Fatherly Love

On Monday morning, I decided to text my dad that I thought it might be nice to sit down and talk in the cafe when he came over, despite my potential reservations against the idea.

Twenty minutes later, my phone made a notification sound.

“I can meet you at the closest station. But let’s also spend the day around the city, okay?”

My dad sent me a reply, accompanied with a sticker of a man in sunglasses doing a thumbs up. It concerned me that a man of his age was so corny, but then again I’d be far more concerned if he wasn’t. I smiled briefly, and put my phone down.

My mum’s seemingly magical powers kicked in again, as she slid in from another room. “Who are you messaging, a friend?”

I rubbed my eyes a little. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that.” My eyelids were hardly open, so I thought some food would perhaps wake me up. I sat down at the table, and my mum watched me as I sat.

“Would you like some juice? You look quite sleepy. I think it’s all the hard work you’ve been up to!”

“It’s fine, mum, I can get my own drinks. Thanks.”

“Let me pour it for you,” she insisted, not even realising I didn’t say yes or no to her question. I hardly protested, as I drowsily put my breakfast into my mouth, and bit my tongue.

“Ffff-” I grumbled, spilling the food from my mouth and onto the plate. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, and looked at my mum with an embarrassed expression. “Sorry, sorry.” My hand reached for the juice as I began to gulp it down, the cool liquid soothing my tongue.

On the train, I couldn’t help but stare at my dad’s message, and then scroll back through our text history. His texting habits were remarkably laconic, which was perhaps the total opposite of him as a person. I suppose it was an insight to how he must act in professional contexts. Or maybe, he just feels as if he has to talk properly to me over messaging apps, in case my mum goes through my phone. I don’t think he ever stopped seeing me as a child, but at least it was the whimsical kind of infantilisation where he’s always fun and full of energy rather than the kind where other people think that I can’t so much as put food in my own mouth without people thinking my skull is going to explode or something.

I didn’t listen to any podcasts on my commute today - I was listening to an album that one of my Discord friends sent me. I didn’t really like this sort of stuff: the beat was far too pop-like, and the singer’s voice was sickly sweet.

♫ Let’s get it back together ♫ let’s do it all again ♫ we all know what to do now ♫ we just need to know when ♫

The lyrics were similarly brain-dead the whole way through, but I think it was a nice reprieve from all the thinking I’d been doing recently. I walked to class as I did most days. I was slightly early, so I got a headstart on tomorrow’s homework.

“Hey, Yamasaki,” a voice called. I jumped in shock - people don’t really call my name out very often. Looking up from my worksheet, I saw Shimizu Hideki holding a small box.

“Hey Shimizu,” I replied. “I mean, Hideki. And, just call me Yorito if you want.”

He dragged a vacant seat over from nearby. “My parents think we’re good friends, you know? They talk to me about you. They ask if we hang out and stuff. Well, I told them I did because I thought they’d be sad otherwise.”

“Er,” I replied, genuinely unable to fathom how he intended that to come across. Was it some couched insult? Was it an invitation to hang out? Or was it just - as Una would say - a neutral observation?”

“Anyway,” he continued, handing me the box. “They gave you this, so I hope you like it or something.”

I opened the box, which had a rather neat looking pen inside. I’m not sure what brand it was, but it felt rather hefty, and the design was quite attractive. I placed it into my pencil case.

“Er, thanks,” I replied, not exactly sure how to respond. But by then he had already gone off to talk to his friends across the room. Fortunately, the rest of the day was far less eventful. School finished without incident, and my shift at the cafe was similarly peaceful. I think Una might have actually taken what I said to heart, because she noticed my relatively stern expression, and made sure to act sensibly. I could almost see a pain in her eyes from having to hold back from her regular self, but I appreciated it - I probably would have snapped back a bit too hard if she made a rude comment.

You might think that I was sad, but I was just thoughtful. I normally like to be left to my own devices, but that’s doubly so when something like my parents are on my mind. They say that a child shouldn’t have to care about what their parents are up to, but the illusion that adults are always right and always mature was shattered very early for me. Not in an edgy and rebellious way, but in a pathetic and sad way. In a sense, it hurt me to accept that things were better for them now. It’s weird: you can end up the reason your parents break apart, but as soon as they divorce they’ll double down on their efforts to tell you how much they love you.

I wasn’t sure what to believe. That’s why I was so eager to see my dad for the first time since I went back to London with him over a year ago.

I had messaged my mum before that I wasn’t that hungry, and didn’t want dinner. This was a lie. My dad always buys me far too much food whenever I come over, so I realised the only way to get through the day is to eat nothing the night before. Think of it a bit like when your grandparents tell you that you’re ‘a growing boy’ and need to ‘eat more’, except he’s a middle aged man who wears sunglasses indoors.

As I lay in bed that night, I reached my hand out to the ceiling fan, pretending to grasp in my hand, before smiling. Tomorrow should be fun. If Una could behave today, maybe everything would be fine tomorrow. The Shimizu family seemed to like me for the most part, too. Everything would be okay.

Anyway, the next morning I overslept my alarm. Fortunately, I hadn’t slept in as much as I had on Sunday, so I was able to get some semblance of breakfast in before heading out. To my relief, the rest of the day was quiet, and the professor let us leave slightly early. When I arrived at our meeting point, I repeatedly checked my phone for a text. As per usual, he hadn’t sent one - I suppose he never really liked texting.

As I raised my head above my phone, I noticed a familiar man wearing a cashmere jacket. He dipped his sunglasses, paused for a few seconds, and finally recognised me. Surprisingly, he actually took off his sunglasses, and tucked them into his shirt.

“Yorito, give your old man a hug!”

I cringed immensely hard. “Dad, don’t be embarrassing.”

He approached me and gave me a hug anyway, which surprised me. I can’t remember the last time anyone other than my mother gave me prolonged physical contact, but I slowly relaxed as I hugged him back. He had the familiar smell of cologne on his jacket that I remembered so fondly. It was perhaps the only part of him that stayed the same over the years.

The most jarring thing about him were his eyes. They were enchanted with a child-like wonder: they were eyes that saw the beauty in every day, that had found a reason to live life to the fullest, that had a profound joy to share. Remembering how he once was, it felt so alien to me - I couldn’t help but smile when I looked into them. Despite how deep I could get lost in my own thoughts, seeing his face was an indisputable reminder that he loved me more than anything in the world.

Finally pulling out of the hug, he finally scanned me up and down. “My my, I hardly recognised you. You’re almost taller than me now! Hah, I’ll stop embarrassing you. After all, we have a whole fun-filled day for your old man to make you cringe your socks off.”

He looked left and right.

“So, where’s the cafe?”