Page 80 of From Rivals to I Do

I glance at their house, which has been a part of the neighborhood for as long as I can remember. “It won’t be the same without you guys here.”

She nods, her expression wistful. “We’ll miss it here too. We’ve made some wonderful memories.”

We chat for a while longer, and I can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia as I watch them prepare to leave. It’s a reminder of how quickly things can change, how life can take unexpected turns.

As I return to my gardening, my thoughts drift back to my own past. I remember when I was much younger, back in South Carolina. My father used to force myself and my younger sister, Emily, to join him in the garden. He believed it was a way to instill discipline and responsibility in us.

He’d practically forced us to do everything—math, music, art, science. He’d whip us sometimes and give us grave punishments if we didn’t meet his impossibly high standards. Those memories are etched into my mind, vivid scenes of my childhood.

I remember one day, as Emily and I struggled to plant seeds in the dry soil, the sun beating down on us, he snapped. He’d been abusive to us, even to our mother, for as long as I could remember. He’d spank and beat her anytime she said anything to defend us. She was always afraid of him, powerless to save us from his wrath.

All of this left a mark on me, shaping who I am today. I vowed never to have anything to do with my father or his money. After high school, I applied to join the U.S. Navy SEALs. I left South Carolina, leaving behind the abuse and trauma, and I never looked back.

Now, I stand in my garden, a world away from the past I’ve tried to escape. The flowers sway in the gentle breeze, and I take a deep breath, grateful for the peace I’ve found in this little corner of Japan.

But despite the distance and the years that have passed, I still don’t know whatever has become of my family. All that’s left are memories and unanswered questions that continue to haunt me.

With each day, I try to bury the ghosts of my past, finding solace in the simple act of nurturing life in my garden. It’s my therapy, my way of healing, and my hope for a better future, free from the murk that still lingers.

Done in the garden, I walk over to the hose to rinse my tools. Then I pack them up and head to the kitchen. I clean my hands and walk over to my computer system on a small table in the dining room. There are some emails I should have sent. So, I sit to type them quickly.

With the final email sent, I shut down my computer and lean back in my chair. The house feels quiet, almost serene. Having lived in Tokyo for a little over a year, it is easy, switching into running my online real estate agency and business consultancy for foreigners here in Japan. It is a life I can control, a life free from the cacophony of memories that cling to me like a stubborn shadow.

I stretch my legs and peer out of the window, gazing at the neatly trimmed garden I have just cultivated. Gardening has become a therapy of sorts, a way to clear my mind of this darkness that still occasionally plagues my thoughts. The rhythmic sound of cicadas fills the air, a quintessential Japanese summer soundtrack.

As I relax, my phone buzzes on the wooden table beside me. The screen displays several notifications, mostly from prospective clients eager to engage in real estate deals. My business has been rewarding, offering support and assistance to foreigners looking to establish themselves in Japan. It doesn’t consume too much of my energy, allowing me time to reflect and adjust to my new life.

I scroll through the messages, some filled with excitement about potential investments, while others are cautious with a series of inquiries. While I am going through the texts and mails, my screen lights up with a call. The caller’s name is Mr. Tanaka, a Japanese businessman whom I have consulted for previously. He has requested my services once again, but this time, it is for a venture located in the United States, in Tennessee to be precise.

I answer the call, and Mr. Tanaka’s voice resonates through the phone. His English is almost fluent, the result of the few years he’s spent studying and working in the States.

“Derrick, it’s good to hear from you again. I hope I’m not disturbing your day?” he says in his characteristic polite manner.

I assure him that he isn’t. We exchange pleasantries and inquire about each other’s well-being before he gets to the purpose of his call. Mr. Tanaka has expanded his business to Nashville, Tennessee, and he requires my expertise in setting up and managing his new venture. I listen carefully as he explains the details of his business venture and his vision for the future.

“We have acquired a piece of land for our new office building, and I believe your experience will be invaluable in ensuring a successful launch,” Mr. Tanaka says.

It sounds like an exciting opportunity, and I appreciate his trust in my abilities. Over the next week, I rearrange my schedule, adjourning my appointments and notifying my clients of my temporary absence. My destination is set: Nashville, Tennessee.

The days roll over swiftly. I pack a few essentials, mainly business attire and some personal belongings. The process feels routine, but the anticipation of returning to the United States stirs up mixed emotions. I book a one-way ticket to Nashville and, with a backpack slung over my shoulder, head for the airport.

The flight is long and boring. I pull out a book I had brought along and begin to read. It seems boring too. I close my eyes and then force myself to nap. Soon, my eyes open, as the pilot speaks to the passengers, informing us about landing. I look outside the window, watching the plane descend toward the Nashville International Airport, as a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I haven’t set foot in my home country for years, and returning now brings back memories, more painful than pleasant. The anticipation of the new business venture keeps me focused, but I can’t help but wonder what has become of my family in my absence.

I remember when I’d left. I did it without turning back. I channeled all of how I felt into my Navy SEAL training.

Now, as the plane touches down and the cabin crew announces our arrival, a mix of excitement and trepidation course through my insides. The possibility of something happening is high. But all I’d do is what I’ve come for. And I’d return in one piece. Or would I?

Chapter three

Chapter Three

Istep into the bedroom, its clean, modern lines a stark contrast to the centuries-old charm of the New York apartment. The tiles are cool beneath my bare feet as I reach for the light switch, flooding the space with a soft, muted glow. It’s early morning, Saturday, to be precise. The city outside stirs to life at a different rhythm than during the week. I can already hear the distant hum of traffic, the impatient blaring of car horns, and the shuffling of pedestrians.

My attire is simple, perfect for a quiet morning at home. I’m dressed in shorts and a loose-fitting top, its fabric gentle against my skin. Alex, my sweet little nephew, is still asleep in his room. The past weeks have been a whirlwind as I’ve rushed to prepare for my upcoming travel away from this hell hole.

A yawn escapes me as I gaze at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It’s been a challenging time, but it’s also been a time of rediscovery. The stench of my morning breath invades my senses, and I can’t help but scrunch my nose and chuckle at my own expense. Amid all the chaos, there’s a sense of freedom approaching, a sense of possibility.

My eyes meet the mirror’s gaze, and I’m reminded of the Japanese quote tucked in one corner. It’s a daily reminder of my obsession, my burning desire to explore the land of the rising sun. My brown hair cascades around my face, framing my features. My tanned skin hints at days spent basking in the warmth of the sun. I have thin lips that can curve into a smile as easily as they can convey determination. My nose, well, it’s pointy, a feature that’s always earned me a teasing nickname or two.

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