The Girl who Loved Too Much

The knob to my apartment creaks as the door opens to a dark space. Empty today, just the same as it was yesterday, and the day before, and too many days to count.

On the way home from school, I went by the same WcDonald's that I was at yesterday. It's not like this is unusual for me- it's right around the corner- but I'm never going to look at it the same way again.

As I was passing by, a store employee ran up to me, offering me a coupon from the stack that she was carrying. I didn't recognize her at first- I've been to this particular restaurant with my friends enough times that I know a lot of the employees- and then we both realized who each other was at about the same time. The employee handing out a stack of coupons for 50% off a Double Bacon Thick Beef was the girl who had come to clean our table yesterday- the new one.

The one that Sakuta had run from.

"It's nice to see you again!" she beamed as she offered me the coupon. I took it- I wasn't about to turn down an offer for a discount- but I also wasn't likely to be back anytime soon.

"You too," I replied politely, hoping that she would get the hint that I had somewhere to be and I'd rather not stop to chat- if my school uniform and bag didn't already give it away. It didn't work.

"Listen, I wanted to ask you something..." The employee leaned over toward me with a concerned expression. "Is Sakuta-kun doing alright? I'm worried."

"I don't know. You seem like you know him, why don't you ask him?" This girl was unintentionally getting on every single nerve I have. I'd rather push Sakuta out of my mind for the time being- but she was making me remember about yesterday, and talking with me like we were friends.

"That's the thing..." She looked down at the stack of coupons she's carrying, concerned. "I go to college with him, but about a year ago he stopped coming to class and nobody's been able to get ahold of him...I was worried something might have happened to him, so I was so glad when I saw him yesterday. Now I'm even more worried, though...he's okay, right?"

"I don't know. I don't have his contact info." At that point, I was resorting to blatant lies just to get rid of the interloper so that I could go home. It was painful for her to remember yesterday- I could tell from the look on her face- so you better believe it was painful for me. I just wanted to forget about it for a few days and be done.

"If you do see him again..." the girl started timidly, "...I hope you'll help him whenever he's in trouble. Sakuta-kun's very sensitive. He tries not to let anyone see it, but he's under a lot of pressure."

"...I'll keep that in mind."

"Thanks. Hope you come back again!" The girl sent me off with a friendly wave and a smile, as if we were best friends or something, which left me in a foul mood all the way home. I seem to be getting those more and more often lately.

I flip the light switch, and the lightbulbs in the kitchen and living area buzz to life, illuminating them in a soft glow. I have everything I need to live in my apartment- a stove, a sink, a refrigerator, an oven, a couch and some chairs- but the walls are bare, and there's little decoration other than the essentials. Not that I care. I won't be living here for too much longer, and I'm not one for sentimentality in the first place.

I've never had a friend over, not even Anzu or Honoka. I've been to their houses plenty of times, but my place is too barren to be good for guests.

I reach my bedroom, tossing my bag to the floor and slumping down on the plush cover, staring up at the blank white ceiling. I'm exhausted. What a horrible day and a half.

My head slumps over to the side, and suddenly I'm staring into the kind eyes of a young woman in a burnished copper picture frame, sitting on top of my dresser next to a small golden cross- the one I say good morning to and good night to every day.

"Mom, I thought I found the one you were talking about..." I mumble, still facing her knowing half-smile. "It wasn't him, though..."

From the day I was born, we were always together, my mother and I.

She told me that she named me because she was pregnant with me the day she went to the Nebuta Matsuri in the summer. She was walking along the Utou Bridge when the fireworks began. She watched the whole show, transfixed...and from that point on, she knew what my name was going to be. She'd take me back to that spot again and again.

I never knew my father. He ran out on me or something when I was really young. Even if he were to suddenly show up and ask me to live with him, I wouldn't want anything to do with him. Because he hurt Mom so badly. She would sometimes speak of "that man" fondly, but her voice would be tinged with sadness every time she brought him up, and once when I was about seven or eight I caught her crying alone after she told me about my father, when she thought I'd already gone to bed.

We weren't poor, but we weren't rich either. She had an okay job at a bank- she could have probably gotten a better one, but she had to take care of me. We had enough for food, and enough for my education and gifts on my birthday, but that was about as luxurious of a life as I lived. It was only when I was older that I realized that she spent almost every extra yen on me. Not that she minded, of course- I think she was at her happiest seeing me be happy. And I was happy. We were both each other's only family, so we had to stick together. She would always tell me how grateful she was that I was her daughter- and I, in turn, was grateful that she was my mother.

It was in elementary school that I realized she was a lot younger than the other moms who showed up on Parent Day. It was weird at the time, but the older I got, the more I realized the benefits. She wasn't just my mom- she was like a best friend who would take me to get ice cream and to the amusement park and kiss my knee when I scraped it.

Maybe you think it's weird that in middle school, I was still clinging to Mom so much. Maybe you're right. In a normal family, it would be childish- but we weren't a normal family. We were so close because it was the way that both of us were able to keep going. We knew we would always be there for each other, no matter what.

Until Mom got sick.

It started innocuously enough. A headache, a stiff back- to both her and I it seemed like the normal side effects of being chronically overworked until the day my eighth grade teacher rushed into my classroom during lunch and told me to come with him. My mother had tripped at work, and was unable to get back up. They had taken her to the hospital.

She never left it.

I visited her every day. At first, she was still in good spirits, hobbling over to meet me and asking about school and club activities. In front of her, the doctor told me that they were just keeping her for observation. I thought she would be able to come home soon, but the weeks went by, and slowly she became weaker and weaker, and then she couldn't leave her bed.

In private, the doctor pulled me aside. I forget the name of the disease. It was the one that Stephen Hawking had. They originally thought that she had three to five years to live and were going to let her tell me once she was discharged, but it was progressing much faster than they expected.

The doctor said Mom had maybe six months to live at best. Mom smiled the whole time, telling me that she would get better soon because God would provide. Every night, beside my bed, I prayed until the day that she breathed her last.

It was a million-to-one chance of a woman her age having that disease. It shouldn't have happened to her. And yet it did, in the most malignant way possible.

I was thirteen when I lost Mom, and thirteen when I watched her body enter the blazing oven and return as ashes. I was the only family member at her funeral- the others were dead, or simply missing. I didn't know.

I didn't shed a tear the whole time.

Before she lost the ability to speak, Mom made me promise her that I would do two things. The first was to graduate high school. The second was more important. I still remember that day- as I stood at her bedside, she propped herself up with her elbows, stared out at the blue sky outside the hospital window, and said:

Hanabi, make someone as happy as you made me.

I had good grades in middle school, so it was easy enough for me to pass the entrance exam to Seishin. Mom had a life insurance policy that took care of the tuition and living expenses. I graduate in March. The first task I need to fulfill is nearly complete.

As for the second one...I don't know.

The person that Mom was talking about isn't anyone from school. Anzu, Honoka, Hitomi, and all the other girls are nice, and I like having them as friends, but I've known them for years and I'm not even a fraction as close to them as I was to Mom.

I've dated a few guys as well, but they all flamed out pretty quickly. It wasn't anything against them- Takahiro's a nice guy and I'm still friends with him, and Kusunoki-senpai was also nice- but I knew neither of them was the person that Mom was talking about from day one.

I guess part of why I got into writing was to find that person.

My first year of high school, when the psychiatrist visited for our yearly checkups, I told him about Mom. He suggested I should try writing- if I wrote down what I was feeling, I could deal with my emotions and my loss. So I did. And later they morphed from my own feelings into those of characters- ones that dealt with grief and trauma but still struggled until they succeeded. Unlike me.

I posted these stories online and my audience steadily grew and grew, but I had no idea so many people would ever read something I wrote. I've gotten several calls from publishing houses to sign a contract, but I always turn them down. There's no reason for me to go pro.

Many people on N*rou have chatted with me, but most of them disappear after posting a few chapters, or they get mad when I give them criticism. There's a few users I'm closer with, but even they're halfway across the country. I never had any chance of being closer to them than words on a screen.

Sakuta was different. Or so I thought.

I don't know what it was about his novel that caught my eye in the first place. It wasn't great- but I guess it was earnest and straightforward. It was rough around the edges- but he had talent and passion. I knew that when he messaged me asking for help. Unlike all the other users that I had tried to give advice to, he kept coming back, asking me to read his novel and then fixed it based on the feedback I gave him. The more views and likes he got, the prouder I got too. It was like I was watching a flower blossom in front of me.

We talked more, and we found out we had more in common. They say online anonymity leaves a person's heart bare. There was no need for him to be guarded with me, and vice versa- online, you don't have to play by all the unwritten rules of society. You can show your true self. The more we talked, the more I genuinely liked him. And when I found out he lived in Aomori, my heart practically leapt out of my chest- maybe, just maybe, he would be that special person Mom had asked me to find so many years ago, and my long journey would finally come to an end.

But in the end, he turned out to be just like the rest of them.

The expression on my mother's photograph still hasn't changed. It's sunny, but also knowing, as if she can see straight through me.

"Sorry, Mom," I whisper, returning her gaze. "I'll be sticking around for a little while longer."