Chapter 41
NOSTALGIA
Poppy
“Mama?” I ask as my mother silently pads into my bedroom, silver kimono rippling, candelabra in hand. I’m in my bed, reading with Jezebel while Bronte works an overnight shift. “Is something wrong?”
Neither she nor Papa come in here anymore.
Not since they broke the news about the murder of our family they'd been keeping under wraps. I acted surprised when they told me, but I think they were aware I already knew. They probably blamed Bronte, but they’ve only treated him with warmth and respect.
“Nothing is wrong." Mama unlatches a window beside my bed, sweeping it open to the sprawling metropolis. "It’s merely a beautiful night I’d prefer to enjoy with my daughter.”
The snowy city glitters like fallen stars caught in the night’s net.
A cold yet balmy breeze drifts through the moonlit drapes.
The bay’s breath smells like the saltiest brine.
Along the distant horizon, a dense fog climbs from sea to sky, shrouding us from the rest of the world like a guarded secret.
Nostalgia trickles in, as indelible as the ink on my skin. I spent many hours looking out that window, a book cradled to my chest. Later, books morphed to knives, painted with the colors I didn’t have in my life anymore.
“You wanted to be a mermaid when you were little. Do you remember?”
My lips quirk. “No.”
“The first stories you ever wrote were about mermaid princesses finding their true loves.” Mama’s firelit smile is both soft and somber.
“They’re in your father’s study, should you feel inclined to take a look.
I read them from time to time, to remind myself of those lighter years.
" She sets the candelabra on my nightstand and plucks an unlit black candle, holding it close as she lowers onto the bed. “Do you know what I wanted to be?”
My neck swivels. I don’t know much about my mother’s life from when she lived in Japan. She doesn’t particularly enjoy talking of the family who disowned her for falling in love with the wrong man.
“I wanted to be an actress,” Mama says, her small smile withering.
“I remember telling my mama. It was a different time back then. Daughters were meant to be obedient, not dreamers. She told me that my purpose was to be a wife. But I was persistent over the years. I kept bringing it up, thinking she’d change her answer.
Until the moment I was tossed onto the street. ”
Lips trembling, her teary gaze drifts to the moon. I sit up straighter, resting my hand on her arm. She covers my knuckles with a cold and clammy palm.
“My mother told me I was a disgrace to the Hayashi name. She told me she should’ve been rid of me while I’d been in her womb.
She said I was a curse, an abomination. For the longest time, I believed it.
To earn her forgiveness, I turned my back on my dreams. I married far too young.
For years, I pleased a man who didn’t give a shit about me or his four other wives.
My only escape was an opera house downtown I was permitted to visit once a month, chaperoned by his guards.
That’s where I met your father. We were seated beside each other.
He introduced himself and told me he was traveling for business, then proceeded to say I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
He didn’t let go of my hand, and I didn’t want him to.
He killed the henchmen guarding me. We left together, and I haven’t once looked back. ”
She chuckles to herself, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“The first strange Morgenstern custom of many your papa taught me was on the night we arrived here at the manor. I’d cut ties with the Hayashis and was still grieving the loss.
He gave me a black candle and a knife and told me to carve my family name into the wax.
Burning it signified the death of my former life and the rebirth of my new one. ”
Mama tucks the candle into my grip, folding my fingers around it with hers. My nose scrunches. “I don’t understand. What is this?”
“See for yourself.”
Tilting the candle this way and that, I slowly decipher the tiny letters carved into the stick. “M—Mor—Morgenstern.”
“I should’ve never let your father drag you into our world when you were still dreaming of mermaids and true love.”
“What? Mama, this isn’t making any sense.”
“This, dearest daughter, is the option your papa and I should’ve given you a long time ago.
It’s yours. For whenever you’re ready.” She takes my free hand, her moonlight eyes brimming with sorrow.
“We were going to wait until you were old enough to understand what it meant to do what we do before handing you the keys to this kingdom. You were meant to be given a choice. Then your papa saw an opening, and he took it. When he brought you to the factory that night, I convinced myself it was for the best. That you’d always live with a target on your back regardless of what choice you would’ve made.
I knew you didn’t think you had a voice about your own future at all.
But you do. No one can take that from you. No one—”
She chokes out a sob I’ve never heard in my life. I don’t ever want to hear it again.
“You’re my daughter, Poppy. You deserve to thrive, not just survive. When this Leviathan business is done, and you’re ready to leave what’s left of this family, give this candle to your father and tell him you’re finished.”
Too many thoughts war in my mind. What comes out first is: “It’s not that easy, Mama. He won’t just let me leave.”
“Hai, he will. Otherwise, he loses me.”
At the quizzical lift of my brow, she raises her left hand and pointedly slides off her enormous black diamond ring shaped like a crown.
The message is loud and clear. If Papa doesn’t free me from the bonds of his succession and let me leave the underworld behind—if that’s what I want—the love of his life will leave him behind.
“Mama,” I breathe, my vision blurring as she slides the ring back on. “Papa is everything to you. You’re soulmates. You can’t—”
“Do not tell me what I can and cannot do.” Her chin lifts as she shifts her fierce gaze to the sea. “I have already sworn it upon the stars, and so it shall be done should the time come.”
“I don’t know what to say. This is…unexpected.”
“Your father has seen the changes in you since this disaster began. I’ve seen those same changes since you abandoned your dreams.”
I swallow the burn in my throat. “Arigatō.”
Mama kisses her fingertips and settles them on my dragon tattoo inspired by hers. “Please, darling, don’t thank me for this. I’m your mother. Loving you isn’t a duty. It’s a privilege and an honor. Forgive me for forgetting that.”
I clamp my lips to hide their quake. “Daisuki da yo, Mama.”
I don’t remember the last time I said that. Probably when I was still writing fairytales.
Mama wraps her arm like a wing around my shoulders, tucking me into her side. She smells like incense and honey, bitter and sweet. A perfect mirror of her soul.
“I love you more,” she whispers, kissing the crown of my head, “my little Poppyseed.”