Tilli’s Second Chance – Chapter 3

The moment I step into my childhood home in Yamato, a wave of nostalgia hits me like the scent of my mother’s cherry blossom perfume. Ah, home sweet home. Sigh. I wish I had my own place. There’s just something not right about living at home when you’re twenty-six. But every one of my older siblings did it. I guess I have to as well.

I leave my shoes by the door in the foyer and notice my mother’s shoes are missing. She must be out and about. The familiar wooden floors creak beneath my feet, reminding me that some things never change. The kitchen is quiet, and the lights are off. As I glance around at the well-kept living room beyond the front door, I can’t shake off the concern that’s been gnawing at me for days.

I’m really letting this competition get to me.

“Looks like no one’s home,” Ivan grumbles from behind me, his whiskers twitching with annoyance.

“Aren’t you usually happy about that? You’re extra grumpy today.”

“Well, someone has to feed me,” he mutters under his breath, padding further into the house.

“I always do! Go find a spot to nap and wake up in a better mood,” I say, trying to keep him from lashing out. “I’m going to check on Dad. He hasn’t been himself lately. Ean said he’s been… off.”

“Off?” Ivan lifts an eyebrow, or what would be an eyebrow if he were human. “How so?”

“Like he’s lost all motivation, all energy. He just seems… empty.” I keep my voice at a whisper in case he’s close by.

“I’ve seen that look before. It’s like the life has been sucked right out of him. Someone should do something about it.” He slinks off.

Great. Big thanks you are, Old Man.

I’m not sure how to help Dad, even if I can figure out what’s going on with him. Ean, Suri, and Myra are always telling me I’m his favorite child, but he’s been as hard on me as he’s been on them. If anything, I was the biggest disappointment of us all. He hates cheaters and people who disobey the law. It took me years to convince him I didn’t cheat, and I had no idea why the test proctors thought I had. I still have no idea what happened.

I set off through the house, inhaling the smell of fresh cedar and polished floors. The scent is as comforting and nostalgic as the creaky floors under my feet and the cracks in the plaster walls. This place is perpetually falling apart, but it’s home.

As I enter the living room, I spot Dad sitting on the back deck, staring blankly into the yard and garden. Hmmm. Yeah, something is off about him, for sure.

I slide open the door to the porch, and he looks up at me.

“Hey, Dad,” I greet him, hoping to inject some energy into him. “What are you up to?”

“Ah, Tilli.” He blinks slowly, as if coming out of a trance. “Nothing much.”

I smile as I grab a floor cushion and sit down next to him cross-legged. Pulling in a long breath through my nose, I tamp down some of the anxiety building in my body. I need to get ready for the big meeting, not sit out here and chat with my dad.

“What did you do this morning?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation light.

“Nothing much,” he says, shrugging. “Check up at the doctor. I walked around the neighborhood. Took a nap.”

“Sounds productive.” I laugh and he stays somber.

His head turns slowly, his face a passive mask. “Tilli, this is all I’m allowed to do now. Why are you bothering me?”

I raise my eyebrows at him. Okay, then.

If that’s the way he’s going to be, I might as well leave.

Just as the urge to stand up increases, he turns his head back to stare at the garden.

Wait. No. I promised I would do something.

“I have the big meeting at the Interstellar Agency at three,” I begin, trying to needle him into caring. “They’re going to announce the competition, what it will be and how long, and I’m a little nervous.”

This time, when he turns back to me, he folds his arms over his chest. He looks thinner than usual, and his body swims in his dress shirt. He hasn’t gone to an office in months, yet he can’t stop wearing a dress shirt and trousers every day.

“Why would you be nervous?” He tilts his head, looking for something on my face that will tell him a different story. “You’ve been studying. You’ve been working hard.”

“Yeah, but…” I drum my fingers on my knee. “You know.”

There’s silence for a moment that’s only filled with the hum of bugs from the garden.

“Do you think they’ll be predisposed to think you’re a cheater because of what happened in your past?”

And there it is.

Yes, that’s exactly what I think.

I feel certain every person at the I.A. is watching everything I do, checking and rechecking my answers, and making everything ten times harder so I will crack.

But I will not.

I refuse.

“I’m sure many of the same people are there. They saw what happened eight years ago, and they don’t want me there. They probably didn’t like you getting involved.”

Dad is quiet again for a long moment, staring down his nose at me.

“They never provided us with an explanation for your initial expulsion from the program. I argued that if they didn’t have proof they could show me, then they needed to give you another shot.” He nods once. “Thankfully, logic got through to them.”

But what if I screw it up again? I don’t even know how I lost out in the first round. Maybe I broke some unspoken rule, and I’m about to do it again. No one knows, and I hate not knowing.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pant legs. Gross. I hate feeling like this.

“You should concentrate on doing your best, and nothing else. That’s the only way forward here.”

“You’re right, Dad,” I say through numb lips.

“And maybe look into getting a boyfriend or something.” He huffs. “Your mother seems to think you won’t leave the house until you’re married.”

Slow breaths in and out, Tilli. What is up with everyone thinking I need a boyfriend?

He drops his voice. “But you know you can stay forever. That’s fine with me.”

And this is why all my siblings think he’s easier on me.

“Dad, I will not stay forever.” I chuckle. “And you can tell Mom I’ll stop at the boyfriend store on my way home from the I.A. tomorrow. Should I pick out a top-of-the-line model? Or a bargain-basement knock-off?”

He smiles. “You might have better luck with something in between.”

I laugh and bring my knees up. I set my chin on my folded arms atop them.

“Thanks, Dad,” I reply, my heart swelling with love for him despite his low energy.

Dad’s attention drifts back out to the garden.

“You know what?” I force lightness into my voice. “It’s been ages since we took a walk through the garden. You wanna go for a stroll?”

Dad hesitates for a moment, but then nods. It’s not much, but I’ll take it.

As we step off the porch and approach the first of the planted beds, a whiff of the damp earth mixed with the lingering scent of jasmine flowers hangs on the air. The warm afternoon breeze brushes against my skin as Dad and I walk side by side down the familiar gravel path.

“Wow,” I mutter, taking in the garden’s state. It’s a wild mess of tangled branches and overgrown weeds. “I guess the garden took a beating after the typhoon.”

Dad sighs, glancing around at the chaos that used to be his meticulously cared-for sanctuary. “That storm tore through here like a brute. All that work, trying to get these seedlings established… Now look at it.” He shakes his head, shoulders slumping. “Should have known better than to devote effort into something so ephemeral.”

We continue down the path, pausing now and then to untangle our feet from stubborn vines or push aside low-hanging branches. Layers of dirt and debris have muted the once-vibrant colors of the garden.

“Do you remember when we built the pond?” I ask, pointing to the murky water visible through a break in the brush. “You were so determined to get those water lilies to bloom.”

Dad chuckles, eyes gazing into memories of seasons past. “Your mother said I was mad to take on such a finicky task. But when those first blossoms finally opened, the look on her face…” His smile fades, wistfulness tinged now with sorrow.

I slip my arm through his, leaning close. “She loved your perseverance and patience. And the garden — it was your shared dream, a place filled with possibilities she loved helping nurture into being. We used to spend hours out here, tending to every leaf and flower.” Nostalgia creeps into my voice. “I’d always come out to help you after school, learning everything I could about the plants and their care.”

“Those were good times,” Dad admits. “But life has a way of changing our priorities, doesn’t it?”

“True.” A pang of sadness hits me for the man who once found such joy in simple tasks. The garden was a symbol of his love and dedication, but now it seems to reflect the turmoil within him.

“And it turns out I’m terrible at pruning rose bushes,” I say, grinning at him.

He chuckles, the sound like the rustling of leaves in the wind. “You were so determined to get every little thorn.”

“Hey, I was a perfectionist even back then.” I nudge him playfully.

We round the bend and come up on the vegetable garden.

“Have any pumpkins come up in the last few years?” I laugh, pointing at an overgrown patch where once our prized pumpkins had thrived. “Mine were always a little…” I rock my hand side to side.

Dad cracks a small smile at the memory. “Yeah, that lumpy little thing you grew one year definitely had… something.”

Something like a disease. No one wanted to touch it. It looked possessed.

“Maybe after the competition, we could work on restoring the garden together. It might be fun, don’t you think?” I try to keep my tone upbeat.

“Perhaps,” he says, though his voice lacks conviction. He’s not sold on the idea, but I won’t give up easily.

“Come on, Dad.” I nudge him with my elbow. “You know how much I’ve always loved this place. And who knows? Getting your hands dirty again may help you find the spark you’ve been missing since you retired.”

“Maybe?” he repeats. “I don’t know if I have it in me anymore, though. This garden… It’s a lot of work. And I’m not as young as I used to be.”

We continue walking, our footsteps crunching on the gravel path as we take in the wild beauty of the overgrown garden. It’s not the conversation I hoped for, but at least I’ve planted a seed of possibility in Dad’s mind.

“Come on. You’re not old enough to use that excuse yet. Besides, you could start small. Just tackle one corner at a time, and before you know it, this place will be back to its former glory.”

“Or,” he says with a hint of sarcasm, “it’ll swallow me whole, and I’ll end up living out my days as an eccentric hermit in the wilds of Yamato.”

I bark a laugh and clap my hands. “Somehow, I think you’d make that work. But seriously, consider it. You literally have nothing better to do. I came home and found you staring into space.”

Dad’s brow furrows as he contemplates my words, his gaze lingering on the tangled mess of plants before us.

“Well,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. “I just don’t want to mess it up, you know?”

He sounds like me. No wonder we get along so well.

“Who cares if you do? It’s already a bit of a beautiful disaster. Worse case scenario, you’ll learn something new and grow from the experience.”

“That’s quite the gardening metaphor,” he says dryly, but I catch a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“I aim to please. Now, let’s head back inside. I need to shower before my meeting.”

As we make our way to the house, frustration grows in my chest like a weed. Dad is so stubborn. It’s clear he’s considering the idea, but there’s a part of him that’s holding back, and I’m not sure how to reach him.

I can only hope I’ve sent him the right direction, to take the leap and embrace the beautiful chaos of gardening once more. Fingers crossed.