Seishun Buta Yarou Series - Volume 9 - Chapter 4.4

4

Just past eight, Ryouko Hanawa swung by to pick Mai up. Sakuta saw her off at the door. Ryouko probably couldn’t see him, so if he followed her all the way downstairs, it would make for some awkward explanations.

On his own, he cleaned up the breakfast dishes and did a load of laundry. Then he changed and left the house.

His trip took several trains from Fujisawa Station. An hour’s ride in all.

For lack of anything better to do on the train, Sakuta spent it thinking about what to say to his mom. The same thoughts looping through his head.

Kaede getting bullied, how hard that had been on everyone. Then the dissociative disorder—and Sakuta had barely been able to handle his own mess.

But he’d still found a way to step up and take care of both Kaedes.

Trying to fend for himself, there’d been times when he’d held it against his parents…but now he didn’t know what to think.

But Sakuta only had one mom. His mom. That fact hadn’t changed.

And there were things he’d worked out because they lived apart. Like just how much he’d taken his parents for granted.

He kept thinking, trying to get his words as accurate and impactful as he could.

The hour went by before he knew it. He found himself standing outside the workers’ housing, where his mother was.

He took the stairs one step at a time. Face-to-face with his own heart.

Outside the door, he rang the bell. The button didn’t even respond to his push.

He took the key from his pocket and opened the door. He’d always planned on doing this, so there seemed to be little point in hesitating now.

He took off his shoes and stepped into the hall. When he looked into the dining room, he found it oddly quiet. There were no sounds of life.

No one in the living room. The tatami room was empty, too. The final bedroom also deserted.

“Mom? Kaede?” he called.

Just to be sure, he checked the bath and toilet, finding neither of them, nor his dad.

“Did they go out?”

His dad was probably at work, but he didn’t know why his mom or Kaede would leave. His mom was only temporarily out of the hospital, and Kaede had just graduated junior high. She was on spring break.

Sakuta went back to the dining room and found a calendar on the fridge.

March 19 was circled with a red pen, and Dr. appt was written under that.

That was today.

His mother must have had a checkup. Kaede had probably gone with her.

There was a pamphlet for the hospital pinned to the fridge by a magnet. It was near Shin-Yokohama Station. A Tokaido Shinkansen station just past Tokyo and Shinagawa. His father had said they had a good psychiatric care facility.

From here, it was one station away.

Sakuta checked the map over, then put his shoes back on and headed out. He wasn’t sure when they were due back and didn’t feel like waiting.

One thought drove him forward.

He wanted to be the one who went to her.

He took the walk back to the station a bit faster than normal. There wasn’t really a reason to hurry, but his feelings were out ahead of him, and they lent wings to his feet.

Sakuta knew he was stressing out about this quite a bit. And his stress levels got worse on the short ride to the next station.

But those feelings were no longer binding him. He got off the train, went out the gates, and, five minutes later, saw the hospital up ahead. His pace stayed steady.

The hospital loomed eight stories tall, and Sakuta walked right through the automatic doors.

Unsure where his mother was, he checked the floor map by reception. The psych ward was on the fifth floor, so he took the elevator there.

It was a little box with just him on it that made no other stops.

The doors opened, and he stepped out into a quiet corridor; almost no sounds greeted him. The floor was carpeted, and it softened his footsteps.

He looked right and left.

The hall itself was a good thirty yards long, lined with identical doors. They had numbers on them, but no patient names.

Probably a sign of the times—privacy policies and the like. Or maybe that was how this type of ward operated to begin with.

He didn’t know where his mom was.

But Sakuta didn’t need to feel discouraged.

“Nobody can see me anyway, so I’ll just go door-to-door.”

No use worrying about propriety.

He decided to go for the door at the end of the corridor, but before he got a chance, a door three over opened.

“I’ll call Dad and tell him what the doctor said,” Kaede said as she came out.

She didn’t see Sakuta. She just turned and headed for the elevator. Three yards before those, she turned right and entered a break room. Sakuta had checked it on his way and had seen a pay phone, so she was likely gonna call their dad on that.

And Kaede had let him know exactly where to go.

“Everyone should have a sister.”

Sending her a silent thank-you, Sakuta moved to his mother’s room.

He took a deep breath outside, feeling the tension mounting. His mouth felt dry. His legs shaky.

But he slid the door open, calm enough to make it quiet.

He stepped in and closed it behind him. Taking care not to make a sound.

His mother probably still couldn’t see him and wouldn’t hear it if he did make a sound. Maybe he didn’t need to bother. But it seemed a natural gesture. Like his body just knew that’s how you acted in a hospital.

It was a private room, for one. A single bed, with a small space left around it.

Light streamed in through a window, so it didn’t feel confined. It didn’t have that excessively sterile feel he associated with hospital rooms.

She didn’t have many belongings here, but it felt like her.

The room had his mother’s warmth.

She was sitting on the side of the bed, her feet on the floor.

She looked a bit tired.

“Too much excitement,” she whispered.

She was probably talking about Kaede’s visit. And it didn’t sound like a regret. That tone was comfortably worn out.

“Oh, right,” she said, reaching for the table. There was a tote bag on it, and she pulled a notebook out of it.

There was a table attached to the bed for food, and she opened the notebook on that. She read the words out loud as she wrote them down.

He’d worked out what he wanted to say on the way here.

Chosen the best turns of phrase.

Gone over and over them so that he wouldn’t mess things up.

But now here she was, in front of him, and all his speeches were gone.

The words that emerged in their place came naturally.

“Mom, you’ve worked so hard.”

Two years in this tiny room.

All on her own, struggling.

By saying it out loud, that became one big feeling inside Sakuta. An emotion laced with heat. One that sent a tingle past the back of his nose.

Just whispering that simple phrase made his voice shake, his voice already tinged with tears.

When he finished speaking, a big teardrop hit the floor. Tears falling from his eyes, pattering on the hospital’s carpeting. Those points alone a darker shade.

“You’ve struggled so much.”

He’d known that. It was something…

He knew without thinking.

Her struggles had been real. There was no escaping them, and her heart had crumbled under their weight.

But Sakuta had been struggling too much to realize that. Even though—perhaps because—they were family, it was easy for emotions to fester.

To lose track of something this obvious.

He’d only just got it.

He’d spent two years trying not to think about her, but that wasn’t enough to make her not be his mom, and certainly not enough to make the memories of the time they’d lived together go away.

This wasn’t about logic.

Attacking reasons for it was absurd.

His body’s instinctive response told him so.

His mother was better. She’d worked through it and gotten better, and that made him glad. He’d finally figured that out.

And that was all there was to it.

Nothing else mattered.

They were family.

And that was what he’d really wanted to tell her.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said.

For hanging in there.

For getting better.

For being my mom.

For giving birth to me.

For bringing me up.

“Thank you.”

Everything he’d spent two years bottling up came pouring out. Tears and snot went everywhere.

He kept wiping them and blowing his nose, but there was no sign of this stopping. No sign of them drying up. No end to feeling like family.

There might be breaks from time to time, but family never went away. It’s always there, and always will be, and so you never notice just how much it matters.

Being away from her for two years had made that clear. How much he’d taken her for granted.

The lesson the dreaming girl had taught him applied here, too—he just hadn’t realized. But taking pleasure in the little joys is what true happiness is.

He’d no longer had his mother to rely on. He’d had to put her out of his mind and go on living. But Sakuta still had it in him to rejoice that she was getting better.

He still had feelings like that for her inside him.

The heat of his tears was fading.

His mother never saw him cry.

She still didn’t perceive him.

And he thought that was fine.

He could always come back.

Keep coming, until she noticed him.

Sakuta was no longer lost. No longer scared.

He’d visit, ten times, a hundred, a thousand, until the day came.

So right now…

“I’ll come again, Mom,” he said, and he turned away from the bed.

He reached for the door to leave.

And as he did, he though he heard his name.

His mind was playing tricks. Giving him what he wanted to hear. It must be.

But he had to turn and look.

His body moved before his conscious thought.

“Mom…?” he said, his voice quivering.

She was looking his way. Her eyes locked on him.

“You came to visit,” she said, mustering a frail smile. Like she was feeling sorry.

And he didn’t want her to look like that, so he simply said, “Yep.”

And he forced a smile.

“No school?”

“We’re basically on spring break.”

His face was stained with tears, and he rubbed them with his sleeve.

“Don’t go playing hooky.”

“I totally did.”

“But I’m glad.”

“Mm?”

“It’s been too long since I saw you.”

“Mom…”

Sakuta took a step away from the door, back into the room.

As he reached the bed, his mother took his hands. Hands that had seemed so big when he was younger. But now his hands were larger than hers. He hadn’t held her hands since grade school and had never realized that. He’d always assumed they were still bigger. That she was larger than him. He’d been taller than her for a while, but he only ever wanted her looking after him.

And that wasn’t right. He was also someone who could be relied upon.

Like Mai said, he was a lot more grown-up now.

And that was one way to be mom and son. To be family.

“Thank you, Sakuta.”

“I’m happy to come visit anytime.”

“Thank you for Kaede.”

“……”

He’d meant to nod. He just couldn’t. If he did anything right now, the waterworks would start again.

“I’m glad you’re her brother.”

“……”

His eyes were burning up.

“I’m sorry we put this all on you.”

“……”

Trying to fight it off, he shook his head.

“I love you, Sakuta.”

But when he heard that, there was no resisting.

He’d known how she felt.

He just felt like he couldn’t trust that anymore. Because she’d no longer been there with him.

And all those knotted feelings melted away in the heat of his tears.

Through blurred vision, he could see her crying, too.

“Mm…mm…,” she said, again and again.

Sakuta knew what she meant. Because they were family.

They were still crying when Kaede got back. Kaede probably had no clue what Sakuta was doing here. But before he knew it, she was crying with them. And crying together that day made them a family once more.

Spring made the cherry trees bloom.

The seasons kept on changing.

Tears couldn’t keep summer away.

Laughter couldn’t keep fall away.

Studying couldn’t keep winter away.

No more Adolescence Syndrome.

His or anyone else’s.

He felt like it was all over.

But nothing was.

The seasons kept on changing.

Spring, summer, fall, and winter came and went.

And a new spring arrived.