Episode One Hundred and Fourty-Four
It was an autumn that passed in the blink of an eye.
Carrying an anxiety that never quite went away, I threw myself into work, completely absorbed.
Not everything led to results I could point to, and there were more than a few moments where I felt a keen sense of injustice — days that made me viscerally aware, all over again, of just how fragile the position of a freelancer is.
Even so, the reason I managed to hold my ground was probably that hope was shining somewhere ahead on the road.
Having a light up ahead — I found myself thinking — really does illuminate the days like this.
Come winter, a big job came in through my old workplace.
A new Rêve product line. They wanted to add a new lineup for the February Valentine’s sales push. The new flavors: raspberry, and matcha tiramisu.
Hearing that they’d specifically requested me — Amami — by name for the package design, my chest went warm.
The princess at the heart of the design would change depending on the product. A different dress for the raspberry flavor. Traditional Japanese dress for the matcha tiramisu.
I threw myself eagerly into churning out rough sketches.
In an online meeting, I heard that a collaboration project with an idol unit was in motion for the launch, and when I asked, half-suspecting, sure enough — it was exactly what I suspected.
Everyone in “Charles” was working hard too. I won’t lose to them, I thought.
Christmas and New Year’s were both swallowed up by work. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t lonely.
I’d been holding back on contacting Ibara too. If I chatted, I’d want to call. If I called, I’d want to see her.
If I actually see her, that’s the end of it — that reasoning might have just been an excuse. A way of averting my eyes from the anxiety.
Yes. Around this time, I was anxious.
Quite a lot.
Which is to say, in short…… I was scared.
Scared of being dumped.
When I finally got in touch after a long silence and casually mentioned something like maybe we could see each other for Christmas at least, I was terrified of what answer might come back.
Because people’s hearts shift and change. Especially the hearts of teenage girls.
——Actually, I think something was a little off after all. I can sleep on my own now, and it doesn’t really have to be Shigure-san specifically.
I kept imagining being told something like that, and getting quietly crushed by lines I’d made up myself in my own head. Even I think it’s a foolish thing to do, but that’s how badly I’d been hit.
At times like that, I’d pick up a palette and keep working on the painting. Ibara’s portrait.
I’d only sketched the outline with the real thing in front of me. From there, I built it up little by little, layer by layer of oil paint.
Oil painting inevitably takes time, no matter what. I decided to enjoy that.
It would be finished, I figured, by spring.
†
For New Year’s, I spent it at my parents’ house for the first time in a while. My little sister came home too, and then — of all people — Runa showed up as well.
My parents already knew Runa, of course. As my friend.
Shizuku was even more glued to Runa than usual. Like freshly pounded mochi. Fitting, for New Year’s.
For the countdown, while my parents bundled up in coats and headed off briskly to the neighborhood shrine, I stayed holed up under the kotatsu eating mikan and welcomed the new year that way.
Shizuku devotedly peeled mikan for Runa, even picking off the white pith for her. Touchingly earnest.
At the moment the year turned, the two of them looked over at me at the same time and said something. Runa asked, teasingly, whether I wasn’t chatting with that girl.
I told them both that I was holding off on contacting her for now.
They both looked at me the way you’d look at a ghost appearing in broad daylight.
Hmph.
†
Valentine’s season was genuinely hectic. Not just the packaging — I took on every job I could.
The indigo-blue raspberry flavor, the deep-green matcha tiramisu flavor — the princess design was the same for both.
I drew my princess, over and over. It didn’t matter that the model wasn’t in front of me. She was burned into the backs of my eyelids.
Every time I drew her, I’d recall Ibara’s profile, her smile, her crying face, and end up alone, holding my head in my hands.
What will I do if she dumps me after all this.
†
And then, spring comes again.
At the door of my — of our — new nest, a chime rings out.