Reunited – Chapter 7

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The door to our room is cracked open, a sliver of gray dawn revealing another rain storm opening buckets of water from the sky onto the estate. It hasn’t stopped raining for the last two weeks. The estate is quiet except for the sounds of pans banging in the kitchen under the onslaught of rain. Oyama must be up making breakfast. A gust of wind rattles the shōji screen and Momo lifts her head from her spot on my hip to sneer at the door. Okay, fine. I slide out from underneath her, clutch my robe around me, and pad to the door to push it shut.

“What are you doing up? Come back to bed.” Jiro rolls over, rubbing at his sleepy face. The world outside is lightening by a fraction through the storm clouds, and the clock next to the bed reads six-thirty-three. We’ve been sleeping late this past week, hoping rest will iron out the aches and pains of recovery from hibernation.

I lift the covers and scoot in next to warm Jiro. Momo circles the bed three times before snuggling into a space between our legs.

“The wind and rain woke me.”

“Mmmm,” Jiro hums, already dropping back to sleep as his arm curls over my stomach.

For our first whole week, we spent our days lying in bed, sitting in the baths, walking around, and adjusting to the gravity and the environment. Our second week, we walked more, over the estate, down the hill, and into town. On our third week, we started training again. Now, well into our fourth week on Yūsei, I’m starting to get the hang of my body once more.

But I’m always cold and spend spare moments in bed under three blankets and curled up next to Jiro for warmth.

We’ve stopped having sex, though. Beni walked in on us last week in possibly the most embarrassing ten seconds of my life. She must have told Mariko about the incident because her eyes are colder than ever, and she drops by our room three or four times per day for no reason whatsoever. I now suspect that she’s attempting to keep Jiro and me apart. Maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s oblivious to her own meddling. I don’t really know anymore. I’ve given up trying to read her.

We sleep for two more hours, dress, eat breakfast, and once the rain ends, we throw our swords on our backs and walk the city. All the buildings in this section are still abandoned. The narrow streets snake away from our hilltop estate and branch out into a curved grid around the town center. Here in the elevated parts of town, they are all asphalt but lack any kind of painted signage, and they butt up against gray sidewalk pavers that are so narrow, it would be a miracle if two people could walk and pass each other on them.

Two- and three-story buildings tower over us as we walk in the middle of the road. Cream colored walls, dark wood window frames and balconies at almost every turn. Some rice paper windows are still intact but most are ripped open. Glass lies shattered in front of storefront doors, and Jiro and I step around the piles to peer in. I keep expecting to find people in the windows but they remain empty except for a lonely cat or two grooming themselves.

“This place was a restaurant,” Jiro says, pointing right. “Okonomiyaki. And this place’s banner reads, ‘Megane.’ What’s that?”

“Eyeglasses.” I peek in the window, and empty cases line both walls. “Though I don’t remember the last time I saw anyone wear eyeglasses. I had my eyes lasered when I was sixteen.”

“Me too. Oh, look a kimono shop!” He pulls me across the street, and I stumble on the curb. I still don’t lift my feet high enough. The windows on this shop are boarded up so we force the door open. Empty. Every shop has been vacant.

“This place is so deserted. I wish they had left behind notes.”

After a few days exploring this section of our neighborhood we also find a ryokan inn, a post office, more restaurants, a child’s daycare center with abandoned play sets in the backyard, several offices, a florist (I saw the kanji for flower and immediately regretted it being closed), and a bakery that had an actual coffee machine on the counter which just proves I have to find the people who used to live here. They are definitely my brothers and sisters.

Following the main street from the bottom of our hill that veers off and to the left towards the shore, we come upon a beach. The path is rocky first close to the road, but once we climb over the rocks, actual sand stretches out into the turbulent water. Gritty, wet sand so different from desert sand it might as well have an entirely different name. When I pick up a handful and rub the granules through my fingers, bits of shell, seaweed, and clear glass scrape against my palm. What happened to all of these things on Earth? Where did the life go? The desert back home was sterile and featureless. This is organic. It even smells alive, pungent like the fish pond at Shōfū-an.

A wide beach dotted with tidal pools and shells stretches kilometers off to the north until it hits a section of land that curls into the ocean and forms the bay Yamato is centered on. Closer to town are piers and the wharf where boats are still housed, but my eyes are always glued to the sea. The water is flat and wide and goes on forever. The surf, both peaceful and violent at once with one wave crashing on top of another, rolls and amplifies my anxiety.

Deep breath, Sanaa. Looking down at my feet, I right myself before I start to panic, and when my heart rate calms, I take in the beach again. I want to come here at night and see the stars meet the sea with the moon rising above the horizon. The ocean at night sounds terribly romantic.

“I love the overcast days,” I say, slipping my fingers into Jiro’s and running my thumb down the length of his palm. “They make me feel safe and grounded, but I wonder what the water looks like on a bright and sunny day.”

The day is too cold to take off my shoes and sink my feet into the sand, but I can picture hot, summer days, lying on blankets under umbrellas. Jiro kicks at a stone, sending it shooting into the waves.

“We’ll have to gather up the family for outings here in the summer. I’d like to see you in a bathing suit.”

“Jiro, your mind is always in the gutter. I can’t even swim.”

“I didn’t say anything about swimming.”

“You’d like it if I just wear a bathing suit…”

He picks up another rock and throws this one into the waves. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Men.

We’re only ever able to spend mornings alone. After lunch, everyone joins us for a trip back into the city, Helena too when she’s feeling up to it. Even she looks different now. She waited a week before getting all her hair chopped off. She couldn’t take care of long hair anymore, and Usagi was useless for anything but a ponytail. I miss her long, blond curls. Now her hair is short and shaggy around her face.

We stop into the restaurant Sakai picked out for the new Izakaya Tanaka. The layout is the same but flipped opposite with the kitchen and sushi bar on the right instead of the left. Two private rooms occupy the back, and the second floor has two additional private rooms. Miko’s parents live on the third floor. Miko and Yoichi come each day and unpack the restaurant’s belongings as they’re shuttled down. Sono is due to wake up soon, and I can’t wait to see him.

From Izakaya Tanaka, we walk fifteen minutes from the bottom of our hill to the center of town. Everyone began settling here first and slowly moved out to occupy buildings farther from the new town hall. Lucy put a whole team of people in charge and buildings are being distributed by lottery and specialty. With twelve thousand people in the first wave in a variety of professions, restaurants, shops, and grocery stores are already open.

Jiro, Lucy, and I leave everyone to attend governmental functions in the afternoon. I sit as still as I can during each meeting, hyper-aware of my breathing, the way I blink my eyes, or chew on my lip. Every movement is analyzed by my opponents, my supporters, and journalists who are present to record every thing I say or do. I’m forced to be outgoing in my capacity as an imperial descendant, but even at my most ebullient, I’m considered shy and reticent.

“Shy and reticent Sanaa Itami cuts the ribbon at the new town hall,” they wrote about me on the news service. I have been banned from reading stories about me after I broke a tablet by tossing it in the algae-laden garden pond a week ago. My dragon is alive and well.

When I return to the estate after meetings, I analyze everything I did, hoping I didn’t offend someone. I obsess over details. I go over every facial tick or gesture and read between the lines until I can’t be sure what happened. I pace my bedroom, thinking about every word I’ve said, stepping over the creaky board next to the bed with Momo’s head watching me, back and forth, back and forth. The only good thing about being physically tired is that it turns my brain off long enough to get some sleep. Most late afternoons, I can barely keep my eyes open.

Prior to dinner, Jiro wakes me up with the smell of fresh herbs already grown in a speed cycle by the colonists. The fragrance is so familiar it makes me smile and sit straight up in bed.

“Just picked this morning.” Jiro plucks off a leaf and hands it to me. I rub the fragile greenery in my fingers, letting the oil coat my skin. Basil. I love basil. “Come on. Let’s go ask Oyama to make us a Thai curry. Something spicy. I know you like spicy.”

Thank you, Jiro. You’re always thinking of me when I least expect it.