by JT Lawrence
“You were the groom at a stranger’s wedding?”
“A client’s wedding, yes,” he says. “Sometimes I feel as if I am really getting married! Organising a Neurotic wedding is just as much hard work as a regular one, and by the time I kiss the bride at the ceremony we have usually bonded a lot.”
“But why do they pretend to get married?”
“To get nagging parents off their backs? To get rid of a persistent ex-lover? Because they’ve always wanted a big wedding but have never met the right person? Each client has his or her own set of unique reasons. We’re just here to help.”
Junichuro walks all the way to his old office so that he can have time to think. When he finds his former boss, he asks if he can retract his resignation. A new face in a business suit is sitting in his office. There are toys on his desk. “Sorry,” says his previous employer. “We’ve already hired a replacement.”
“It’s a strange world,” says Junichuro, then leaves the air-conditioned office behind.
The daylight fades as Junichuro walks home. He’s not used to the exercise, and his legs ache by the time he returns to his house. He is rooted to the spot when he sees the lights are on; there is friendly chatting going on inside. His house has been cold and quiet for so long. Junichuro walks cautiously to the front door, where someone had budged the pot plant in order to retrieve the key. He only notices now how the plant, a purple-flowered andromeda, is blooming. He wonders what else he has missed whilst being surrounded by the gloomy mental fog that has shrouded him since his wife’s death.
When Junichuro opens the front door, he smells the distinct aroma of okonomiyaki, his favourite kind of savoury pancake; the type of pancake his wife used to make for him. He stands there, with the door open, unsure how to proceed into his own house, which is suddenly warm and welcoming.
“Churo?” comes a welcoming voice from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
Junichuro feels sweat break out under his arms. What has he done?
An attractive middle-aged woman with dark hair and sparkling eyes comes around the corner. She wipes her hands on a cloth and throws it over her shoulder.
“Churo!” she says again, “close that door and come out of the breeze.”
She is around Nishi's age and weight and is wearing a simple, flattering dress with a small polka dot print that he's sure Nishi would have liked.
"Papa!" says a voice behind him, making him jump. He's on edge, and seeing strangers in his house adds to his feeling of discomfort. A jacket is draped unceremoniously on the back of a chair. There is a handbag on the side table. Junichuro turns to look at the young woman who had just called him. Like the woman cooking pancakes, she is a close match to his daughter: slender, with almond eyes. She hugs him, and he awkwardly returns the embrace. Her hair smells like apple blossoms.
“Papa,” she says, “I’ve missed you! It’s so wonderful to see you!” She pushes him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re late! We expected you at sunset.”
“Set the table, please,” calls the woman in the kitchen. “The food is ready.”
Junichuro washes his hands, and they sit down to dinner. His spine is straight and he finds it difficult to join in the banter. Everything feels surreal, and he wonders if he is dreaming.
“Oh,” says the stand-in wife. “My name is Airi, but you can call me Nishi if you like."
“I’m Fumiko, but you can call me Chie,” says the young woman.
Junichuro choked on a piece of mushroom, and without hesitating, Airi stood up to pound him on the back.
“Papa? Are you okay?” Fumiko passes him a glass of water. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” Junichuro says, coughing. “I just—”
“It’ll take some getting used to, having us around.” Airi’s hands rest on his shoulders, which relax slightly under her warm palms.
Fumiko puts her chopsticks down. “Would you like us to leave?”
“No,” says Junichuro, taking a swig of water. “No. I’d like you to stay.”
During the awkward tour of the house, Airi notices the Samurai sword displayed on the wall and gasps. “It’s beautiful,” she says, reaching for it.
Junichuro grabs her hand. “It’s cursed,” Junichuro replies. “You must never touch it.”
The first date cost twenty thousand yen, and when Yamamura phoned Junichuro the next day to check on how he had enjoyed it, Junichuro requested a regular schedule where the women would visit three times a week. They agreed on a price and ended the call satisfied with the transaction. The next time the stand-in wife and daughter visited, it felt less awkward, and the conversation wasn't as stilted as before. Junichuro didn't choke on his food, and the women even laughed at a joke he told, which he wasn't used to, so it made him blush. On subsequent meetings, Junichuro gives them advice about saving money and investing. Sometimes he would buy them small gifts: tokens of his appreciation. A dress for Airi, a bracelet for Fumiko. Mostly, Airi cooks for them, but sometimes he would take them out to a restaurant. They become so comfortable with each other after a while that they don’t even need to talk. They sit on the couch together, watching a movie or laughing at a game show. The women drop their pretences and feel free to act like themselves. One night they watch a movie about a father and daughter, and Junichuro finds himself switching off the television and putting his face in his hands. Still, he does not cry.
“What’s wrong, Papa?” asks Fumiko.
“My daughter, Chie,” says Junichuro. “We had a terrible argument. She moved out before Nishi died, and I haven't seen her since."
“All daughters need their fathers,” says Fumiko. “You must phone her. She is waiting for your call.”
“I don’t know about that,” he says.
“Fumiko is right,” says Airi. “You must phone her.”
Junichuro understands that because Fumiko is not his real daughter, he is less strict with her. They enjoy a closer relationship than he does with his flesh and blood. He is also more easy-going with the house when they are there. When Airi leaves her jacket lying around, or her hairbrush, Junichuro does not scold her as he would have, his wife. Junichuro’s stand-in family makes him realise that he was too exacting with his family, too uptight. He understands with a feeling of sincere regret that he had been a cold husband and father. He hands the remote control to Fumiko.
“It’s okay,” she says, hugging him. “We’ll watch something else.”
Junichuro is filled with a new purpose. He makes an appointment to see Yamamura at The Family Romance of Neurotics.
“Is there a problem, Misutā Matsumato?”
“Not at all,” says Junichuro. “Not at all.”
“The women tell me you are a wonderful man.”
They drink tea while Junichuro tells Yamamura how happy he is with the service.
“I’d like to join the team,” he says.
Yamamura sets his teacup down. “Join?”
“I’d like to help people the way Airi and Fumiko have helped me.”
Yamamura claps his hands together. “Hai!” Okay. “When can you start?”
Junichuro’s first job is to accompany an anxious pregnant woman to the doctor. The father of the baby has left her, and Erina needs support for the obstetrician appointments. He holds her damp hand as they look at the ultrasound screen together. They celebrate when the doctor says it is a healthy baby girl and get a printout each, to put on their fridge doors. He phones Erina now and then to ask how she is feeling, and check if she is taking her prenatal supplements. On another job, Junichuro stands in as a husband for a woman whose partner doesn’t listen to her. He takes her out for sake and dumplings and listens carefully to what she has to say, and how she feels about the important and not-so-important things in life. He is empathetic and never gives advice; he is just there to listen and offer encouragement. This is another lesson for him, and he wishes he had learnt it before he pushed his wife and daughter away. Another job entails Junichuro to scol
d a high-ranking corporate director who is feeling demotivated in his career. He spends company money on hostess clubs and golf instead of doing his work, and he wants someone to reprimand him for it. Junichuro finds himself slamming his fist into the expensive boardroom table and yelling at the man, rebuking him for his lack of discipline. The director is satisfied with the treatment and adds a generous tip to the bill, with which Junichuro buys a teddy bear for Erina’s baby and a ring for Airi. For the first time in years, he feels hopeful for the future, even happy.
The next job is significantly more difficult. The husband of a woman who has had an affair wants the lover to apologise to him. Junichuro is a loyal man; he knows it will be challenging to play this part. He prepares himself on the way to the appointment, trying to get into character as he had been taught in the training programme at The Family Romance of Neurotics. He would offer the man his sincere apologies; he would grovel if need be. Junichuro thinks of all the regrets he has in life and lets the emotions sit high in his chest, waiting to be spilt. When he arrives at the apartment, he is nervous. He paces the corridor and wipes the perspiration from his brow.
You can do this, Junichuro, he hears Nishi say. You can do this.
Junichuro knocks on the door and stands back, waiting for the angry husband to answer. The door flies open, and Junichuro immediately gets to his knees, apologising and begging for forgiveness. When he looks up, he sees the man is covered with bulging veins, prison ink and gangster tattoos, and his biceps are like rocks. Junichuro’s blood runs cold. The man is a Yukuza, and he’s furious. Everyone in Japan knows that if you make a member of the Yakuza angry, your life is as good as over. Junichuro’s gaze rests on the man's left hand and notices he's missing a small finger. Adrenaline washes through him like a bucket of cold water. The gangster reaches into his pocket. Expecting a knife, Junichuro jolts and moves to shield his face, but there is a flash of light before he does so. The gangster puts his phone away. He now has a picture of the man he thinks cheated with his wife.
Junichuro arrives home shaky and emotional. Airi is there to pour him a warm brandy and comfort him.
“Don’t worry,” she tells him, touching his shoulders the way she does. “Everything will be fine.”
Junichuro brims with gratitude. He falls to his knees and brings out the ring.
“Marry me,” he says. “Please.”
Airi’s hand flies to her chest. “What?”
“We are happy together, aren’t we? Marry me.”
“I wasn’t expecting this.” She takes a step back.
Realising his mistake, Junichuro springs up, fumbling with the ring with desperate fingers. He puts it back in his pocket.
“Ignore the ring,” he says. “Ignore the foolish proposal. All I really want is you and Fumiko to stay here with me. I have enough room.”
"I wasn't expecting this," repeats Airi, looking disappointed. Her look sends a sharp pain across his chest.
“I have learnt what is important in life now,” says Junichuro. “Family is everything. But sometimes family isn’t blood. I love you, Airi. Move in with me. Then it can be real.”
“It is already real,” says Airi.
“Not while I’m paying for your services,” he says.
Airi smiles sadly and picks up her handbag. She walks towards the door. He has broken protocol, and now he probably won’t see her again.
“Just think about it, Airi, please,” says Junichuro. "The key will be under the pot plant, where it always is. Let yourself in, and make yourself at home. I'll make okonomiyaki for dinner.”
When Junichuro wakes up, his eyes click open and the cold-water-dread is still sloshing inside him. He stares at the ceiling, thinking of Nishi, Airi, Yamamura, Fumiko, and Chie. He sits up and phones his daughter. She doesn’t pick up, so he leaves a voice message.
“Chie, my beloved daughter. I am so sorry for the way I behaved. We should never have fought. You are a wonderful young woman and mature enough to make your own decisions. I know I have been difficult, but I understand now what is important. Please allow me to make it up to you. The andromeda is flowering, and the key is under the pot. You are always welcome here at home. I’m proud of you, and I love you.”
He hopes she’ll phone him back, or even come home for a visit. In the meantime, he has a job to do. He arrives at the maternity ward with the teddy bear and a bunch of yellow tulips. He finds the ward number of Erina, the pregnant woman he has been supporting, and wends his way through the antiseptic maze of white-tiled corridors. He hears her shouting from five doors down and picks up his pace. When he falls through the door, he sees Erina’s flushed, perspiring face.
“Junichuro!” she says. “You made it!”
“I wouldn’t miss it!” He fills a vase with water. “Are you in pain?”
“Pain is too subtle a concept for what I feel,” she says, grinning, but then a contraction tears the smile off her face.
Junichuro shoves the tulips into a jug and rushes to Erina’s side, not caring that it looks untidy on the hospital windowsill. “I’m here for you,” he says, and she almost breaks his knuckles when the next contraction arrives. The hours in the ward pass excruciatingly slowly, but once they get into the delivery room everything speeds up, and people begin rushing around them, asking terse questions and instructing her when and how to push.
“You can do it, Erina,” he says, remembering the birth of his own daughter, and how apprehensive Nishi had been. A part of him wants to rewind his life so that he could be a better husband and father, the other part—the stronger part—tells him he is exactly where he belongs.
When the baby arrives, choking and wailing, the doctor lifts the infant for Erina to see, and they are both overcome with emotion. Junichuro and Erina weep together, and when the baby is wrapped up and put on Erina’s chest, they cry some more. The world is suddenly a painfully beautiful place, full of hope and despair and a strange, searing joy. Junichuro cries for his late wife, his prodigal daughter, and the future they’ll never share. He cries for Airi and Fumiko, who had shown him what it was like to love again. The weeping allows Junichuro to break the bonds that had tethered him to his trauma, and his tears twist his heartache into a rising sense of purpose.
Junichuro leaves Erina to care for her new baby, kissing her forehead and promising to visit soon. As he heads home, he can’t help feeling a bubbling sense of excitement in his stomach. Will Airi be there, cooking pancakes? Will Chie finally visit? He feels so different, now, and the world looks bright with possibility. He stops outside his house when he sees the kitchen and living room lights on, and it reminds him of the first night he met Airi and Fumiko. He had been awkward, but now he feels fluid and driven. The andromeda pot has been moved; the key is missing. The door is slightly ajar. He pushes it open the rest of the way and sniffs the air for the aroma of okonomiyaki or apple blossoms, but smells neither.
“Airi?” he calls.
The house is silent; that buzzing silence that climbs right into your ears and unsettles you. Junichuro then understands who is in his house. Instead of running, he takes off his shoes and walks through to the living room.
The Yakuza is there, his four-fingered hand wrapped around the jade handle of the cursed samurai sword. Without uttering a word, he knows the tattooed man is there to exact retribution for his wife’s disloyalty. Junichuro is unarmed and full of grace. He knows he can fight, but he will not win. Instead, he drops to his knees before the street warrior and clasps his hands together, waiting for the finality of the cold, cursed steel. He thinks of the small buddha next to Nishi's high-tech glass grave in the charnel house in downtown Tokyo; thinks of the beautiful wash of autumnal colours as the LEDs change according to the seasons. There is a swishing sound. The last thing Junichuro sees is Nishi's shooting star, and he is happy.
10
Sisters
The first time I became suspicious of my nanny was when I stalked her on Facebook. I don’t know what made me look at her p
rofile, but something about her photos made me feel uncomfortable. It became a bit of an obsession, always scrolling for new posts. In real life, Megan appeared wonderful, and Charlotte, my three-year-old, loved her.
I couldn’t put my finger on why her social media posts unsettled me.
“Do you ever, you know, feel weird around Megan?” I asked my husband one morning as I pulled on my skinny jeans. They seemed tighter than usual.
Scott was adjusting his hair in the mirror. “Yes.”
I froze. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?” I asked, my stomach contracting.
“Well, it’s really quiet when she’s here, right? The kitchen is clean. And the house is tidy.”
“Ah, shut it,” I said, and tossed the closest thing at hand, which happened to be my pyjama pants. It landed on his head and only seemed to encourage him. He turned around and put on his fake ethereal voice.
"It's like … a parallel universe," Scott said, making spirit fingers. "So peaceful."
"Feck off," I said. Unfortunately, there was nothing left to throw at him.
The hard truth was that life was a whole lot easier when Megan was around. Scott and I were both sleeping through the night for the first time in years. The toddler tantrums stopped, the laundry was done, and the kitchen didn’t look like a small but effective explosive had been recently detonated in it. Why couldn’t I just let go, and enjoy it? Was I really that uptight? Or was it envy? Sometimes I caught Scott glancing at Megan in an appreciative way. Megan was ten years younger than I was, and she had the body to prove it.
"She looks like you," Scott had said in a throwaway comment when we’d been searching online for a good match. “You could be sisters.”
He had a point. We had the same long, dark, straight hair (hers was fuller and glossier), the same figure (hers was slimmer) and the same green eyes. Maybe I felt uncomfortable because we looked so similar. Perhaps it was the "uncanny valley" effect, where you get a weird emotional response from looking at an AI bot that appears too human. Now, I wasn't saying that Megan was a robot, but she may as well have been, with that tiny waist of hers, unfailing smile, and perfect skin. She was a decade younger, and unravaged by pregnancy, breastfeeding, and sleep deprivation.