On the day of the book drive, Chizuru has to head to the hospital to see to her grandmother, and Kazuya comes to conclusion about the situation between him and Chizuru.

Chapter Text

I left campus that day floating on air. Mizuhara was a private person: about what she liked, about a lot of things. She could act like an adoring girlfriend, but the ways she showed she cared in reality were so much more subtle. I’d never thought she would say she was happy to be in my life. Maybe, when all this was over and Mizuhara left her rental girlfriend job, there was a chance we’d still stay in touch. And if that happened, I could tell her I loved her. She’d turn me down in a heartbeat, but at least then I could be honest with her, and I could hope she wouldn’t be so grossed out that she’d cut off all contact.

In hindsight, it was stupid of me to start thinking about all of that stuff. I’d forgotten what was important—not being Mizuhara’s friend in the future or anything like that. I’d begun to have these fantasies about the relationship I wanted with her, to the point that I neglected the present.

The next day, during morning classes, Mizuhara sent a message to our LINE group:

“Sorry,” she wrote. “They’re changing my grandma’s medication, and I need to be there to sign off on it. I won’t be here for lunch, and maybe not even for the book drive. I’m so, so sorry.”

Wild dreams about our future didn’t matter when there was still a cloud hanging over the present. Mizuhara was still in pain, and I’d had the gall to think about a nice life with her. I felt ill; I excused myself from class, and I wrote back to her privately, saying I could go with her if it would help, but she insisted I stay behind. There was almost nothing I could do to help, and Kawanaka and Shinbo were counting on me. The best thing for me to do was to fill in for her. “That,” she wrote, “would take the greatest weight off my shoulders.”

So I showed up to lunch with Shinbo and Kawanaka, feeling gutted, and they both looked like they felt the same. All our energy for the book drive was gone, and we hardly talked about the logistics that we still needed to work out. All Shinbo could talk about was losing her aunt in a car crash and how difficult that had been, with everyone in her family trying to hold on to hope as doctors made one attempt after another to save her aunt’s life. The three of us all ached for Mizuhara, but all we could do was offer kind words and keep going. The show must go on.

That afternoon, Shinbo, Kawanaka, and I manned a table and asked for donations of books. Shinbo had done a great job printing flyers and posters to make sure we stood out. Kawanaka’s social media campaign had people talking, and we took in a few dozen books in the first hour. Everything was going well with just the three of us to take care of it.

Even so, the air felt warm, humid, and heavy. Being the only guy on the team, I was asked to help lug the book boxes to a dropoff point on the street, where a van from the library system pulled up every hour to help funnel books back to the local branch. There’s something bitter about doing well but not being able to share that with everyone on your team. I think I understood for the first time how pro baseball players must feel when their star pitcher goes down and they win the Japan Series with a replacement. It’s sweet to be successful, but you still have to be sad that a teammate didn’t get that moment to contribute.

The three of us tried to keep Mizuhara involved. We took photos of the piles of books and even shared some pictures with people who donated. Though Shinbo and I had to step in a couple times to make sure some guys weren’t too touchy-feely with Kawanaka, overall there was a lot to share. Mizuhara responded as much as she could, but she went quiet for the better part of an hour at one point. She must not have had a choice.

As we entered the last hour of manning the booth, I wondered if Mizuhara would make it at all, but as I was getting ready to pack up the last box for the day, we got word on our phones: she’d be with us soon. We left the box at the booth for her to pick up. We’d taken the book drive most of the way, but she could still run the final leg.

Mizuhara usually had a noticeable presence, even in her disguise as “Ichinose,” but that day, when she arrived at our booth, she seemed so ordinary. Her usual energy was gone, and she was overcome with apologies. “Guys,” she said, “I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t you say another word,” said Shinbo, foisting the box on Mizuhara. “You can help us right now and deliver those books. We’re a team–all of us.”

Mizuhara smiled sadly, understanding what Shinbo was doing but unable to feel completely happy about it. She took on the weight anyway, and I walked with her to the dropoff spot. We talked a little about what had happened while she was gone. Her grandma was showing low appetite, and that’s one reason why they changed her medications, but it had carried some risks. I filled her in on what we’d managed to do, and Mizuhara admired how much we’d accomplished in her absence. “I wish there were two of me, or three, or five, or ten,” she’d remarked. “That way, I could be an actress, a granddaughter, a friend, a good neighbor–and I wouldn’t have to compromise any of them.”

And no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t help her do that.

When we handed off the last box of books, I thought we’d go our separate ways. Mizuhara surely needed to catch up on all the classes she’d missed. She might’ve even had a job to do that night, in spite of everything she’d been through already, but when we passed off the box to a library employee, he said something I didn’t expect.

“You know, if you two have some time, you can stop by the library to help us sort and catalogue the books,” he said. “It might not be much fun, but we have snacks.”

“Of course,” said Mizuhara, not missing a beat. “Oh, I mean, I will.” She nodded at me. “Kazuya, I’m sure you and the others have done enough.”

I was already on my phone telling Shinbo and Kawanaka the news. “Not a chance,” I told her. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Mizuhara smiled. “So I’m told,” she said.

At the library, there were volunteers of all kinds–young and old, experienced and new. A volunteer leader instructed the four of us in the procedure: take note of the title and author of a book, inspect it for defects and assign it a grade for its condition, snap some photos so that the item could be identified, and slap a temporary label on it to make sure no one would lose track of it. All along, we’d keep a tally of how many books we’d collected.

The work wasn’t too bad, and as promised we had cookies and punch. It was fun seeing a group of elementary schoolers helping out; they’d been assigned boxes of children’s books, so often times they’d run into something they’d already read and were excited about it. When they were tired, a librarian or a volunteer would read to them, and Mizuhara took a turn reading a version of the Peach Boy story while I operated a stereo system with some background music. The kids loved it, of course. Mizuhara’s acting skills made her a great narrator, and she even did a few different voices to fit the characters.

Throughout the night, a photographer came around to take pictures for the library system’s website and social media. The girls all got a shot together, but Mizuhara insisted that I be included. “We’re a team,” she told the photographer.

My face was lame, but we got the shot, and I approached the photographer later to see if I could get a copy of that file. “You sure can,” he told me. “Anything else you want?”

He tilted the LCD screen of the camera toward me and flipped through some of the photos taken through the night. I found a few that I wanted, and I gave him my email.

Shinbo and Kawanaka wanted to celebrate, but Mizuhara was tired, and I had a date with Sumi in the morning, so I needed to go, too. Mizuhara and I headed home together, and she was still a little uncertain about things. The campaign had gone well, yes, but she still felt like she’d missed something by not being there. I told her that was far from true, but Mizuhara didn’t listen. She could be really stubborn sometimes, even hypocritical. She’d give uplifting advice to others but never listen to it herself.

I told Mizuhara I had an errand to run, so even though we were just coming up on the apartments, she’d go alone for the last few meters. Mizuhara seemed suspicious. “You came all this way just to remember you have something to do?” she said. “I thought…” She frowned. “Never mind. Later then.” I didn’t know what she thought better of saying. I never did figure that out.

Once Mizuhara was back in her apartment, I stopped by the convenience store; I had some photos to print. The shot of the girls and me came out great. Mizuhara was as radiant as ever, even as “Ichinose,” and everyone seemed to be having fun. There were a few other candid shots of us working, mostly from a distance or slightly out of focus. I figured some of them would grow on me.

And then there was the shot. It was perfect; I knew I needed a larger print of that.

And when the first set looked good, I had them make another.

I knew Mizuhara might not see the photos until later the next day. I left them on her balcony early in the morning, just before I was out the door to see Sumi. I was running late, and by the time I was on the train, I was just worried about whether I should contact Sumi and tell her I might be a little behind. I had my phone on, and was thinking about sending Sumi a message when Mizuhara popped up instead.

“You know, there’s a chance of rain today. What would you have done if the photos got wet?”

I had no idea of that. I’d been so busy I hadn’t even thought about it. But more importantly, did she like them?

“They’re not bad.” She sent me a photo (of a photo; photoception?) of the group shot, framed and sitting on her endtable. “I like this one a lot.”

“That’s good,” I wrote back. “It’s proof we were there. We did something. All of us.”

“Is that what it is?” There was a pause. “That’s nice.”

“Do you like any of the others?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Really, I can’t thank you enough.”

The train pulled up to the station. It was five minutes to ten. “Don’t worry about it,” I told her as I left the train. “You have a lot going on. I know all of this might not make much difference, but I thought it was good.”

Mizuhara sent me another photo, of a frame holding my favorite shot from the previous night: Mizuhara, her eyes bright and alive, reading to the children while I changed the track on the stereo, sitting beside her.

“I think I’ll keep this one around,” she wrote.

“In case our grandmas stop by?” I asked.

“Not just that,” she said. “Look at the kids watching us. It didn’t take much for me to read that book or for you to manage the background music, but the kids are entranced. It’s proof of something special: that even a small gesture can mean the world to someone in the right moment.”

Mizuhara wished me luck on my date, thanking me again for doing Sumi a favor. She said she wasn’t sure she’d be available to talk in case anything happened with Sumi, but she’d try check in every once in a while.

I left the train station to meet Sumi, the situation still weighing on my mind. I knew that, more often than not, I was a worthless human being, but if I thought about it hard enough, there had to be something I could do for her—to pay her back for everything she’d done for me and to show that I loved her.

I didn’t have any idea what it could be, but if I did figure it out, I knew it would be worth it.