicious.
Sho and Shihori both refused to go home, were planning to stay overnight to monitor the situation. Even Aiba’s gentle coaxing wasn’t enough to change their minds. He and Jun headed back for the car, to return to the massive beach house alone. Jun wasn’t liking the idea that he’d be shut up in that big house all alone for the night, and seeming to sense this, Aiba mumbled some excuse about wanting to see what it was like to sleep on the couch for once. Jun thanked him with a squeeze to his shoulder, and Aiba smiled back kindly.
They took the elevator down to the parking structure beneath the hospital, the both of them exhausted. While Aiba fumbled in his pocket for his car keys, Jun couldn’t help looking over when he heard footsteps in the next aisle of cars.
His heart seemed to stop when he saw the person who was just getting into his car, who apparently hadn’t noticed Jun. It was that scary looking guy, the bodyguard, assistant, whoever that worked for Shiroyanagi Masaharu.
Jun took off running before he even realized it. “Hey!” he screamed as the guy turned his car on. “Hey, get back here!”
“What’s going on?” he heard Aiba calling behind him, his sneakers squeaking on the ground as he tried to keep up. “Jun!”
But Jun was seeing red, furious at the thought of Masaharu spying on him, spying on all of them. The car backed out, started heading for the exit. “Hey!” he shouted, waving his arms, so loud his voice was echoing off the walls. “Hey!”
He tried to give chase, but he wasn’t fast enough, the car pulling out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. Jun doubled over, breathing heavily, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Masaharu would know now. He’d know that Michiko had been admitted to the hospital. Michiko, who still didn’t have a valid will.
Aiba finally caught up, putting a hand on Jun’s back. “What is it? What’s wrong? Who was that guy? Jun, answer me!”
But Jun could only stare at the exit, knowing it was just going to get worse.
-
Sho nearly dropped his phone.
“Elder abuse?!”
“They’re reaching,” Kato assured him. “We have everything she’s done for decades, and you know Ninomiya’s got the same on his end. But the timing is, of course, the absolute worst.”
Sho paced the floor of the Tateyama house, wanting to punch a hole in the wall. “Elder abuse, Shige, are they for real?”
Michiko was still in the local hospital a week later, and while her fever had gone away after a day, the doctors there, in consultation with Michiko’s personal doctor, thought it was best they keep her. Sho knew that Michiko hated it, being poked and prodded by strangers. Blood draws and tests and people in and out of her room at all hours. Kato had already had to force Shihori to leave, now that the lawsuit had been filed. Now Michiko had nobody, save for her own doctor, and even then it had to feel like a betrayal.
Sho kept up with his newspaper trawl every morning, having hoped they’d at least allow her that much. He emailed his findings to the nurse’s station, and they promised him that everything he sent along was being communicated to her. Sho, of course, had no way of verifying it or not. As soon as the suit from Shiroyanagi Masaharu, on behalf of the entire Shiroyanagi family, had been filed, Sho too had been forced to abandon his employer.
The lawsuit had initially been nothing more than an inquiry from “the family,” curious about where Michiko had been for all these years. She’d never been far, of course, but that hadn’t seemed to matter to them until now when she was in the hospital. The accusations of elder abuse were new, and Sho had never felt so sickened to his core.
They’d all been named liable. Shihori, for not getting Michiko proper medical treatment. Kato and Ninomiya, for negligence in administering Michiko’s money and property, for purchases that were deemed “outrageous” and “evidence of a troubled mind” like her commissioned dollhouses. And Sho came across as the ringleader of it all. Keeping a feeble-minded elderly woman locked in her apartment, never letting her out. Mental manipulation for ten years. All four of them, the suit accused, were after Michiko’s money and had insinuated themselves into her life so fully that she had no awareness of what was happening.
Each and every accusation a thorough lie. The Michiko Sho knew, that Sho cared for, had spent the better part of their time together telling Sho exactly what she wanted, pushing back every time Sho suggested other options. There was no manipulation whatsoever, and Kato told him that his firm was going to do everything in their power to take on the Shiroyanagi suit. But Kato himself had been taken off of Michiko’s account, and Ninomiya was under scrutiny at his own firm.
It had gone downhill so quickly that there was no question that the lawsuit had been a long time in coming. Shiroyanagi Masaharu had been planning this for a while, and even as Kato and Ninomiya had seemingly convinced themselves that he was involved, Sho knew in his heart that Jun hadn’t known.
“The suit was filed by the family,” Kato had kept saying. “He’s one of them.”
But Sho knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He’d had plenty of time that week to realize it. He’d gone over every conversation they’d had, every interaction Jun had had with Michiko. It was impossible. But unfortunately, the filing of the lawsuit meant that Jun wouldn’t have the opportunity to prove his innocence to Sho. Lawyers from Kimura, Kato, Inagaki & Partners had advised Sho and Shihori both to completely cut off all contact with him, at least until the prosecutor’s office had conducted their own investigation and determined whether to pursue the suit from Shiroyanagi.
He was lost, so unsure of what to do. His parents urged him to come home, to get out of Tateyama. But as long as Michiko was stuck in the hospital here, he refused to leave. Shihori remained too, only eating when Aiba could get her to do so. She’d always been cheerful, no matter what. It ached to see her this way. The house felt so empty without Michiko in it, even though it had been without its owner for more than half a century.
And unfortunately, Kato had explained to Sho, there was no way they could move forward on the will. The will as it stood was witnessed by Aiba and himself, two people who stood to inherit millions. Michiko had decided all of the monetary awards when she was holed up with Kato and Ninomiya, and Sho had only found out he was due so much money when he’d been called in to stamp the document. The money was the furthest thing from his mind, but if Michiko didn’t approve of the will as it stood with unbiased witnesses, everything would go to the next of kin, her family, anyhow.
Shiroyanagi Masaharu had probably known this, and with his perfect timing on the lawsuit, he’d all but guaranteed that Michiko would not be signing a new will any time soon. They’d have to wait until the lawsuit was dismissed to approach her about it again. If his lawsuit went through, the will Kato and Ninomiya composed would be void. If his lawsuit was dismissed, any subsequent will Michiko signed would be scrutinized harshly, and Sho had a feeling the woman wouldn’t be able to deal with it.
And there’d been the heartbreaking news from the morning before. When he’d called for a status update from the nurse, he’d been told that Michiko was in good spirits, was feeling as well as could be expected. But when she’d been asked what day it was, she’d been wrong. She’d been a day behind. It was being in the hospital, Sho figured. She was all out of sorts. But it was just another hurdle to overcome. She had to be judged of sound mind to authorize any wills moving forward.
He, Aiba, and Shihori sat quietly in the kitchen that evening. It was Aiba Masaki he currently owed his remaining sanity to. Defying the orders of the lawyers, Aiba had gone back and forth to the Tokyo apartment, hauling a few dozen of Michiko’s photo albums back with him. One of the doctors at the hospital was a friend of Aiba’s from high school and had assured him that Aiba could bring the albums to her, if only to give the old woman some small measure of happiness during her confinement.
Shihori sat between them, flipping through the pages, her fingers lingering on them. “I still really hate dolls,” she said with a chuckle, tears in her eyes.
“Why do you think I stay in the cottage?” Aiba teased gently. “If I stay in the house here, it feels like they’re watching me.”
“They’re not so bad,” Sho complained, turning the page for Shihori. The three of them came face to face with Michiko’s set of Chinese terra cotta warrior dolls, exact duplicates in miniature that lived at the house in Aichi. Their faces were always so angry, ready for battle. The three of them burst out laughing, unable to stop until their sides ached.
“Alright, alright,” Sho admitted. “Those ones are scary.”
Sho could only hope that their feelings, that their love for her, came through when Michiko had the photo albums in her arms again.
-
Jun’s grandmother was always thrilled when he showed up with treats. “It always smells so sterile here,” Matsumoto Atsuko complained, greedily snatching another cookie from the tin he and Ohno had put together for her and her friends in this wing of the care facility. “At least we can smell the sugar and sprinkles for a while.”
They’d already been up and down the floor twice, Jun pushing his grandmother in her chair while she proudly shook the tin. “My grandson’s back,” she’d call out, earning little cheers from the other residents. “Aoyama-san, won’t you come out and have some? There are sugar-free ones today!”
Jun accepted the compliments, inclining his head and offering smiles for the elderly men and women who made up his grandmother’s circle of friends. After his grandfather had passed a few years ago, Atsuko had hated living alone, and though Jun’s parents had wanted her to move in with them, she’d refused. One of her friends from the neighborhood had moved here to Tulip Garden, raving about the place. It was more active than Jun had imagined. They had classes for the residents, flower arranging and crafts, book clubs, all sorts of things to keep the mind sharp.
“Your grandfather would have hated this place,” she’d whisper, grinning. “He was always a wet blanket.”
Valentine’s Day had already passed, but the halls were still dotted with paper hearts and Cupids. He pushed his grandmother back to her room, and she placed the tin of cookies near the door. “Then the nurses can have some too. I swear, you’re trying to fatten me up, Jun-kun.”
“What, you’re as stylish and thin as ever, Grandma.”
She turned, covering her ears. “No, no, none of that. Why can’t you be more like your sister? She comes here and she says ‘Granny, let me bring you some new slippers, those are looking ratty.’”
“Arisa should mind her manners,” Jun complained, sitting down heavily in the chair beside his grandmother’s bed. She settled in, turning on her small TV set, putting on a bawdy comedian’s variety show. Another thing Jun’s grandfather would have disapproved of.
They sat there in companionable silence for at least an hour, his grandmother only making brief little comments here and there about the commercials that played. “Oh, what I’d have given for a vacuum like that when your father was a messy little boy!” “You can make just about everything in a microwave now. Times are changing indeed, Jun-kun.”
Jun kept looking over, watching her with pain weighing heavily in his heart. The family resemblance was uncanny. Matsumoto Atsuko, born Shiroyanagi Atsuko, looked so much like her Aunt Michiko that it was scary. Of course, Jun had never known a thing about Michiko-san, so it was only now that he realized it.
He hadn’t been given the opportunity to speak with his father or his sister about everything. Masaharu’s lawyers had done all the talking for him, showing up at Jun’s parents’ house while they were sitting down to a Sunday afternoon meal all together as a family. “That’s nothing to do with us,” Matsumoto Hiroki had protested, face turning red in anger as it usually did. “We have no interest in that old woman’s money, we don’t know her.”
But it had all come out, the future of Shiroyanagi Management, the part Jun was set to play. If the Matsumoto family added their names to the lawsuit, the horrific and completely unfounded elder abuse lawsuit, they too could inherit Michiko’s riches. “Won’t you think of your son and daughter? About your grandson?” the lawyer had said so slyly, and Jun thought his father was about to have a stroke.
It took his mother’s calm, gentle dismissal to get the Shiroyanagi lawyers to leave. But she hadn’t been able to calm her husband’s rage once they were gone. Arisa, as expected, had been incensed at first, clearly angry with Jun for not letting her in on the whole plan, but she changed her mind almost instantly, realizing the wealth that her little boy stood to gain. Even Keisuke, who had never been much of a material person, had questioned Jun, asking just what it could mean for Yosuke. But the conversation died right there, and his father had erupted.
“You want to be a part of that family so badly, then go join them!” he’d shouted, raising his voice at Jun in a way he hadn’t since Jun was a typical whiny teenager. “You’re an adult, Jun, so you pick your side. And that goes for you too, Arisa. You want to go crawling on your belly to a person like that for that poor old woman’s money, then go.”
“Hiroki,” his mother had tried. “Hiroki, let Jun explain…”
“Let him make his choice. He’s the one who has to live with it.”
With the way his grandmother was behaving that afternoon, Jun wondered if his parents had spoken to her about everything yet. He didn’t want to bring it up, to remind her of the painful memories of her youth. Instead he just watched more TV with her, chatted with her about the store. She asked after Ohno, who always went the extra mile in decorating cookies for her. He was the artist, and Jun knew it. He’d stopped competing on that front.
“What about your big plan?” his grandmother asked. “The one you were telling me about before Christmas?”
Jun’s mouth went dry. His silly ambition, his desire to expand the business. That was up in the air, depending on what happened with Masaharu-san. Since Tateyama, Jun had refused every request the man had made. There was no way he could look the man in the eye ever again, not after he’d played Jun like a violin. Sending Jun to Michiko had just been one idea, the lawsuit another one he’d kept in his pocket. No matter what, he was determined to get Michiko’s money.
Though Jun was one great ball of anxiety about Mr. Bake’s future, Ohno was far more understanding than he ought to be. “She’s a tough old lady,” Ohno had said, patting Jun’s shoulder. “She might still get to sign that will.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Jun-kun,” Ohno had said, rolling his eyes. “We’re too good at making bread to ever shut down for good. If we sell it from this shop or from a stand on the side of the road, we’ll figure it out. Stop worrying.”
Jun was quiet for a while, not wanting to worry his grandmother. “The shop’s doing well. We do decent business.”
“That’s good, I know how happy it makes you.” Her smile then was so genuine, so encouraging, that he had to look away. Just like Michiko, his grandmother had complete faith in him. But how easily Jun had let himself be dragged in to Masaharu’s mess. Because of Jun, he’d ruined everything. And if Masaharu’s foolish lawsuit went anywhere, it would have dire consequences for Ninomiya-san, Kato-san, Shihori-san…
Sho would never be able to recover with such a stain on his character, nothing but lies. And it would be Shiroyanagi money, Shiroyanagi lawyers, that ruined him. All thanks to Jun.
He wondered what Sho even thought of him now. Surely he had to be thinking that Jun was involved. The lawsuit had been issued mere hours after Masaharu-san’s assistant had left the hospital. It had only been weeks ago that they’d all been in the house, playing with those silly dolls. With Michiko assuring him it would all work out.
As the days slipped by, Jun was becoming doubtful that was true.
-
It was the middle of March when the prosecutor’s office wrapped up their assessment. After speaking with Michiko, with her doctors, and with all the parties involved, Shiroyanagi Masaharu’s lawsuit had been dropped. By going through years of well-maintained financial records, from interviewing the people Michiko had commissioned work from, there was little doubt that the old woman had made all her own choices when it came to spending her money. There was no evidence of wrongdoing on Sho’s part, on Shihori’s, on any of the people who represented her interests.
But even with the lawsuit dropped, clearing the way for Michiko to settle on her will, the harshness of her new life in the hospital had taken its toll on a woman who’d spent so many years living life on her own specific terms. The lawsuit’s dismissal meant that she could have visitors, that Sho and Shihori could be part of her life again, but after speaking with her doctors, there was very little that could be done.
Shihori, medically trained and capable, returned to the Tateyama house from Michiko-san’s hospital room that first day with tears in her eyes. “It’s a broken heart. They’ve broken her heart,” she’d cried, clinging to Sho and hoping for answers that he didn’t have.
Sho was able to see his employer for the first time in nearly seven weeks on the second day after the lawsuit was dropped. Michiko had always been small, popping out from underneath her comforting mound of blankets, but it was clear to Sho within just the first few moments that all the spark, all the life that had been overflowing from the elderly woman had been snuffed out. If there was any elder abuse to complain about, it was keeping her trapped in this hospital, separating her from the only people she trusted. The only “family” that meant anything to her.
Sho sat at her bedside with his laptop, reading her the news headlines. She simply nodded, taking in what he was telling her. “You’re much better than that box, Sho-chan,” she said, gesturing to the TV, her voice more subdued than he’d ever heard it. “You’ve always been so much better.”
“Is there anything I can do for you today, Michiko-san?” he asked. He didn’t dare show any of his own sorrow, keeping a smile on his face, desperate to make her happy.
She had grown frail the last several weeks. He couldn’t even imagine how traumatizing it had been for her, being cut off from them. It seemed to take a lot of effort for her to speak. “Let’s look at the pictures.”
He stayed with her as long as the nurses allowed him that day, flipping through the photo albums that Aiba had fortunately brought for her. Aside from them, there was not one thing in the hospital room with a personal touch, nothing inviting or remotely friendly. When it was time to go, he set the album back. They’d been looking at dolls from the Tateyama house, and Michiko had looked at them with none of her usual cheer. Before she’d been so content with her pictures. Now it was clear she wanted so much more, and it was too late.
He buttoned up his coat, ready to head out for the night. Tomorrow he, Shihori, and Aiba had plans to come together, pending the staff’s approval. They’d rotate in and out of the room if they had to. She needed to be coaxed back to some measure of safety, of happiness.
“Sho-chan,” her weak voice called out when he was just at the door.
He turned. “Yes, have I forgotten something?”
“Do you think Jun-chan might make me some croissants? I’ve missed them so.”
He simply nodded. “I’ll bring them for you. Get a good night’s sleep so you can eat a dozen in the morning.”
“A dozen?” Michiko scoffed, the faintest spark returning to her eyes. “Shihori-chan will never let you give me a dozen.”
“What Shihori doesn’t know won’t hurt her!”
Michiko pointed at him weakly. “Naughty, naughty boy!”
When he got to the parking structure under the building, his cell phone told him it was already after 7:00. The Mr. Bake shop in Ikebukuro was closed. But he didn’t care, getting in the car and heading for the highway.
He called Aiba, told him he would be spending the night in Tokyo, that he’d be back in the morning. Aiba hadn’t asked any questions. Sho hesitated with his phone the entire ride, not even making the call until he was already parked on a side street near the shop.
Jun’s voice, a sound he hadn’t heard in over a month, was hesitant when he answered. It was almost 10:00. “Sho-san?”
Sho wanted to say a million things. He wanted to tell Jun that he knew he’d had nothing to do with the lawsuit, that he wasn’t angry. That he was desperate to see him again, that he’d missed him. He said none of those things. “I’m actually sitting outside your shop. In my car.”
“You’re in Tokyo?”
“Yeah.”
Jun exhaled. “Why?”
“Michiko-san wants some croissants tomorrow. Baked fresh. I was hoping you could do it.”
“Give me forty-five minutes, I’ll be there.”
Sho waited, nervous as hell, checking the time on his phone nearly every minute. When there was a knock on his car window almost an hour later, he jolted in his seat, honking the horn by accident. It was Jun, waving with a nervous grin on his face. He unlocked the door, and Jun got in.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, flashing that smile that had won him over so completely. “I had to get things from the shop.”
He had a massive shopping bag with him, and Sho was confused. “I thought…wait, what’s going on?”
Jun rummaged through the bag. “These take hours to make, you know. We work on big batches of dough beforehand so they just need to be baked in the morning. It takes forever to get the butter layer right. I spend half my afternoons working on croissant dough sometimes.”
“I thought you just rolled them up?”
“Sho-san, if all you had to do was ‘roll them up’ then I’d be out of a job.”
He found himself smiling despite himself. It was almost too easy, how they’d slipped back into casual conversation. “Please pardon my usual ignorance.”
Jun lifted a cold pack from the shopping bag. “Now if you don’t mind, this stuff has to stay cool. You’d better get going.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“If she wants them fresh, I’m going to bake them in Tateyama. Then you can run them right over to her.”
He knew it. He just knew that Jun had been loyal, had stayed true to Michiko. He’d been an unfortunate pawn in Shiroyanagi-san’s schemes. He could have kissed him, right there in the car. But then, where would that leave his precious dough?
It took almost another three hours to get back to Tateyama, and it was just after 2:00 in the morning when they pulled into the drive. It had been a long, dark ride, and they’d kept the radio on, the two of them quietly singing along with some old classics. It seemed like neither of them was ready to talk about what they’d been up to the past several weeks. Sho had a feeling that Jun’s experience had been just as rough as his own. For right now, it was enough that Jun was here, willing to help.
“What time do visiting hours start?” Jun whispered as they walked up the stairs.
“10:00 AM.”
“Wake me at 6:30.”
As soon as they were in the door, Jun put his things in the refrigerator, barely getting out of his coat before collapsing onto the couch in his jeans and t-shirt. Sho grinned, picking up his coat and hanging it by the door. He tiptoed quietly through the living room, putting a blanket on him. Michiko was going to be so happy to see him again.
Sho came downstairs again at 6:30, but Jun was already in the kitchen, probably running on fumes after sleeping a handful of hours on the couch. He had his dough spread out on the counter, using a pizza cutter to slice it up evenly. Sho sat in a chair at the table, saying nothing as he watched. Jun was methodical, exacting in his work. Once he’d sliced up the dough, he did the part that Sho knew something about, rolling them up into the proper shape. He then cracked an egg into a bowl with just a splash of water, using some sort of brush to coat them.
He then set them aside, looking up. “Morning.”
“You rolled them up.”
“I did,” Jun admitted.
“So I wasn’t wrong.”
Jun rolled his eyes. “These need to sit for about ninety minutes. Guess that gives me time to make you breakfast, huh?”
Sho blushed. “Well, if you’re offering.”
Shihori came downstairs as soon as Jun had a pot of coffee going, mumbling some morning greetings. They were soon joined by Aiba, who was in pajama bottoms and had clearly come from upstairs as well. Jun offered no commentary, rummaging through the fridge to see what he could throw together. Soon enough they were all gobbling up tamagoyaki and rice.
While Sho volunteered to clean up (since he never had anything to contribute cooking-wise), Jun got everything ready to bake. Soon the kitchen smelled incredible, and he pulled them from the oven to cool. The whole house had a sinfully buttery scent. Michiko-san had conditioned them all to have a firm appreciation for croissants, and Sho had to struggle to keep his fingers to himself, desperate to yank one off the rack where they were cooling.
Shihori rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out a food storage bin. “We’ll toss them in here. Sho-kun, go upstairs, get one of the doll ribbons, we’ll make it a little pretty for her.”
While Shihori and Jun got the big delivery ready to go, he headed upstairs. The perfect ribbon, the perfect ribbon. He was digging through one of the tubs in the spare room when he heard his phone go off. “Ah, not now,” he grumbled, up to his elbows in tissue paper. He answered the call.
“Hello, this is Sakurai.”
-
It had been peaceful. Painless, the doctor assured them. Simply her time, one of the nurses had said.
But it wasn’t, Jun knew. If he’d never interfered, Michiko might have never left the comforts of her Tokyo apartment. She might still be alive, thriving to the extent any spunky old lady might. But they’d never know.
He didn’t know what to do to help, and he had barely slept. When Sho’s call had come the night before, he’d dropped everything. Hell, he’d taken half the croissant dough from the shop and had left Ohno some half-assed note in explanation. He’d left Mr. Bake with little notice, and he could only hope Ohno would understand why.
But standing in the hospital, knowing they’d been too late, he felt rotten inside. Almost angry with Michiko. Why couldn’t you have waited a little longer, he thought. Why couldn’t we have been here with you at the very end?
She’d passed away in her sleep, and before Sho even allowed himself to take a breath, to react, to even mourn, he had his phone back out. He was calling the law firm. He was calling Ninomiya. And Jun knew, Jun just knew, that Masaharu had won. There was a little more than a week left in his precious fiscal year. And here was his windfall.
The week that followed was a blur.
To add insult to injury, the Shiroyanagi family - Masaharu, his wife, distant cousins - they all got involved. By default, the execution of Michiko’s estate fell to them, and they decided that organizing Michiko’s wake and funeral was their responsibility too. Though weeks earlier they’d falsely accused Sakurai Sho and Kanjiya Shihori of wishing Michiko harm, they were tactless enough to invite them to the wake. It was scheduled to be held in the same parlor where only months earlier, Jun had made the mistake of showing sympathy for a cousin he didn’t even know.
Now the Shiroyanagi family was paying Michiko the same courtesy, a woman they’d never bothered to meet, to know, to love. They threw her a grand wake and funeral that was the complete opposite of the wishes she’d expressed in the will that meant nothing. The people who were coming to mourn hadn’t met her. To Jun’s surprise, Arisa didn’t go. She’d said nothing, offered no complaints when the Shiroyanagi lawyers came back around, when Matsumoto Hiroki told them to get off his property and leave them alone.
After speaking with Aiba shortly after the funeral, the caretaker told Jun that Sho had organized something quiet, something private at the Tateyama house. Would Jun be kind enough to come?
He and Ohno took the bus, bringing cupcakes frosted in some of Michiko’s favorite colors. Croissants, Jun had decided, would just be too heartbreaking. The house had been transformed, and from the dark bags under Sho’s eyes, Jun knew instantly that he’d been the one to get everything organized. All the furniture was moved, covered in drop cloths. There were photos everywhere, enlarged and printed out, tacked up on every inch of wall space.
Sure, there were a few of her dolls, but most of them were not. There were pictures of all the property she owned - the mountains in Nagano, the sea in Chiba. There were pictures of Michiko herself over the years, taken by the various assistants she’d employed. There were pictures of the people who’d worked for her. A photograph of Aiba Masaki offering a peace sign, a demolished bathroom behind him. A photograph of Kanjiya Shihori in bright yellow sunglasses, waving at the camera during some well-earned vacation time in Hawaii. Jun went from room to room, finding only one picture of Sho in the entire house. Maybe after all those years there’d only been the one.
It was the photograph of him and Michiko together, sitting on the couch here in the Tateyama house. It was the picture Jun had taken - Michiko holding her beloved doll, Sho watching her with such love that it made Jun choke up, hurrying from the room before he made a scene.
The group gathered for Michiko’s real wake was small, no more than 30 or 40 people. Her inner circle, people from Kato’s law firm, from Ninomiya’s office. A handful of craftsmen and artisans from all over Japan who had been hired by Michiko over the years. But at the very least they’d all known her, had spoken to her, exchanged letters with her. Been frustrated by her.
On May 1st, Aiba explained to Jun, all of the property of Shiroyanagi Michiko was going on the market. Her houses in Aichi, Nagano, and Chiba. Her apartments in Tokyo. Her furniture. Her dolls and her dollhouses. Her artwork and her jewelry, anything of value. According to Kato, it was Masaharu’s wife who was taking charge of all the auctions. The proceeds from all of her precious dolls and jewels were going to the charities Michiko had supported throughout her long life. A small concession, Jun knew, considering that Shiroyanagi Management was taking all the money Michiko had in the bank, in the stock market, in the sale of all her property.
Her caretakers - Aiba in Chiba, a woman from the Nagano property, a middle-aged man from the Aichi property - were now out of work. As of yet, Aiba didn’t have any plans, but he didn’t seem too worried about it. “I’ve got a ton in savings thanks to Michiko-san,” he admitted. “She’s taking care of me now.”
Shihori was the dutiful hostess, explaining the contents of several of the pictures, smiling sadly as she moved through the room. Ohno had struck up an odd conversation with the lawyer, Kato. Apparently they shared a fondness for fishing. At least Jun didn’t have to worry about his partner being unable to mingle with these people. He had only seen Sho briefly, when they’d come in, and they hadn’t spoken yet. In fact, Jun hadn’t seen Sho for quite some time now.
Ninomiya managed to corner Jun near a collage of photographs of the Nagano mountains. “Maybe he’ll become a photojournalist,” Ninomiya said, smirking. “He’s always reading the papers, you know. He’s like an encyclopedia with all that useless knowledge.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?”
Ninomiya nodded. “I think so. It’ll be longer for him than for most, simply because of how close they were. Finding a job though, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
“Why do you say that?”
The accountant grabbed another of Ohno’s cupcakes from the table, picking at the wrapper. “Kato had a letter for him. All he has to do is include it in a job application, and I’m sure he’s all set.”
“What kind of letter was it?”
Ninomiya, who’d been all numbers since Jun had met him, actually looked sad for a moment, his chin quivering the slightest bit before he recovered himself. “She wrote recommendation letters for him and Kanjiya-san. Kato’s had them on file for months, she did it without telling them. She never could be bothered about that will, but she wanted to make sure the two of them found a job after she was gone. They’re really nice.”
Jun stepped back, letting Ninomiya enjoy his sugar. He headed upstairs, past the lawyers and the dollhouse makers, finding Sho in the bedroom he’d used at the end of the hall. Aiba had shifted most of the furniture around, covered it with cloth. Sho didn’t seem to mind, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. He was in his suit and tie, not seeming to care if it got wrinkled while he sat.
Jun decided he didn’t care either, shutting the door and moving over to him, having a seat next to him. He looked so tired, like he might fall over at any moment. His eyes were bloodshot, his round face streaked with tear tracks. There was paper at his feet, a few sheets stapled together, printed out. The letter from Michiko-san.
“I never hated you. I never blamed you,” Sho said quietly, staring straight ahead. “I’m sure you’ve been beating yourself up about this.”
“Sho-san…”
He let out the saddest little sigh. “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself for what happened. If it hadn’t been you, I’m sure that man would have tried something else. She was happy, so happy, that week we were here. It truly is thanks to you, Jun. You changed her life for the better.”
He could feel his eyes burning. “I’m so incredibly sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Sho scooted a little closer, his head dropping lazily to rest on Jun’s shoulder. “The auction house actually called me the other day. They wanted me to help in getting things organized, her dolls, so they could be sold. Can you believe that?”
“Well, you did do an incredible job,” Jun replied. Sho was a warm, calming presence at his side. If Jun had never gone to Daisuke’s wake, setting this whole mess in motion, they might not have met. He wondered if it was selfish of him to be happy they’d found each other.
“I really did,” Sho admitted, and when he chuckled, Jun could feel it all the way to his bones.
They were quiet for a while, letting the chatter from downstairs punctuate their silence.
Eventually Jun poked at the little bundle of paper with his foot. “Can I read it?”
“Sure, if you want.”
Sho moved, sitting up properly. He looked away while Jun read through it, biting his lip. The final page nearly broke him fully, and Jun suspected that was the reason why Sho was up here in this room, mourning alone.
…and let it be said, future employer, that Sakurai Sho-san is not just a person of incredible work ethic, a person of skill and thoughtfulness who will work harder for you than anyone else on your payroll. No, there’s more to him than the person who earns a salary like all the others.
He is warm. He is gentle. He is articulate. He is focused. He is dedicated. He is kind. He is steadfast. He is uncompromising. He is a perfectionist. He is generous.
He’d go to the moon and back if it meant helping out someone who needed him. And I can tell you from personal experience that I needed a man like Sakurai Sho. I keep mostly to myself, you see, and I hope you’ll forgive the ramblings of an old woman, but from the day I met him, I just knew that he would do whatever it took to make me happy. He was a young little punk, a boy with his ear pierced and some foolish hairstyle. Despite those trappings, he had an impressive academic pedigree, but he never once spoke down to me. He never once presumed that because he was young and I was old, that because he was a man and I was just an old lady, that he knew better.
I had previous assistants who tried to change my way of living. “Michiko-san,” they’d say. “Why don’t you go live with family, it’s their obligation to care for you.” “Michiko-san, stop throwing your money away on such silly things.” Sakurai-san instead showed his flexibility in adapting to me instead. I never made it easy for him. I sent him all over the country. I made him go back and forth on the work projects I commissioned. I made him work unreasonable hours, I stole him away from family vacations and holidays. I teased him and I expected him to give me everything I wished, even when it was near impossible, and I tell you without hesitation that Sakurai-san delivered on every promise to me.
I’ve always been the type to be happy with things as they are, preferring to experience the world from the comfort of home. It’s earned me names like eccentric, like crazy, like mentally incapacitated. Sakurai-san offered no judgment on my way of living.
He respected me.
He was my dearest friend.
While I shut myself away, he was my eyes. He was me, the person I couldn’t be, running my errands, negotiating my whims, being my voice in a world that to this day still has me wary. All of it, he did all of it, without much complaining, though I certainly gave him cause. I cherish every minute in his company and consider myself one of the luckiest people to have known him.
What I need you to understand, future employer, is that hiring Sakurai Sho can only benefit you. He’ll work so hard that he’ll bring up any of the slack-offs or layabouts beside him. He’ll treat your customers, your clients, with the respect they deserve. He’ll be your company’s eyes, your company’s voice, elevating everything you do. Am I exaggerating? I certainly don’t believe I am, but have a look yourself. Have a chat with Sakurai Sho, and may you have the utmost fortune of discovering what I’ve known to be true for ten wonderful years. Please keep him in your favor.
Shiroyanagi Michiko
2014 September 19
“She certainly had a high opinion of you. What a letter,” he said when he finished. But when he set the letter down, he could just see Sho shaking from the corner of his eye. He looked over, saw fresh tears sliding down Sho’s face. “Oh Sho-san…”
All Jun could do was open his arms, and he let Sho cry until he had no more tears to spill.
-
ONE YEAR LATER
-
If there was one thing he’d missed while he’d been traveling, it was the scent of Jun’s cakes. And Ohno-san’s too, of course.
Sure, he’d passed bakeries in almost every city, trying his share of sweets. But nothing really seemed to compare. He was happy to be home, back in Tokyo. His initial plan had been for a month. But then he’d expanded his itinerary, had been unable to say no to his own ideas when he clearly had the money and time to burn. Here he was, five months later, “Mr. Global Traveler.” Or at least that was what Shihori had changed his name to in the LINE app whenever she sent him a message.
Seventeen countries, a whirlwind trip he’d always dreamed of but had never been able to undertake. He’d started working for Michiko right out of college, and that had been the end of those sorts of ambitions. Not that he’d ever resented her for it.
The auction company had paid him quite handsomely for his assistance in organizing her dolls in the weeks after she passed away. In fact, they’d been so impressed that they’d come right out and offered him a job. He’d informed them of his future travel plans, and they’d been kind enough to hold the offer until he returned. Today was his first day of work, only the second job he’d ever had in his entire life. He would have a supervisor, multiple supervisors in fact. He’d wear a suit and tie now. Very different from the Sakurai Sho who’d answered that strange ad over a decade ago.
The company was headquartered not far from Shibuya Station, and no matter how long he’d been away from Tokyo, it was impossible to forget the proper timing - taking the train up to Ikebukuro and back. He had plenty of time as he opened the door to Mr. Bake, smiling at the sight of Ohno-san standing behind the counter. He hadn’t changed at all, with his sleepy eyes and welcoming smile. He gestured to the swinging door.
“He’s got it ready for you, go on in. He knows you’re on a tight schedule.”
Sho nodded in acknowledgment, heading on through. He found Matsumoto Jun there, putting the finishing touches on a “Michiko Special” box, the newest promotion Mr. Bake had going. It was a combo box in a cheerful orange, filled with two croissants in one compartment and a slice of banana cream cake in the other. Though Sho had sent at least a dozen messages doubting that anyone would buy such a combo, Jun had replied that it was a hit. Breakfast and a treat for later, it seemed to work for some people.
He was happy that Mr. Bake was still here. After Jun had told him everything he’d gone through, all the nasty threats from Shiroyanagi Masaharu, Sho was surprised the man hadn’t swooped in with his money and forced Ohno and Jun out. In fact, the opposite had happened. Once he had his money, the money he’d done absolutely nothing to earn, Shiroyanagi-san left Jun alone. Though rents were still on the upswing in the neighborhood, it was doubtful Mr. Bake was going anywhere.
Which didn’t bode so well for Sho’s diet. Traveling the world, he’d been on the go so much that he’d dropped several kilos. He anticipated that a lot of that would come back now that he was back in the land of the Michiko Special combo box. All that butter and whipped cream, it was dangerous.
He stood opposite Jun by his work table, seeing the other trays of sweets prepared to go out into the store once their first morning batches sold. They were still a fairly small enterprise, but their customers were loyal. Jun in his close-fitting apron was definitely a highlight of Sho’s morning, worth the extra travel time.
After everything, they’d been a little unsure of what to do. With Sho’s planned travel and Jun’s worries over his business, those first few months had been confusing. Were they together? Should they be? How would it work? Instead they’d tabled the discussion, and Sho had gone on his trip. He’d been back in Japan for almost a month now, readjusting to life again. And part of that readjustment had included Matsumoto Jun.
Sho really was enjoying this adjustment, watching Jun slide the combo box across the table. “I’m not doing this for you every day,” Jun said, as ridiculously honest as he’d always been.
He smiled across at him. “I’m not asking you to.” He peered into the box, rolling his eyes when he saw how large the slice of cake was. “This seems abnormal.”
“I have no idea what you mean, Sho-san.”
Sho closed the box again, checking his watch. “I’ve got about 10 minutes before I have to head for the station.”
“Oh,” Jun said, leaning against his table. “Is that all?”
He grinned. “Don’t we have a dinner date later?”
Jun laughed. “You may be right. I do remember someone whining and whining that I had to try this Italian place in Ebisu. Was that you?”
“You have a lot of admirers, Matsumoto-san?”
“Only one that’s worth an extra big slice of cake.”
Sho moved first, seeing Jun take a quick glance at the swinging door in embarrassment. But Sho doubted Ohno-san was going to pop his head in any time soon. When he reached for Jun, Jun stepped back.
“Idiot,” Jun said, “wait a second.”
Sho realized that he’d been about to wrap his arms around someone adorned with powdered sugar, and he waited impatiently for Jun to tug his apron off, to make sure he didn’t have anything on his hands that might get on Sho’s brand new suit. Sho discovered that Jun had been sampling his own merchandise, could smell banana cream on him when they kissed.
Today was the start of something new, and he tucked the Michiko Special box in the bag Ohno held out for him once he came back through the kitchen door. It was a little scary, a little exciting, and he knew that somewhere out there, Shiroyanagi Michiko was looking after him kindly, perhaps a little annoyed that she hadn’t gotten her croissants yet.
Sho had a spring in his step when he left the shop, heading for Ikebukuro Station, for his new job, and for a new chapter of his life that could only get better and better.
Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4