Chapter 8 The Man Magnet’s Osechi
The Man Magnet’s Osechi
Hey, God. Did you really have to break this news to me on my thirtieth birthday? Surely you could have picked another day to ruin.
Seriously. I’ve been working pretty damn hard, haven’t I? I’ve been busting my ass every day. I’ve even drawn in more customers to Amayadori. I was supposed to have an amazing time on my birthday.
And yet…
Now I learn that Kyohei has gotten married.
Why? Why did I have to find out today of all days?
I had just attended a forget-the-year party with my girlfriends, and it was during this gathering that I had my unfortunate encounter with this shocking piece of information.
The story of my breakup with Kyohei had quickly established itself as the story of the night.
Emboldened by my girlfriends’ supportive remarks (“What a shitty guy!” “He’s an asshole!
”), I found myself reaching for my phone and saying, “Let’s see what he’s up to these days.
” And just like that, I had reopened the gate to the forbidden—I unmuted Kyohei’s social media account.
At first, I couldn’t quite believe that the photo in front of me was real. Kyohei dressed in a silver tuxedo.
How could this be? It’s been less than a year since we broke up, hasn’t it?
He was the one who dodged the conversation every time I dropped a hint about wanting to get married.
There was me, who, despite being with him for four years, couldn’t even get him to want to marry me. And then there was “she,” who, in a mere few months, had managed to make him tie the knot.
I knew it was a bad idea. I knew that it was only going to make me feel pathetic. But not comparing myself with the woman wearing the big white dress next to Kyohei was an impossibility.
She had round cheeks; they reminded me of daifuku rice cakes filled with strawberries and red bean.
She had the kind of face that only good-natured people did.
Her slender, pale upper arms caught my attention next.
I was surprised. He’d told me that girls with big eyes and sculpted features had always been his type.
So that I would fit his type better, I wore contact lenses that subtly enhanced my eyes.
I got my lashes lifted. I mastered contouring to make my nose look sharper.
And yet the woman he chose had a flat, raccoon-like face.
Her makeup was minimal, and she wasn’t wearing colored contacts.
(Trust me, we zoomed in to check.) Just the fact that she didn’t feel the need to “go all out” on her wedding day, a day when her face would be captured in photos forever, made me feel incredibly inferior to her.
“At the end of the day, these are the kind of girls that guys go for.”
Those words fell out of a friend’s mouth as we gazed at the image.
—
I dragged my numbed feet forward one step at a time.
Although it felt as if there were a big cloud over my head, my body was making its way to Amayadori almost mechanically.
It had been snowing for several days, and a fresh layer had mixed wetly with the older hardened snow, turning the sidewalk into a gray sorbet.
I was crushed for feeling so crushed.
I thought that I’d moved on. Working at Amayadori, I’ve heard so many stories and witnessed so many people get over their breakups. I’ve met people who, despite the pain they carried, bravely got on with their lives. I’ve even given them encouragement, telling them that they’ll be okay!
Out of nowhere, the smell of curry spread through my nostrils. Someone’s having curry tonight, I thought as I walked through the residential neighborhood.
“My ex-boyfriend’s favorite curry…” I mumbled to myself as I thrust my hands into my pockets. My breath formed a white cloud before being swept into the dark.
I’d been pretty resilient for the past year.
But secretly, I had hoped that one day, he would find me and regret his choices.
He’d chance upon my curry and recognize the flavor, and say, “This is Momoko’s curry,” and realize how lucky he was to have had me.
I’d thought that if I could catch even a glimpse of regret on his face, then maybe I would be saved from this pain, just a little.
All this time, all I could think about was making Kyohei regret losing me. And yet he was way ahead of me. Not only was he completely over me, he’d also met someone and fell in love, and had proposed to her.
It wasn’t as though I wanted us to get back together. Even if we had, it wouldn’t have worked out, I knew that in my heart.
So why was I hurting so much?
I turned the corner into the silence of an alleyway. Taking off my headphones, I listened to the breeze.
Flakes of snow descended slowly and softly. A tiny cluster touched my wool coat and quickly vanished.
I looked up at the dark winter sky.
It felt as if the sky was telling me that it was finally my turn.
Deep in my heart, there was a “something” that I hadn’t been able to lay to rest.
“Right.”
I’m going to ask for a Funeral Committee meeting. I’m going to put an end to this love, this time for good.
—
“Pardon the intrusion!”
As I flung open the door to Amayadori with the fervor of a martial artist challenging a rival, I saw an unfamiliar young woman with light brown eyes standing in front of me.
“Oh, hello!” she said. “Hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”
Huh?
As far as I knew, we hadn’t received any booking requests, and I wasn’t expecting any walk-in customers so close to the end of the year.
“Wow, you’re so pretty, Momoko. Just as I thought.” Speaking in a voice that was as sweet as a jar of thick honey, she drew herself closer to me. Judging from her accent, she was likely from the Kansai region. She was a little shorter than me, and had to gaze up at me as she spoke.
“Oh, you’re soaked. You’re going to catch a cold. You don’t mind if I borrow a towel, do you, Iori?”
Before Iori could reply, she darted behind the counter, grabbed a towel, and started to wipe my head, which was wet from snow.
What on earth…?
Whoever she was, she seemed to know her way around the café. She was behaving as though she was the server and I was her customer.
“Welcome back, Momo-chan,” she said. “Did you have a relaxing day?”
“Oh, Iori…?”
“I hear it’s your birthday today. Happy birthday! If I’d known earlier, I would have brought something better than this.”
As she scratched her temples disappointedly, the young woman cast a glance at one of the tables, where Hozumi was eagerly preparing the chopsticks. I noticed three jubako boxes neatly arranged on the table.
“Is that osechi?” I asked.
Inside the boxes were classic osechi dishes: simmered black soy beans, kuri kinton, a herring roe and datemaki rolled omelet, as well as slices of roast beef and even braised pork belly. The ornamental carrots garnishing the dishes were expertly carved into elaborate three-dimensional flowers.
“You…made these?”
“This is my ex-boyfriend’s recipe.” The woman giggled bashfully.
—
Her name was Shiori Fukami. She had a chin-length blunt bob that suited her well.
I learned that she was a freelance photographer, which explained the rather heavy-looking SLR hanging from her neck.
She wore a chunky knit cardigan over a vintage-style printed dress that looked like it could be from a secondhand shop.
On her feet were Doc Martens. When she smiled, you could see her pointed canine teeth, which made her seem almost childlike.
Although she was twenty-seven and only three years younger than me, if I’m being honest, she looked as young as a university student.
It turned out that Shiori lived close by, on the other side of the station, and that she’d known about the Funeral Committee for some time.
“I didn’t have any plans today, and I was so bored spending time on my own. So I thought, why not?”
Shiori mixed standard Japanese and the Kansai dialect as she spoke, and had a slight lisp.
She seemed to connect with everyone instantly, and her level of friendliness was just right.
When I arrived at Amayadori, the atmosphere had already been set.
Even now, she was laughing and joking around with Iori and Hozumi as though they’d known one another forever.
I felt my lips tensing up. “People don’t come to the Funeral Committee meeting because they’re bored.”
“Huh? What did you say?” Hozumi said.
Coming back to my senses, I realized I had mumbled the words almost unconsciously.
Oops.
I was in a rather foul mood and had to remind myself not to turn into a bitch.
“Since it’s the last Funeral Committee meeting of the year, we’re allowed to drink, right?”
Iori had emerged from the kitchen carrying a huge pile of food and drinks. Given how cold it was, he probably didn’t want to have to leave the warmth of his seat again. Once we’d laid out the assortment of light dishes, we hardly had any room left on the table.
Shiori smiled. “This looks amazing. I’m a pretty good drinker, so I’ll be excellent company.”
With that, Shiori swiftly distributed the small plates and chopsticks and poured the beer into my glass, playing the hostess role.
Argh. Why did I choose the window seat? I can’t reach anything.
“I’m sorry you’re doing all the work,” I said.
“Not at all. I can’t let the birthday girl do it.”
Distributing the chopsticks and hand towels. Pouring water for everyone. Livening up the atmosphere. I should have been the one responsible for these things, but Shiori had done them all.
I…I feel so…left out!
The worst part was that she looked like the girl Kyohei had married. Flat-faced, pale-skinned, round cheeks. She wore very little makeup, if she was wearing any.
At the end of the day, I can never compete with these girls…
I felt utterly miserable.
Get a grip, Momoko. Just snap out of it. She was a client, and I needed to treat her like one.
This is why I’m no good. Because I get jealous so easily…