Page 97 of From Rivals to I Do

Once we arrive home, I put Alex to sleep with a gentle lullaby, tucking him in and planting a soft kiss on his forehead. After ensuring he’s comfortable, I make my way to my room. I undress and take a soothing bath to unwind from the evening, slipping into comfortable nightwear afterward. I climb into my bed, deciding to scroll through some messages and updates on my phone before drifting off to sleep.

Among the messages, I notice one from my friend, Rose. It’s a simple “How are you?” and “I miss you” message. I take a moment to send her a warm reply, feeling a pang of nostalgia and missing my life back in New York, my friends, and the familiarity of my old home.

As I continue scrolling through my unread messages, one, in particular, catches my eye. It’s a voice note from my mother. I had seen it earlier but had waved it off, busy with my adjustment to life in Japan. We had spoken over the phone only once, which was just as soon as I had arrived. Curiosity gets the better of me this time, and I open the message.

The voice note commences with my mother’s familiar tone, filled with her inquiries about my well-being and comprehensive updates regarding life back in the United States. Whichever way, I’m sure that she’s just reaching out for formality’s sake. There’s no scent of care in all she says. Even if there was any, it was feigned. However, what truly captures my attention is the distinct resonance of a man’s voice in the background of the recording. It’s an unfamiliar presence, and it instantly raises a myriad of questions in my mind, causing a sense of curiosity and even a hint of concern to wash over me. The answers to these questions though, are not elusive and beyond my reach. I’ve lost every sense of puzzlement and contemplation regarding my mother’s lifestyle at this point.

Suddenly, I find my mind wandering to the thought of my father. He’s an enigma, a figure in my life whom I’ve never truly known. I can’t help but wonder what he’s like, what his voice sounds like, and whether he ever thinks about me. Whether he even knows I exist.

The mystery of his absence has always lingered, like a shadow in the corner of my mind. Yet, despite this momentary reflection, I find myself waving off these thoughts. It’s not the right time to dwell on a past I can’t change or a person who’s remained absent for all of my life.

The muffled sounds of Tokyo’s distant nightlife seeps through the windows, past the hushed embrace of the night, creating a comforting backdrop to my solitude. Not aware of when I do, I drift into the threshold of sleep.

I don’t know what time it is exactly, but a distant rumble resonates, stirring me from the verge of dreams. My drowsy mind initially interprets it as something innocuous, perhaps a stray noise from the kitchen. The idea of investigating hardly appeals to me, but the persistence of the rumble prompts me to slip out of bed.

I tread softly across the room, the polished wooden floor cool beneath my feet. The sensation provides a welcome contrast to the warmth of my covers. The dim moonlight filtering through the curtains guides me as I navigate through the corridors, creating gentle patterns of light and shadow.

Reaching the kitchen, I find it undisturbed, everything in its place. Puzzled, I consider the possibility that the sound might have been external. Tokyo can be a city of eccentric noises, and it’s not unusual to hear distant rumbles or hums, the city itself breathing and whispering in the night.

Satisfied that there’s no immediate cause for concern, I decide to return to the cocoon of my bed. Sleep calls out to me, promising a realm of dreams yet to be explored. I nestle under the covers, the previous thoughts and mysteries gradually fade away, replaced by the peaceful oblivion of slumber. The rhythms of the night, both familiar and enigmatic, lull me into the world of dreams once more.

I awaken to the soft light filtering through the curtains, as the new day tugged at my sleeves to join it. The morning air is crisp, filled with the promise of another day in Tokyo. I rouse Alex from his slumber, the touch of dawn coloring his room in pale hues. He stirs with the innocence of a child, a slight yawn and the stretch of small arms signaling his return to the world of the living.

His eyes, still heavy with sleep, meet mine, and a subtle smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Together, we prepare for the day ahead. I guide him through the steps of getting ready for school, his uniform carefully chosen and backpack filled with books and lunch. As I brush his hair, my fingers linger in the soft strands, hoping that I convey the depth of my affection for him.

We finish preparing and have breakfast. After our meal, we step out onto the porch, the day stretching before us. We find our place on the steps, waiting together for the school bus to arrive to take Alex to school. Alex’s small hand slips into mine, and we sit side by side, our hearts in synchrony.

My fingers find their way to his unruly hair again, and I start to gently rub his head, my actions a silent promise of my presence and care. Then, Alex breaks the momentary silence with an innocent question, one that catches me off guard. “Aunt Amber, did you hear the house shake last night? I thought someone was trying to pull my bed away.” His eyes are filled with curiosity, the weight of his question evident.

My mind races back to the previous night, the unexplained rumble that briefly stirred me from sleep. I’m left searching for a reassuring answer. But, in the end, I decide to shield him from any unnecessary worries. It could have been someone trying to steal in, or something worse. But whatever it was, I hope to unravel it soon.

I smile at Alex, my gaze softening as I place a hand on his shoulder. “Alex, it was just the weather. Sometimes, the wind and rain can make the house creak a little. Nothing to worry about.” I try to reassure him.

Soon, the school bus rumbles into view, its tires humming in the morning quiet. I turn to Alex. Gently, I hold his face in my hands, my eyes meeting his. With a sense of profound affection, I press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” I whisper, the words carrying the weight of a thousand feelings.

In the same language that has become a part of our daily lives, he responds, “Aishiteru, Mama.” The tenderness in his voice fills my heart, a testament to the love that binds us together. I smile widely. He’d tried calling me Mama a few times lately. And I didn’t mind—aunt, mama, mom, Amber, whatever.

The bus comes to a halt in front of our home, and the door swings open. With a final, affectionate pat on Alex’s back, I let go of his face. His small hand reaches for mine one more time, a brief squeeze that holds a universe of emotions.

He runs off toward the waiting bus, his backpack bouncing with each step. I watch him go, my heart overflowing with love and pride.

“See you later,” I holler at him. I begin to walk toward the house, not at all worrying if I would actually see Alex later, like I had casually said.

The sun has taken refuge behind the horizon. The day creeps on like any other, mine unfolding in routine. I do some cleaning inside and receive a call from a rider that would be coming in some thirty minutes. I gather my paints and canvases, my brushes and palettes, and I make my way to the porch.

The air outside is gentle, the calmness only occasionally interrupted by the rustle of leaves. It’s in this serene atmosphere that I lose myself in my work. My paintbrush feels like an extension of my thoughts as my hand dances across the canvas.

I keep on painting, humming to the sound of Bob Dylan’s ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’, unaware of what was coming. The sudden contrast between the peace I am feeling now with what is going to unravel couldn’t have been imagined.

Like a thunderbolt out of the blues, a rumble shakes the ground beneath me and the screams of others grasp my immediate attention. It’s sudden and fierce, a violent tremor that throws my world into chaos. Everything tilts, and the porch beneath my feet shudders. My canvas flies away, the colors of my art scattered like confetti.

Panicked, I scramble to my feet, the thought of Alex gripping my heart like a vice. The earth’s fury manifests in the objects around me, hurling them through the air. Debris soars through the space, the outside world becoming a tempest of flying chaos. A big tree from the neighbor’s property on the other side of my house falls over, crashing over the barbed wire fence. I rush into my living room. The vibrations continue. Through the window, I see people running in a helter-skelter manner. I run outside to see what is going on and in the far distance, I can see a wave about 30 feet tall roaring towards us.

Fear consumes me. I’m no stranger to bad happenings, but this tremorous sight isn’t that. It feels different, more ferocious like the world itself is rebelling. Alex. He’s at school. The thought is a relentless echo in my mind as I rush toward the door. With trembling hands, I grasp the handle, my fingers trembling with the knowledge of what I might find.

As the door swings open, the scene before me is one of devastation. My heart sinks as I witness my home crumble before my eyes, the walls disintegrating as if they were made of sand. Chaos reigns outside, but a deep dread tells me that going there is not an option. The street is a battlefield, debris raining like artillery fire, and this furious wave is getting closer and closer every second. My heart pounds, adrenaline flowing, and all I can think is to run.

I immediately remember Jessica. I begin to imagine what she must have been thinking the last few seconds her life flashed before her eyes. Was it like this? I would probably get to know soon if I meet her on the other side of life.

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