The House of Solitude Chapter 4 | The Tone of a New Home

That was it. Every time I get lost, I remember Maria's house. Over and over again. I desperately try to summon the air that flowed through that house, and the emotions that welled up in my heart when I was bathed in it.

Last week's barbecue was exactly that kind of catalyst.

Because I started crying, the barbecue was cut short. Kaori said, 'I'll drink the rest of the alcohol, so don't worry,' and apparently went home in the car driven by Sawaguchi-kun, who kept apologizing over and over. Unfortunately, I couldn't even see them off, and Makoto took care of all the cleanup. Filled with nothing but feelings of regret, I fell asleep in Makoto's arms that day.

I will search for a new kind of happiness with Makoto. Two years ago in the spring, I had certainly decided that. Marriage, childbirth, the role of a woman, the role of a family member. Not to bow down to those things, but not to rebel against them blindly either, I wanted to paint a future where I could be satisfied just by being there.

And yet, as time passed while dating Makoto, my desire to become a family with him, to marry him, grew stronger. I cannot tell if that is a wish that is an extension of my 'playing house' or something else entirely.

And then, there is the unchanging fact that precedes such conflict: 'Either way, Makoto already has a child he loves, and I am not his family.' It's not that I'm not choosing; it's that I cannot choose. That despair slowly, over time, eroded my heart.

Those things accumulated and exploded. On that day of the barbecue.

Time does not rewind, but the warmth of Maria that remains within me has not yet faded. I type in the email address I used to use and log into the inbox. Hundreds of promotional emails from stores and services I registered for back then are piled up, unopened. So much time has passed, I think to myself. As I sort them by a specific year, the exchanges from when I was a college student remain.

--Oh crap, I'm pregnant

Looking at that thread, I could remember the sound of Maria's piano as if it were yesterday. It was a fun and happy performance, like someone humming in the kitchen on a cheerful day.

Like rolling up a letter to put in a bottle to throw into the sea, I create a new message to that email address.

--Long time no see. How are you doing?

Surely, in a few seconds, an error message will come back. Sending an email I knew wouldn't be delivered was nothing more than a selfish, ritualistic act. But what came back was not an error, but a reply from the person herself. Surprised by the unexpected, I almost drop my smartphone.

--Not doing well at all! Anyway, thanks for the email, how are you doing, Akane?

It felt like I was being called by Maria's raspy voice, unchanged from when we were in high school, and the corners of my mouth involuntarily soften. But it seems Maria is 'not doing well at all'.

--I'm doing well. Did something bad happen?

I spent a lot of time just replying with that one sentence. Am I in a position to ask her such a thing? Does she even want to be asked in the first place? What kind of question would be the least burdensome for Maria?

Beyond that question was Ren's inquiry: 'Did something bad happen?'

That day, by confiding everything to Ren, I managed to find a reason to live for tomorrow. His words are passed on to Maria through me. Even from someone who knew nothing, it made me happy that he reached out. He lifted me up from the daily life I wanted to escape from. If that's the case, surely I can say it too. At least that one sentence.

Ah, I hope Ren is also cultivating a different kind of happiness somewhere. For the first time since our divorce, I thought of him.

—I want to see Akane.

When I read that reply, I somehow knew that she must be crying right now. If there was anything I could do for her in this moment.

—Where? If you're free, I'll come right away.
—Kitami

“Ugh.”

I let out a low groan. Hokkaido is vast. When I pin Kitami from Sapporo on Google Maps, it displays a desperate four-hour drive using the expressway. But my fingers were already typing a reply.

—I'll be there by 2 PM.
—No way, are you seriously coming!? Seriously!? That's insane.

Thinking that Maria is still the kind of girl who expresses all her emotions with the word “insane,” a warm feeling lit up inside me. Ah, this feeling. There really is something I can only get from Maria.

I hurriedly put on minimal makeup, changed into my most comfortable maxi dress, and grabbed my car keys. In the meantime, Maria had sent me her address. It seemed to be in a residential area not far from Kitami Station. My smartphone kept vibrating with a stream of messages like “sorry,” “seriously,” “insane,” and “happy,” so I cut off the notifications with a wry smile.

Without asking for any further background or information, I started the car engine. When driving through residential areas, I strictly keep to under 30 km/h. It’s a warning that has been circulated twice in the neighborhood association newsletter. There must be someone in this neighborhood who is very concerned about car speeds. Following that rule, I slowly drove through the road where houses faced each other.

An elderly back hunched over pulling weeds in a garden. A woman walking her dog. White walls, red roofs, triangles, squares, straight-lined street trees. When I cracked the window open, I could hear the laughter of children from somewhere. With one hand on the steering wheel, I used the other to fish a heated tobacco device out of my bag and set a menthol stick. Passing between each person's happiness, I am now driving to answer the “I want to see you” of a friend I haven't met in over ten years.

Strangely, my heart was soaring. Perhaps the choice to leave my daily life behind and drive for someone else in this moment is what you call freedom.

I drove along the expressway that cuts straight through the mountains. On the way, I stopped at a small roadside station and bought a keychain with a bear mascot character that caught my eye. Maria used to love keeping these kinds of strange mascots in her room.

Eventually, when I passed through the road where fields stretched out wide and entered the city, I looked at the screen of my smartphone, which I had silenced, and saw the word “Thank you” in the latest message. Just that alone gave me the feeling that my heart, which had been jumbled up, was being sorted out. I’m the one who wants to thank you.

Near the specified address, there was a residential area with a different landscape from the one I live in. Here, too, people have their lives. As I got closer to the house, my anxiety and nervousness grew just as much as my excitement.

There was a spacious parking area in front of the house, so I pulled my car in. A tricycle, a bicycle with a child seat, and a deflated kiddie pool were lined up messily at the entrance. When I rang the doorbell and saw the nameplate “Sakai,” I realized once again that Maria was no longer “Nishikido.”

The person who opened the door and came out was that same Maria. She let out a high-pitched cry, laughing until her face crumpled, her eyes red, and she hugged me. I had imagined all sorts of things—how much of an adult she must have become, or what I would do if she had the face of a mother or a wife—but Maria was still Maria.

As I imagined, Maria’s house was overflowing with things and had all sorts of smells. The lingering scent of cooking, children’s toys, piles of laundry, and dust-covered commemorative photos. I squinted and watched for a moment, thinking that the dark-skinned man in the photos must be Maria’s husband, and the four children surrounding them and laughing like flowers must be Maria’s treasures. When I looked around the living room and confirmed there was no keyboard there, my chest ached just a little.

For a while, Maria praised me for driving all the way to Kitami, using only “insane” and “amazing,” just like when she first told me her thoughts on my performance. While I quenched my thirst with the cold-brew oolong tea she gave me, she explained that it had been five years since they built the house here after “Papa” was transferred to Kitami. At first, I was confused about who “Papa” referred to, but I understood from the flow of the conversation that she meant her husband.

“When I got your email, Akane, I really, seriously cried. I had a really, really bad thing happen this morning, and it came at that exact moment.”

I straightened my posture on the sofa and listened to Maria’s story. From there, while sniffling, Maria began to list words in a disjointed timeline.

Today, we had plans to go for a family drive. Between deciding where to go, what time to leave, and the fact that our third son wasn't feeling well, everything piled up and I ended up arguing with my husband. To begin with, our relationship hasn't been good for a long time. He's cheating. He has been ever since we moved here. Probably. But I'm scared to confirm it. It's not just that I'm scared; even if I did confirm it, there's nothing I could do. After all, I only work part-time, I have four children, and we have a house. My husband pays the mortgage on this house. He was only kind for the first year of our marriage. He doesn't help with raising the kids at all. He's only proactive about buying them snacks and toys or taking them out, but he won't do any of the daily chores. I've pointed this out to him over and over, but it never gets through. Ever since he said, 'You're the one who said you wanted to have them,' during a fight three years ago, I haven't been able to see him as family anymore. He made it sound like it was my fault we got married, too. At night, my husband doesn't come home. The kids won't fall asleep. I have no time for myself. I can't talk to anyone. Well, I have 'mom friends,' and I can vent to them, but everything turns into gossip, so I can't tell them the truth. Venting about things I can say in the moment doesn't change anything. My own family is in Sapporo, so I can't see them. I don't want to worry them, so I can't tell them how I really feel either. Truth be told, I wanted to stay in Sapporo. I want to work properly, become independent, and leave this house with my children, but at my age, I don't know what I can start from scratch. I don't know what to do. This morning, all of that exploded, and I didn't know what I was screaming about anymore, and I couldn't stop crying. My husband took all the children and left the house. He left me behind and went on the drive as planned. I'm not needed anymore.

Her words were blurred by sobs, making them unclear in places. But as Maria repeated the same things over and over, she kept telling me that whole sequence of events. Partway through, I became worried that Maria herself might melt away into a puddle, so I hugged her thin shoulders to help her maintain her human form.

As Maria continued to pour out the ten years I hadn't known about, I realized just how little I had known. How selfish and arrogant the bright future I had imagined for Maria must have been. I, too, was one of the many who hadn't noticed her loneliness. That realization burned in my chest. And so, the image of 'Maria's house' that I had been searching for all this time also crumbled away into ash. There was certainly happiness there. But what I saw was surely just one side of the family.

There is a toy I have always, always cherished in my heart. It's a dollhouse with a red triangular roof. I've been playing house there, swapping out various dolls. Because I didn't want to get hurt, I avoided the reality that went beyond the scope of playing house. But Maria is living in a real house. That's why she carries so much, and her options are limited. She is standing firm in a place far removed from freedom. I suppose that is what 'family' is.

I smash the dollhouse in my heart, which I had cherished for so long, with all my might.

'Hey Maria, let's go for a drive.'

This time, I'll be the one to lead the way. I held the hand of Maria, who still hadn't stopped crying, and helped her into the passenger seat as gently as I could. I don't know the way. But it's fine as long as we go somewhere. When I handed her the bear mascot character that had been left in the car as a 'present,' Maria's eyes went wide, and then she laughed while sniffing, saying, 'Who is this guy? He's super cute.'

In the car, we shared brief summaries of the completely different paths we had walked. Maria explained with affection that each of her four children had different weaknesses and catchphrases, and that her eldest daughter had gotten her first boyfriend. I replied with details about my company's business and stories about Makoto that I would usually be embarrassed to share. When I said, 'It feels like our lives are so different that we're creatures from different planets,' Maria laughed out loud and said, 'I know, right?'

I truly respect Maria for raising her children. And Maria told me that she truly respects me for running a company on my own. Although what we have built up is different, the time we have spent is equal. When I told Maria about the feelings I had always held toward the existence of a 'mom,' she looked surprised and scolded me.

'Why! Akane, you're amazing! Why do you think you're lower just because you don't have children!? You're amazing, Akane!? You should praise yourself more!'

She tapped my arm as I gripped the steering wheel. The vibration reached my chest, and I couldn't hold back my tears. 'I'm driving, so don't make me cry,' I pleaded in a trembling voice. Maria repeated, 'It's because you don't praise yourself, Akane! You're wonderful, Akane!' and in the end, she cried with me.

'You've always been amazing, Akane... You worked hard at piano, at your studies, and at protecting your family... You've always thought about things and worked so hard...'

Because Maria kept repeating 'amazing' and 'wonderful' so much, I ended up crying so hard that it interfered with my driving, and I pulled the car over to the shoulder. It was a pasture area, and other than the hay bales placed here and there, only the sky stretched out. The color of that sky was slowly beginning to prepare for the evening.

'It's beautiful, isn't it?'

Maria whispered. My eyes were hot. Maria's eyes were also bright red. Two grown adults, crying this hard. When I thought about that, I started to laugh a little.

Cinderella could dance until midnight, but Maria couldn't. Looking at the setting sun, I thought about time. Maria must have been imagining various things in the same way. She took her smartphone out of her pocket and pressed the switch on the side. Seeing that movement, I realized she had kept it turned off until now. But I understand. I've wanted to turn it off many times, too. Many times.

'...Whoa, yikes, I have so many missed calls.'

I knew who it was without asking, so I urged her, 'Call them back.' Maria looked anxious and clouded over, but she took a deep breath and pressed the smartphone to her ear. After she started talking, Maria got out of the car and closed the door. The voice I heard for that brief moment was raspier than the Maria I knew, sounding like a completely different person.

Leaning my weight against the steering wheel and staring at the single road leading to the sky, I also thought about the place I would return to. Not my house, but the warmth of Makoto that I imagined. Since the day of the barbecue, I had only told him, 'I need a little time,' and had cut off contact with him.

After all, I want to return to Makoto. I want him to hold me after I've broken my dollhouse. I pick up my own smartphone. Today should be his day off, too.

—If you don't have any plans, can I come see you tonight? It'll take a while, though.

I composed that message and sent a photo of the scenery spreading out before me. Since he loves driving, I was sure he could roughly imagine how far away this place was just from the photo.

Shortly after I sent the message, the passenger door opened and Maria climbed in.

"Dad apologized so much. He said, 'Come home, I want to talk this through properly.' He was panicking because I left even though I don't have a car."

I nodded and said, "Let's hurry home," as I started the engine. This time, I entered the address of Maria's house into the car navigation system and made a U-turn. "But you know," Maria continued in a small voice.

"It won't turn into a discussion anyway. I know that. It'll turn into a fight, I'm sure. But still, I'm going home. Because she's my mom."

After that, I kept repeating how "brave" and "amazing" she was, just as much as she had said to me, or even more. I told her that Maria had been brave for a long time. I told her that I had always felt that bravery in her playing, in her family, and in her words—that I had been saved by Maria, both back then and now. Maria kept crying loudly, but as we got closer to her house, she gradually returned to her adult expression.

If the face Maria puts on to protect her family is part of who she is, then that must be a part of her too. When I thought of that, I suddenly remembered my mother's face. Perhaps that, too, was a face worn to protect a family.

…—Maybe now, I can look at my mother head-on.

I stepped on the accelerator, aiming for the place I call home.

As soon as I arrived at Makoto's house, I was held tightly. Makoto has a large build and is strong, so when he hugs me for real, it feels like my bones might break and I can't breathe. But I realized once again that I love that strength and warmth more than anything.

"Welcome back."
"I'm home."

The scent of the house, the children's drawings—nothing had changed. But my heart was clear. I felt relieved to confirm that no jealousy or sadness had sprouted within this house.

I ate the dinner Makoto had prepared for me while telling him about what happened today. About meeting a dear friend named Maria, and what she said while she was crying. I told him how I felt as I took it all in. While reflecting on those things, I was able to honestly convey how much I had been seeking a "family." And the desire that I had taken such a long, roundabout way to express spilled out from my lips without any hesitation.

"You know, I wanted to marry you, Makoto."

Ah, it's in the past tense. But I felt a slight ripple spread through my heart. I listened closely to that small tremor, too. I made sure not to miss even the slightest question I posed to myself. So that I wouldn't suppress it anymore.

"...Honestly, when I feel that I don't have children of my own, I feel like I'm going to be crushed. Even though I have someone I love so much right in front of me and I feel happy, the thought that we will never be a family in the future makes me very lonely. That's probably not because I'm a woman, but because I love you, Makoto. I'm sure that feeling won't change, and I don't have the confidence that I can live well with that loneliness."

Whenever I tell someone something, I have always tried to control the flow of what comes next. But there were no answers or correctness waiting after the words I had just spun. I had no expectation for Makoto to do anything. I simply conveyed my emotions. In order to continue walking with him from here on out. For that one simple wish.

Makoto left a careful silence for a while, as if he were rereading my words. Unlike the silence in my own home, I could feel Makoto's desperation to try and understand me in that pause. That is why I could just wait, without my breathing becoming ragged.

"...For me, I think I'm afraid that if I live with Akane, our relationship will change. Because I never want to have regrets ever again. I want to cherish you, Akane, so that I won't have any regrets."

My words falter there for a moment. Knowing that Makoto's shoulders are trembling, I embrace his broad shoulders. It's okay, I hear you loud and clear. I know that you cherish me. I also understand that you weren't ignoring my wish to get married. I put strength into my arms, wanting to convey that much to him.

“Being with Akane, I am truly happy right now. So, from here on out, I want us to think together about what will make us the happiest.”

For the first time, I heard Makoto's voice choke up. I close my eyes. Tears stream down my cheeks. I vow to focus on protecting this moment, right now, rather than the past. There is no need to check if our answers match. Surely the answers will change, and if we don't know, we can just think about it. Together.

From that day on, I began to build a new, small house in the corner of my heart that had become a vacant lot.

The days began to cycle again, with the saturation turned up just a little bit.

As always, I brew coffee every morning, take a break, and face my computer in my own space. When I look at the balance in my corporate bank account, wondering if it's time to replace my equipment, I can't help but feel excited. I might be a genius to be earning this much. As the sun sets, the sound of insects begins to drift in from outside the window. Autumn, the most comfortable season, is almost here. I rotate my stiff neck and take a deep breath.

On a whim, I type “Ren Takamoto” into the browser and search for him. A woman searching for her ex-boyfriend. This is another one of those things I used to laugh at for being shallow. But I don't wish for his misfortune. So, I feel no guilt.

The image search results hit on several monochrome photos capturing an empty Tokyo, and I confirm that one of them won this year's photo contest. I am proud to have been chosen by your eyes, which can capture Tokyo so beautifully. I vowed to those landscapes that I would continue to cherish the “cute” version of me that you praised so highly while I am here in this land.

One evening, I get a message from Kaori saying, “I started dating Sawaguchi,” and I immediately call Makoto. It seems they grew close very quickly on the night of that barbecue, when I had time to kill after crying. When I reported that turn of events and gushed, “I’m such a cupid, aren't I!”, Makoto's laughter warmed the speaker. I feel my cheeks flush, wanting to see that smile in person soon.

I have been talking to Maria on the phone frequently since that day. Sometimes, amidst the sound of her children crying or calling out “Mommy,” and the sound of her stir-frying, I enjoy our conversations, and I praise her, saying, “Your multitasking skills are amazing.” “Seriously!? You could hire me as a genius, you know!?” Maria says happily while soothing her children. Just before we hang up, she always says, “Once the youngest gets a little bigger, I’ll come to see you.” Because the earnestness of that statement makes me imagine what she is carrying, I reply, “On the day you want to meet, I’ll go to Kitami whenever you like.” Being able to cherish my friends more than anyone else is my privilege as someone who has no family of her own.

It was only recently that I sent a message to my mother with trembling fingers.

The catalyst was that I had started keeping in touch with my sister. The sister in my memories had sharp eyes, but the voice I heard over the phone was soft and rounded. My sister has a new family and is raising children while working in Tokyo. When I carefully chose my words to bring up our mother, my sister immediately replied, “Oh, I don't care about that at all anymore.” I was surprised by that, but I realized that my sister has her own family and home, and that she has already put a period on the past regarding the parents and the childhood home that I am still trapped by. My sister’s lighthearted laughter, saying, “I’ve kind of forgiven them,” lightened my heart.

That said, I don't even know how many years it has been since I last contacted my mother. After exchanging a few messages with polite, detached updates on our lives, we make plans for dinner. They said both parents would be coming. I told them I would be coming with the man I am currently seeing. However, I emphasized in advance that I am not currently anticipating a future involving marriage or family with him. It was too scary for me to meet my parents, whom I had been estranged from for so long, all by myself. I didn't know how to interact with them. I didn't put it quite that bluntly, but I did tell them that it would be easier for me to talk if he were there.

On the day of the appointment, they specified an area in Sapporo lined with high-end restaurants. Ever since I arrived at Maruyama Station, I haven't been able to stop sweating strangely. Makoto rubs my back as I gulp down more bottled tea than usual, saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” With a souvenir in one hand that I spent hours agonizing over, I pass through the noren curtain of the restaurant my parents reserved.

The parents I saw for the first time in a long while had aged significantly. They are my parents, but they are elderly. Were the two of them always this small? I am taken aback as I hand them the souvenir.

“Thank you.”

It’s a common phrase, but because they said it so happily, I find myself tracing my memories, wondering if they had ever thanked me before. I’m sure they had, many times. I’m just the one who forgot.

With expressions that showed no sign of their former strictness, my parents bowed deeply and greeted Makoto. I realized painfully that the impression of my parents I had been holding onto was already in the past.

We didn't talk about family memories at all. My parents barely touched on Makoto, either. They just kept rattling on at a fast pace about trivial things, like a movie they were interested in lately, a new piece of furniture they bought, or their frustration with politics.

I had never seen my parents talk this much. Between the two of them, who had been so cold, a game of catch with words was actually happening. Perhaps, after their children had left the nest, the two of them finally decided to fight the troublesome monster of silence and, before they knew it, had begun to hold hands.

Watching over my clumsy parents as they talked incessantly, I made a wish. I hoped that the reason for their desperation was, at the very least, an attempt to empathize with the feelings of a daughter who had long been pushed around by the idol of 'family'.

By the time it was time to leave, my parents had finally run out of things to say and fell silent. As a thank you for protecting me from the silence until then, I decided to bring up a trivial topic myself.

"By the way, I went for a drive to Kitami by myself the other day. The scenery was really beautiful."

I thought that talking about Maria would connect me to the past and make things complicated, so I only showed them a photo of the sunset from my photo folder. It was that sunset, the one where Maria and I cried together while thinking about the passage of time.

"It's beautiful."

My mother gazed at the image on the smartphone, her eyes welling up with tears.

"The day you were born, Akane, the sky looked just like this. It was such a beautiful color that we named you 'Akane'."

The smile on my mother's face as she gently returned the smartphone to my hand was beautiful and bright.

On the way home after parting with my parents, I kept crying out loud. "I'm glad," Makoto said, squeezing my hand tightly.

That night, I closed my eyes in Makoto's arms. After the consonants of the words "I love you" brushed against my ears, my consciousness immediately drifted away. In the depths of a deep, deep sleep, undisturbed by any dreams, only the quiet tone of building a new house resonated.

(End)

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