Epilogue: Part One
A little over three years had passed. It was a Saturday in summer.
Hatano and Shinomiya were at home, taking their time over iced tea.
Hatano was twenty-five, and Shinomiya Nana had turned twenty-four. Hatano Yukihime was, needless to say, a novelist; Shinomiya, while still enrolled at university, was working as a self-employed watercolourist, selling original pieces and merchandise and taking commissions.
They could, technically, have worked through their days off without any difficulty — but they had settled early on that they would set aside at least two days a week for each other, and so weekends were generally kept free. Had been kept free — until recently.
“The other day,” Shinomiya murmured, out of nowhere, setting down her tea.
Hatano tilted her head. “Hm?”
“We proposed to each other, and we both went and bought rings.”
She said it with an air of deliberate bluntness, elbows on the table, a faint embarrassment visible underneath.
On the ring finger of the hand holding her glass: an engagement ring, a slight extravagance. And on the ring finger of Hatano’s left hand, as she rested her chin in her palm and looked at it: an engagement ring too.
The details could be skipped over, but on Shinomiya’s twenty-fourth birthday, Hatano had proposed to her — and been proposed to in return. As if they had planned it between themselves, they had each bought a ring for the other, and the matter of their future marriage had been settled without further ceremony.
Which meant that the days off originally designated for a girlfriend were now designated for a fiancée, and would one day be designated for a wife.
Hatano smiled, the warmth of recent memory still fresh in her, and nodded. “That’s right. We should go and file the paperwork when the timing works out. And we’ll need to buy wedding bands too.”
“Yes, well, thank you for that, but —”
“But?”
Whatever she had wanted to say, it apparently wasn’t the cheerful kind of thing. Shinomiya’s expression went complicated, and she kept going.
Hatano put her tea down and resettled in her chair, and gave her full attention to what Shinomiya was about to say.
“I — I still haven’t been introduced to your parents.”
Shinomiya’s face had done a subtly pained thing that was clearly saying would you please let me meet them already.
Hatano took a moment to absorb the meaning of this. She made an expressive face, lips pursed, eyes going vague, thinking. Then she raised one finger with the air of someone who had a perfectly good counter-argument ready, and said:
“You know, you’re right.”
“Excuse me!”
This would constitute something of an excuse, but she hadn’t forgotten. She simply hadn’t thought about it in the first place, and forgetting requires something having been there to forget. If the world’s general definition of forgetting applied to that situation she was prepared to accept it, but she hadn’t forgotten.
“I completely forgot. I have told them about you, at least.”
When she’d started seeing someone, she’d mentioned it in passing. When the proposal happened, she’d reported that properly. She had understood this to conclude the parent-related events, but she had overlooked something rather important.
Hatano crossed her arms, smiling apologetically, and Shinomiya’s flat, steady stare pressed in on her from across the table.
“It doesn’t matter whether you’ve said anything, Yukihime-san. I’m the one who ends up looking like I have no manners.”
“That’s not going to happen, they’re not that kind of people.”
“That is not the point! This is a matter of basic social propriety!”
“Then shall I go and introduce myself to your family too?”
She was already regretting that one a little, it was slightly unkind, but Shinomiya glared at her with the indignation of someone who has been beaten with their own argument.
“Ugh — that — those are two entirely different situations! I’ve already told Nee-chan!”
The circumstances of their respective families were too different for fair comparison; this was less counter-argument than quarrel. Hatano shrugged, recalling the image of Rōkai sobbing with joy when she’d heard the news.
“…Fair point. I’m sorry. Look, it’s not as though we’re on bad terms, and I’d always planned to introduce you at some point. Let’s make sure we go before the wedding.”
“Given that we’re not having a ceremony, this much at least is non-negotiable.”
No ceremony. Why? Because they didn’t have that many people to invite. Rōkai, Hatano’s parents, and perhaps Shijima and Shindo. And when Hatano had mentioned that she’d rather spend the money on a honeymoon than a ceremony, everyone had agreed enthusiastically.
“Understood. I’ll get in touch and find out what works — let me know your available dates.”
“Any time is fine. I’ll fit around whenever suits them.”
Hatano took out her phone as she said it and sent a casual message to the family group chat: Want to do a meet-the-fiancée thing and When are you free?
Ten seconds later: Any time and Any time is fine came back from her mother and father simultaneously.
She sent: Tomorrow then, and got back We’ll be waiting and Let’s order in before she’d even looked up.
Efficient family, Hatano thought, and looked at Shinomiya.
“Tomorrow.”
“Pfgh — cough — tomorrow?!”
Nearly choking on her tea, Shinomiya’s voice jumped an octave. And then, clearly far too early to start, she began tidying her fringe using the mirror finish on the back of her phone.
“That’s an extremely light touch…! Tomorrow, tomorrow…!”
“If you’re not ready yet we can put it off.”
“No — if I run away tomorrow it’ll only take more courage to face it next time!”
Shinomiya borrowed what sounded like a line from a sports manga somewhere and kept fussing with her fringe. Then her cheek gave a small nervous twitch, and she pressed a hand against her chest and looked at Hatano with visible strain.
“Um — have they said anything about me? Like — something along the lines of…”
It was rare to see Shinomiya this tense. Hatano opened her eyes slightly wider and then smiled.
“That you sound like a good person. You really don’t need to worry — they’re not difficult people.”
“That isn’t what I’m worried about, actually. It’s your parents, so of course they’re not.”
“So.”
She gave the short prompt, and Shinomiya pressed her hands against her carefully arranged hair and seemed to be squeezing the words out with difficulty.
“I suppose I’m worried about whether they’ll — accept me, is the thing.”
So that was why she’d looked a little strained when she’d brought up the introduction. The dots connected, and Hatano said “ah” while simultaneously knowing she couldn’t simply agree. On the contrary — as someone who had proposed to her, with full deliberation, she couldn’t let that particular self-negation go without response.
Hatano was frowning, thinking about how to draw it out, and Shinomiya apparently read something in the expression, because she looked guilty and tried to explain herself, pressing her fingertips together in front of her chest.
“It’s just — I’m, well, I’m practically estranged from my own family, and the work I’m going into is fairly precarious, and there are various things, and I just kept thinking I’m not exactly a — a favourable prospect, and…”
Her face was wilting by the end of it, as though the act of saying it out loud had made her sadder than she’d expected.
An expression like that made harsh words difficult to offer. Still, gentle ones probably wouldn’t reach this particular worry either, so Hatano let herself smile, and said it plainly.
“You’ll be fine. They’re not like that. They respect my decisions.”
“Yes, I — I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest anything bad about your family.”
“I know, it’s all right. And I do understand — but I think this isn’t something my words can fix. That part, I think my family will take care of tomorrow. The right words have to come from the right people.”
If it came down to empty comfort, she could supply as much as needed — but the root of the anxiety could only be cleared by being accepted at its root. Forcing that out of anyone would only make Shinomiya feel worse, not better.
Hatano had thought it through and chosen Shinomiya. Had been accepted in return. She wanted Shinomiya to hold onto that with more confidence. But this wasn’t about the relationship between Hatano and Shinomiya — it was about the relationship between Shinomiya and her future mother-in-law, and her future father-in-law. She could mediate, could facilitate, but she shouldn’t be the centre of it.
“I’m sorry…”
Shinomiya tended, with Hatano, to be unabashed to the point of impudence — but underneath all of it, her sense of her own worth was genuinely low.
Tomorrow, she was trusting her family to take care of that. But as Shinomiya’s fiancée, she wanted to send her into it with a little more energy. So she said the thing she meant.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Said directly, looking at her. The anxiety in those dark eyes thinned, just slightly.
One more.
“And on the extremely, vanishingly small chance — even smaller than that — that they say they don’t accept you.”
She imagined this scenario, found it nearly impossible, and had to work not to laugh, and said it with a straight face:
“Have your elopement bag ready. I want you. That’s all there is to it.”
The anxiety in Shinomiya’s eyes had not yet cleared.
But something covered it over — surprise and happiness spreading across her face, displacing the worry. And then Shinomiya covered her face with both hands and made a low, overwhelmed sound, and stood up on unsteady legs. She walked around the table to Hatano’s side and threw herself into her arms, pressing her face against her chest.
“Marry me,” she said, muffled.
“That’s what we’re doing.”
Hatano brought her left hand, ring on its finger, up to stroke her back, gently.
“Right, then. Let me introduce you. My — not girlfriend, my fiancée. Shinomiya Nana.”
The following day, under a summer sky bright enough to burn your cheeks.
Hatano brought Shinomiya to the door of the family’s apartment and opened it, and her parents were waiting to greet them. Her mother: black hair in a single tie, an almost uncanny resemblance to Hatano herself. Her father: eyes that matched Hatano’s exactly, set in a large, sturdy frame with a kind face. Both of them had apparently been so eager to see their daughter’s fiancée that they’d rushed out slightly out of breath. Shinomiya, confronted with this, went wide-eyed and composed herself with effort, spine ramrod-straight, and greeted them with immaculate formality.
“H-how do you do. My name is Shinomiya Nana. Yukihime-san has been an extraordinary source of support to me!”
The bow was deep and precise. Her parents stared at her for a moment. Then they glanced at each other uncertainly, and then looked back at Shinomiya, who had lifted her head with a slightly anxious face.
“My goodness, where did you find such a beautiful girl — oh, how do you do, I’m Yukihime’s mother, Fuyuko!”
“I’m the father, Kazuki. We’re so grateful you made the — it’s a lovely day out, isn’t it —”
“It’s blazing sunshine.”
“Oh — yes, of course, but still, for you to have come all this way —”
“I was the one who forgot to arrange this. Let’s not stand in the doorway.”
Hatano cut off the round of overly formal greetings being exchanged between her parents and her fiancée, and steered everyone inside. Shinomiya and her father were both rigid with nerves; only her mother was exactly as she always was — light, unflappable, and cheerfully impossible to read. Hatano raked a hand through her hair and pointed down the hallway.
“It’s hot out, so if we could all go inside.”
“Of course. You must be tired in this heat, Nana-san. Please, come in.”
Oh, thank you said Shinomiya, still tense, and was ushered inside.
The apartment was a three-bedroom. Her mother’s work-from-home study, the master bedroom, and what had been Hatano’s room, now serving as storage since she’d told them to feel free to use it — though somehow her belongings were still there.
The living and dining room, when they reached it, was cool to the point of slight chill with the air conditioning running.
“Oh, that’s a relief,” Hatano said, settling into a chair with some energy. “Sit down,” she added, indicating the chair beside her for Shinomiya.
Three in the family, but there was a fourth chair for guests, so no one was short. Shinomiya perched carefully in her seat, with a small silent bow to the room, and Hatano’s mother watched her with shining eyes.
“My goodness, what a lovely young lady. Which fairy tale did you step out of? Cinderella? Snow White?”
Complimented with cheerful directness, Shinomiya smiled self-consciously and tried to find something to say. Hatano considered stepping in.
“Al — Alice in Wonderland.”
Hatano swallowed the observation that Alice in Wonderland was strictly speaking children’s literature rather than a fairy tale.
“Of course it is!” said her mother, with complete conviction.
“What does that even mean?” Hatano gave her a flat look, but was ignored.
Her father, having retrieved an assortment of bottled drinks from the fridge, was arranging them on the table with careful attention to Shinomiya’s reach. He settled in and joined the conversation.
“Please help yourself to whatever you like — and really, thank you for all you’ve done for our daughter.”
“Oh — not at all, it’s I who has so much to thank Yukihime-san for, truly, really and truly, I —”
Shinomiya bore down on her gratitude to Hatano with the careful thoroughness of someone pressing every drop from a cloth, and her parents looked quietly proud.
“You don’t have to be modest, you know,” Hatano said, and looked at Shinomiya with the intention of keeping things moving. “Anyway — as you can see, formality really isn’t something these two do. If you can manage to treat it roughly like spending half a day at someone’s home, that would help everyone.”
“It may be difficult, but please make yourself at home, Nana-san.”
Her mother’s warm smile reached Shinomiya, and she let out a breath and consciously released her shoulders.
After that, her father spread a delivery menu on the table, and the two of them chose what to order. Just as at the Geidai celebration, sushi was the decision, and this time Shinomiya and Hatano together ordered the most premium option available with obvious enthusiasm. Technically adults of twenty-five and twenty-four in the eyes of the world — but to parents, it seemed, children were children at any age.
“Oh my — oh my, oh my! What extraordinary paintings!”
“One day I’d very much hope you might paint the cover of one of Yukihime’s books. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Don’t pull me into this. That kind of thing isn’t just up to me.”
The sushi arrived, and the four of them started on lunch, conversation winding through introductions and general talk. By this point Shinomiya’s nerves had loosened somewhat, and when asked about her art, which she’d been mentioning for a while, she pulled up her phone and showed them her merchandise and the original pieces she sold. Being praised on all sides, she found that pleasure was winning out over anxiety, and she kept biting her lips trying to suppress the grin that kept threatening to break through.
“My sister does better work than me, though, which is a little galling.”
Shinomiya said it the way you’d mention a minor irritant — a settled kind of mild envy, nothing like the weight it had once carried.
“Your sister is a painter too?”
“Yes. She uses the artist name Rōkai. She’s had solo exhibitions in New York.”
“New York?!”
Her father’s voice jumped as he exchanged a wide-eyed look with his wife. A small exhale of wonder followed. Shinomiya beamed, faintly but genuinely, even more pleased than before.
Hatano ate her sushi quietly, chewing steadily, and listened to the conversation. In principle she was the one who should be steering things along, but there wasn’t much point in her joining in when the others were talking — they had their own dynamic by now. And Shinomiya was visibly warming up and relaxing, so she deliberately stayed out of the way and let it run.
“Well — Yukihime really did well for herself, didn’t she,” her father said, looking at Hatano with genuine admiration.
Hatano helped herself to a piece of pickled ginger and joined in. “I suppose. Life has a way of surprising you. It started with a bit too much to drink, if I’m honest.”
She realised she’d said it the moment it was out and covered her mouth, but the moment had already gone.
“Too much to drink?!”
“Now that you mention it — y-yes, that was how it started.”
Shinomiya, apparently remembering this for the first time in a while, went faintly pink.
Hatano’s mother looked between the two of them with an expression of mild consternation, and then lowered her voice in Shinomiya’s direction.
“Nana-san, are you all right? Nothing — unwanted happened to you?”
“…W, well, um, as for that —”
Shinomiya’s shoulder gave a small guilty flinch, and she searched for words with slightly frantic eyes and a nervous shine of sweat.
Hatano’s shoulder gave its own small flinch, and she looked quietly away. It was a reasonable reaction from a mother — hearing that her daughter had apparently started a relationship with someone while drunk would reasonably raise concerns. Still, the unwanted things happened with full mutual consent and were rather the beginning of everything was not a sentence she could produce here. But she was also unwilling to lie to these people who were about to become family. Shinomiya went around in circles, the struggle visible on her face, and then managed, with some effort, a smile — the first slightly constructed one Hatano had seen from her in quite a while.
“She was very kind and took care of me, and I thought — she really was a wonderful person.”
Shinomiya told a small lie. Hatano breathed out a very quiet sigh of relief.
Her parents made an expression and sound that could only be described as ohhh, the sound of people absorbing a sweetly awkward origin story.
And perhaps the retelling of it made the fact of the marriage freshly real — so you’re getting married then, her mother said softly, one hand against her cheek, and her father pressed his lips together with feeling, nodded with some grandeur, and breathed out slowly through his nose.
Something in the atmosphere shifted, and Hatano and Shinomiya both set down their chopsticks. Her parents, reading that, did the same. Backs straightened. They exchanged a glance, and then looked at the two of them.
“On the occasion of — ‘marriage’ — no, is that getting ahead of things?”
“Either is fine.”
Hatano smiled with some sympathy at her father’s sudden braking of his own momentum, and he gathered himself, drew a breath, and restarted with a slightly unsteady voice.
“Congratulations to you both on your engagement. And — Nana-san.”
“Yes!”
Shinomiya snapped to attention, spine straight, ready. Her father, clearly not wanting to embarrass himself, found the words suddenly difficult to reach. Before he could struggle further, her mother took the baton with a quiet smile.
“Please take care of our daughter. Of Yukihime.”
And with that, she bowed — deeply, fully, forehead nearly reaching the table. Her father followed in the same motion.
Hatano sat with it for a moment. She thought: this was probably the first time in her life she had seen both her parents’ crowns at once. Occasions deep enough to bow like this were reserved for strangers — for people to whom you owed that level of courtesy. Which meant that the stranger now sitting beside her, the person who was about to become family, was the reason this was happening now. She held the thought, and felt something in her throat tighten without warning.
She closed her eyes briefly, exhaled, and said nothing.
Beside her, Shinomiya’s eyes wavered with the struggle of something unresolved. She still had a small, stubborn part of herself that wondered if she was truly good enough for this. But this was no longer just about Hatano supporting Shinomiya — they were two people supporting each other, and if she was going to be someone who supported Hatano, she wanted to be someone the people who had supported Hatano could trust to receive her. It wasn’t entirely true yet, but even so — she decided to hold her head up.
“I will make Yukihime-san happy. Without fail.”
Not one word of it wavered.
A voice Hatano hadn’t heard from her in a long time — composed, clear, and certain. Her parents lifted their heads at the sound of it, the anxiety in their faces easing. Their eyes, slightly wet, moved to Hatano. The two of them looked embarrassed and lost for words.
But Hatano thought: if she didn’t say this now, she would regret it. So she looked at the two of them steadily, and said what she had to say.
“I want to take this opportunity to say something properly.”
And she bowed, as deeply as they had.
“Thank you — for raising me, and for believing in my dream. Both of you.”
A muffled sob came from her father, and Hatano lifted her head with tear-bright eyes and a wry smile. Her mother, eyes a little red, laughed at him with a fond expression and rubbed his back.
Beside Hatano, Shinomiya watched with narrowed eyes — wistful and warm, looking at something bright.
“Not exactly our usual style, is it? For either of us.”
Her mother said it to Hatano with a smile, and Hatano shrugged and nodded. Even so.
“Be happy,” her mother said.
And because she had said that, Hatano answered with something slightly childlike:
“I’ll still be asking for help, you know.”