Page 3 of The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop

And for Mio, that was not the sea or the houses; it wasn’t the clothing of the two high-school students, nor the plush bag-charm hanging from the girl’s bag.

What she wanted to express was not visible.

As she drew the everyday scene of two teenagers walking to school, she tried to capture that intangible something – that warmth – that lingered between the students.

That was something she clearly remembered.

‘Anyway, I’m in discussion with the higher-ups about how to handle it. To be honest, we haven’t been able to reach a consensus within the department. Some say there’s no need to do anything, and others say that if an apology is going to be issued, the sooner the better?—’

‘Apology?’ Mio broke in.

Exactly who did they expect would apologise, and for what?

‘What I mean, is that some people feel hurt by the whole incident. If we acknowledge our company’s responsibility in the matter, even loosely, then it would be less damaging?—’

‘You’re not being serious?’

It was right then that the landline rang. While the rest of them fell silent, one of her assistants got up from her seat and picked up. She made a series of responses that gave nothing away, like ‘Yes’ and ‘No’, before bringing the cordless phone over to Mio.

‘Umm, it’s the police,’ she said to Mio. ‘They’re calling from?—’

As soon as her assistant mentioned the name of her hometown, Mio’s heart froze. When was the last time she’d spoken to her mother? she frantically tried to remember. After telling her editor that she would call her back, Mio took a deep breath. Then, nervously, she picked up the receiver.

‘Are you Mio Kisanuki?’ a male voice asked.

Struggling to control her trembling voice, Mio answered yes.

She had died alone – kodokushi , as they call it. It was likely a heart attack, the police officer told Mio. Was her mother so set on never relying on others that she didn’t call for help? Or was she simply unable to? No one would know the answer to these questions.

The fortunate part was that her mother’s next-door neighbour thought to inform her landlord after noticing that she had not left her flat for a couple of days.

The landlord reported it to the police, who found her body upon entering her flat.

Initially, a crime had been suspected, but it was determined that she had died of natural causes, and so an autopsy was not necessary.

A death certificate had already been issued.

‘Thank you for taking our call. There’s not much more to be done from our side now, so we would appreciate it if you could come and collect her as soon as possible.’

The call ended with those words. But even after the line disconnected, Mio stood frozen to the spot, the indifferent beeping from the receiver still ringing in her ear.

‘Oh, sorry—’ Mio said, barely noticing that her team had been staring at her with concerned expressions. But in that moment, that was all she managed to say.

She couldn’t cry – not a single tear would come. I’m still in shock, Mio tried to reason with herself. Suddenly, her mother’s voice echoed through her mind:

‘To live my life with my head held high – I’ve always stuck with this motto, because I want to make you kids proud.’

What had made her remember this? Mio was utterly perplexed by her own thought. She couldn’t even recall when it was that her mother had said those words.

After Mio finally set the receiver down, she immediately thought of calling her brother.

Checking the clock, though, she quickly worked out that it would be long past midnight where he was.

She hesitated for a moment before sending him an email.

Letting him know about their mother’s death in this way felt so mechanical, it left Mio feeling terribly unsettled.

She decided that she would stop by at her home to pick up her mourning clothes and other essentials.

Then, she would get the next available bullet train.

Takahashi, her chief assistant, offered to accompany her, but Mio softly told her that it would not be necessary, as it was a personal matter.

In fact, knowing how reliable she was, Mio asked her to stay behind and take charge in her absence.

Leave it with me, Takahashi said, her voice tinged with sadness.

Mio managed to arrive at her hometown before dusk. First, she visited the police station, where she was given the name of a funeral home.

The man who introduced himself as the funeral director gave Mio a rundown of the different funeral options, such as the size of the venue and ceremony style.

‘Please make a decision now.’

Urged by the man to make up her mind, she opted for a kazokuso – an intimate, private funeral – in the ceremony hall.

Then, there was the task of choosing the coffin, the altar, the candle stands, the urn and the box, as well as the kotsu-ooi .

She couldn’t quite grasp what she felt when she learned that there was a catalogue for such items – she was taken aback, yet she found it quite useful.

When the crematorium was confirmed, the man had said to her: ‘You must be pleased to hear that they had availability. Things don’t usually move so quickly in the big cities.

’ Indeed, it meant that Mio would not need to take too much time off work, though she knew this was not the right time to worry about such things.

As the wake, the funeral, and the cremation proceeded like clockwork, it seemed as though Mio was just going through the motions.

* * *

Sitting by the altar on the round table, Mio offered another incense.

As she gazed into the drifting smoke, a memory surfaced.

From time to time, the funeral director had looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face.

That was probably because I seemed indifferent, Mio thought.

Despite being her daughter, I didn’t appear to be very sad.

‘Don’t you ever worry about me. You two live your lives to the fullest. Promise me you won’t let anything take away your freedom.’

Her mother had said those words at Yoshihiro’s wedding.

Although Mio couldn’t quite remember what had led to that conversation, she clearly recalled thinking, how dare you .

Mio had looked after all the housework while her brother was still young, and she had taken a sense of pride in having done so.

If anything, she felt relied upon; she had believed that her mother had depended on her.

She wouldn’t go as far as to say that it was a burden .

Still, hearing her mother speak as though none of it ever happened, Mio couldn’t help but feel overlooked.

Back then, all my household tasks had done just that – take away my freedom.

And it was because of Mum. Mio silently protested, though she also knew well that it would be unfair to blame everything on her mother.

Mio’s relationship with her mother was never strained or conflicted, but it was more emotionally distant than what you would expect from a typical mother-and-child relationship.

It was the same for her brother. Thinking about it now, perhaps this was because, given her position, she felt like she had to treat all children equally.

But how could I have known that? I was still a child.

Mio never confronted her mother. Although she’d longed for the kind of relationship where she could talk to her about anything, Mio suppressed herself, pushing her honest feelings aside.

There was no denying that their lives were turned upside down when her father died.

They even had to change their surname from Oda to her mother’s maiden name, Kisanuki.

But the truth was, even before his death, her family was a little broken.

It seemed that her mother was always accusing her father of something and driving him into a corner.

Often, Mio would lie in bed, pretending to be asleep while her parents argued for what felt like hours.

Although she could not make out what they were saying, she could hear her mother’s tone growing harsher and angrier.

In the morning, Mio would ask her father if he was okay, and he would always respond with a weak smile.

Her father took his own life when Mio was thirteen.

No one told her why. She remembered thinking he must have wanted to escape from something.

But whatever it was, she didn’t want to know – if the only answer she could find was that he was trying to get away from her mother, or the three of them, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.

From then on, her mother, a teacher at a junior high school, became the sole provider of the family.

Not only did Mio have to take over the housework, but she also bore most of the responsibility for Yoshihiro, who was six years younger than her.

Every day, as soon as she finished school, she would head to her brother’s elementary school, take his hand and walk home.

She would then do the cleaning, the cooking and the laundry.

She hardly ever had the time to hang out with friends, let alone participate in extracurricular activities.

Their mother only allowed the necessities – she never took them on holiday, or bought them video games, books or manga.

Although there was one thing her mother did for her that Mio never forgot.

Whenever she had the chance, Mio would find space in her notebook or flip over a flyer, and draw.

Noticing Mio’s love for drawing , one day, her mother started to bring home second?hand copies of a monthly girls’ manga magazine.

Mio read them over and over, copying the illustrations obsessively.

Mio always wondered why her mother was so strict with money. Of course, she understood that being a single mother was tough, but she’d been that way even before her father’s death. It seemed that her mother was often berating her father about money. All he did in response was lower his head weakly.