Chapter 16

“THANKS FOR COMING TODAY! I truly believe that the deeply irreplaceable present we now live in was only made possible because the two of us stuck through it together and stayed unapologetically ourselves. Here’s hoping we can continue to grow together for many years to come. Also, please look forward to hearing me emcee on stage for the first time in a while, lol.”

It was only at the end of the reception, when we were saying goodbye to the guests, that I knew for certain the message had gotten across. It had only been for a split second, but I distinctly saw Hibiki avert his eyes—something he would never do under ordinary circumstances. That all but confirmed it for me.

I rewrote the last sentence countless times, and when I finally handed off the final version to the event staff for printing, I remembered my hands were shaking.

I’d really thought each and every word through, so that he probably wouldn’t think anything of it on first read, and if anyone happened to look over his shoulder and read it they wouldn’t see it as anything but a perfectly ordinary thank-you message.

I wanted to make sure it could only be understood by me and Hibiki.

To borrow a turn of phrase from Kao, I wanted to make it feel like the whole world revolved around just the two of us, if only for a moment, but in a way that was only perceptible to him—which was why I’d told neither Karin nor my partner of my intentions. It was meant to be something just between us, one-on-one, fair and square.

For the first half of my “letter from the bride”—a relatively common part of any wedding reception program—I’d given a speech thanking all of the guests for coming. This was something I’d rehearsed countless times in my head, even planning out in advance exactly who I was going to be making eye contact with for each individual part. There was nothing spontaneous or pure and innocent about it—and that was just fine with me. We were all grown-ups now, and grown-ups were nothing if not conniving.

I was confident that seeing the way I positioned my hands while speaking into the microphone would remind Hibiki of how I used to emcee to the crowd between songs—and that would make him reflect on the last sentence of the message I’d written on his placard, which would make him start paying close attention to each and every word of my speech, so as not to miss any hidden meanings. So long as all that happened, I’d have him right where I wanted him.

And it totally worked. I knew for a fact that my careful word choice and emphasis in both the placard message and the speech had made him pay close attention. You could even call it a psychological ploy: I’d used the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon to my advantage.

He should have been the only one who picked up on it—and noticed that the “two of us” I was talking about in my speech weren’t me and my husband at all. Hibiki had to have realized I was actually talking about us.

As I said the words, “all I want in life is for the two of us to keep on growing, side by side, as we walk this road together,” I looked Hibiki straight in the eye—and made such intense eye contact with him he probably thought I was staring daggers. But funnily enough, in that moment, I could feel this strange heaviness in my chest—like the weight of this messy, intangible something we’d built, and now had to carry together forever. It was a suffocating feeling. But it was exactly what I’d yearned for. And I knew Hibiki felt it too.

Still, even though I knew Hibiki would probably be the only one to realize it, I’d deliberately worded it in such a way that the words “us” or “the two of us” could be taken to mean me and pretty much anyone there—aside from maybe some of my coworkers, the sentiment held true for all of them, be they a friend, a family member, or yes, even my husband. To say I wanted to grow alongside each and every one of them wouldn’t be a lie—I just knew they wouldn’t read into like that, as Hibiki would.

And really, I wouldn’t have minded even if he hadn’t picked up on it.

If I’d missed my shot, then so be it.

It didn’t really matter if I hit my target anymore.

It didn’t matter if I never got that headshot.

Hell, it didn’t even matter if I was only shooting blanks.

I just knew I had to take that shot. It was for me more than anyone.

If anything, it felt more like I’d had the gun pointed at my own head, not his.

But I’d gotten the message across. He now knew that I knew. And I was pretty certain he’d be able to read between the lines as to how I felt about him from there.

I wondered if there’d ever come a day when he would ask me why I decided to pull that kind of stunt during my one and only wedding ceremony. And if he wanted me to, I wouldn’t mind explaining it. Heck, I would tell him right now, if he came up and asked me.

You see, I had a dream.

Like I’d told Hibiki through tears on my birthday, I wanted him to find happiness.

And to be perfectly clear, I hadn’t just meant this in the sense that I hoped he would find someone better than me. Because neither I nor anyone else could know what would bring Hibiki true happiness in his future. It could be love, sure. But it could also be friendship. Or he could find fulfillment in a hobby. Or his work. Yet, no matter what that source of happiness might be, right now it only existed in a future that was still formless and hypothetical—how could I fathom something that had no face, or voice, or even scent?

No, I could only wish him a happy future from this moment. Here, in this reality. One in which he and I had not chosen a path where we could be lovers, or family.

Not to say I didn’t imagine, sometimes, what other paths there might have been.

Sure, Hibiki had said quite confidently that there was no timeline out there in which we were anything other than friends. And I’d told Mai in no uncertain terms that he and I could never be what she wanted us to be to each other. And yet, those were both statements made here, in this timeline, where we’d chosen this path already.

But I knew those other worlds existed out there somewhere.

Just like there had to be one in which I’d become a tatami maker, or one in which I’d become a hairstylist, or one in which I worked at a record store my whole life, or one in which I’d found a way to pay the bills with nothing more than a guitar in my hand and a leather jacket on my back—I knew there had to be another world out there in which Hibiki was the one wearing a tuxedo next to me in my wedding dress.

There’d been so many places where the timeline could’ve branched. Like for instance, that first night we were alone at his place together in college.

Or that day before our graduation concert, when we rented out a studio and holed ourselves up in there, practicing for hours and hours.

Or maybe when he came up to visit me while I was living up north and said, “Y’know, you can always quit and move back home if you’re struggling. You know you’ve got us there to support you, at least.” That could’ve easily been the moment.

Or that night we went out to an izakaya together after I moved back, and I was still single, and I realized for the first time that he had feelings for me. If he’d asked me out then and there, I probably would have said yes. The thought occurred to me at the time.

There were countless points at which the timeline could’ve diverged.

And yet, that thought didn’t bother or distress me one bit.

Yes, we could have chosen one of an infinite number of other paths.

But that was exactly why I could say for certain now that this was the only way forward for us—because this was the path we’d chosen. I was once again feeling the same deep certainty I’d felt when we were first planning Operation Heartbreak. Regardless of whether or not it had been a mistake, and regardless of me being the villain there, I at least could say for sure that the sentiment behind it still held true for me.

And so in the future that lay ahead, I needed us both to find happiness.

Then one day, as the years took their toll, one of us would die before the other.

And on that deathbed, I wanted us to be able to look each other in the eye, and ask if we were truly happy with the lives we’d led—and for both of us to be able to say yes without even a hint of doubt or hesitation. That was my biggest dream in life.

And it was for that reason that I didn’t want to avert my eyes any longer, or look back over my shoulder at the choices we could have made. I wanted us to accept this path we’d chosen together, and live our lives as best as we possibly could.

This was my final blow—my last, petty parting shot.

And if he wanted to call me a sore loser for that, or tease me for acting like a bratty little kid, then so be it. That was all I ever wanted us to be.