Chapter 38

The train heading downtown was crowded.  

It was the final day of a long holiday weekend, and I was on my way back after offering incense at my uncle’s house. The passengers were a mixed bunch—young and old, men and women—a group lacking any sense of cohesion.  

The train stopped at a major station, and people began boarding and disembarking.  

A family bustled in, surrounding the box seat where I was sitting at the end. They seemed to be returning from some amusement park or theme park, carrying a few brightly designed shopping bags.  

The mother and two children took the seats, while the man I presumed to be their father stood nearby.  

I got up from my seat with my bag in hand. “Here, go ahead,” I said briefly to the man before moving to another car.  

Leaning against the area by the door, I stared out at the scenery sliding by.  

I found myself recalling the one time, long ago, when my family went to an amusement park. It was a trip arranged by my uncle, who brought his daughters along.  

Despite it being a family outing, my dad spent most of the time holed up in the pachinko, playing the slot machines. My mom and my uncle both looked exasperated.  

When we finished making the rounds and went to check on him, he handed me a basket overflowing with coins, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.  

Looking back now, I can only think, what an idiot. But back then, all I could say was, “Amazing!” Because I genuinely thought it was.  

My dad was hit by a car and killed.  

The driver was an elderly person who blacked out behind the wheel while driving. Without braking, the car plowed into a crosswalk full of children. Apparently, my dad jumped in to save the kids.  

It sounded like total nonsense to me. That kind of cliché thing doesn’t happen in real life.  

People like him, the kind of trash he was, somehow always manage to survive for a long time.  

Frankly, I still don’t believe the story. In a TV drama, the kids he saved would at least show up with their parents to pay respects and light incense or something.  

The funeral was kept small, limited to immediate family.  

When I went to my uncle’s place, there was no sign of anyone coming to offer incense. The only person who showed up was a man claiming to be my dad’s supervisor from work. The kind who came because it was part of the job, not because he wanted to.  

Apparently, my dad’s work performance hadn’t been bad. He’d even quit drinking and, they said, had turned over a new leaf and was working diligently. That was something I only heard secondhand, from my uncle.  

But it was all far too late by then.  

I transferred trains several times and made a stop at my family home.  

During the three-day weekend, my grandfather had casually mentioned that I should come back at some point. The only time I’d returned home recently was for two days during the Obon holidays.  

It felt strange for him to bring it up now. Even if I did come back, there wasn’t really anything specific for me to do.  

But when I got there, I understood immediately.  

————

The living room table was laden with an extravagant spread of food.  

Seated at the table were my grandfather, grandmother, mother, and a man I didn’t recognize.  

As soon as I settled in, my mother introduced me to him.  

She said they’d met online and had recently started dating. She spoke of how kind and wonderful he was.  

Both my grandfather and grandmother were already in full support mode. I went along with it, helping keep the mood lively. It wasn’t the time for me to act cold or standoffish.  

Not that I really had anything to complain about. He was an average-built man with glasses who seemed mild-mannered and composed.  

He spoke to me—nearly 20 years younger—with polite and respectful language. He carried himself with the demeanor of a perfectly decent adult.  

If I had to nitpick, I’d say it all felt rather sudden. And it had happened faster than I’d expected.  

Once the initial chatter died down, my mother began to tear up and apologized to me.  

She said she was sorry for effectively kicking me out. She’d talked about it with my grandfather too.  

She mentioned that if I wanted to, I could come back home. But it was far too late for that. Technically, I could still commute to school from here, but by now, living on my own felt far more appealing.  

My dad didn’t come up in conversation at all. No one seemed to know he had passed. Naturally, I didn’t bring it up either.  

I remembered how the families had fought during my parents’ divorce. I’d been told there was a clean and complete break with my father’s side.  

The only person who reached out to me was my uncle. Even he admitted he’d wrestled with whether or not to contact me.  

It made sense. I kept calling him “Dad,” but in truth, he hadn’t been my father for a long time. That was true both legally and emotionally.  

That evening, even my grandfather drank, which was unusual.  

He offered drinks to my mom’s new boyfriend, cheerily eating sushi and commenting on how good it was.  

I joined in on encouraging the boyfriend to drink.  

Eventually, he got drunk and passed out, falling asleep on the spot.  

Unlike a certain someone, he didn’t become aggressive or start shouting once he’d had too much to drink. That alone was a relief.  

This time, it felt like things might actually work out. Hopefully, the chaos of before would remain a one-time occurrence. 

Just once was more than enough.