Welcome to Heaven | ✓

42: Coconut Cream Pie

"It's not that difficult, me. The answer's transparent. Okito was messing with me because I selfishly terminated our friendship. And Chiaki... I'd kiss myself too if I was in his shoes. I'm attractive as hell. Yeah. Miko was jumping to conclusions."

"Koto is talking to herself again."

The door to my bedroom creaked. Sota poked his head inside, looking nothing short of horrified.

"What happened, dear?" Mom strolled inside. Even in the middle of August, she was dressed for work. Plopping onto the edge of my bed, she tenderly rested her hand on my lap. "You've been acting..."

"—crazy!" Sota cried.

Mom cast a chastising glare. "—since you returned last week. Care to divulge why?"

"Mother, I'm too irresistible."

She ascended to her feet. "I worried for no reason."

"No, but for real. Your genes are a crime, Mom. You're so pretty."

"Ge...ne?" Sota echoed, tilting his head.

"As fond as I am of being sweet-talked by my daughter, I have to go." She patted my shoulder. "Making enough for the bills this month is my priority, not appearances."

Her concealer hardly camouflaged the dark circles beneath her eyes. She'd been working overtime recently. Well, since the divorce, she had meagre time to spare at home between taking shifts.

"Gotta get you to Nao's house, Sota," she added, motioning him off. "She's agreed to babysit for the afternoon."

"Auntie's house? Yay! She promised to watch Justice Ninjas with me!"

He sprinted outside, beaming wide.

"Dad got remarried."

Mom screeched to a standstill before she could pursue him. I tugged my knees to my chest.

"He has a kid, too. A girl."

Her gaze flitted to the ground. "You spoke with him?"

"At the beach."

"I see. He's back in the city."

I nibbled my lower lip.

"He could have said something at least." I compressed my grip. "I... have so many things I want to tell him. Sota, too. He's grown so much. Doesn't he want to see him?"

Mom caressed my back, now seated in front of me.

"Instead, he has the gall to call out to me with that dumb grin on his face. Practically boasting that he's moved on to better things. Is that all we are to him? Baggage he's left behind?"

It was cruel, mentioning this, when I knew Mom suffered far more than I did. Dad was never as committed to her as she was to him. Leaving for weeks at a time without explanation, having affairs; the victim-blaming. When I was younger, the two buried the ugly the best they could. Put on facades, interacting as the happy family we were required to be. I never caught on for years. By the time I did, Sota had been born, and they were filing divorce papers. In my ignorance, we spent plentiful lighthearted days together. My extensive sweet tooth—all my virtues and vices—I inherited from him. He frequently baked me treats, took me to all-you-can-eat dessert buffets. We were identical in countless ways. Naturally, back then, he attended my recitals as my number one supporter. I kept doing recitals long after I stopped enjoying it because I treasured those memories.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she whispered. "I know how close you were. I'm not telling you to let him go completely, but... this isn't where he belongs anymore. My presence alone may not compare, but it's all I can give you guys right now."