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“We all know why we’re here today.”
Miwa stood at the head of the group, high above them on the stone steps of the shrine. Naru, Hina and Tama sat below her on staggered levels and under the torii gate, Hiroshi leaned facing away, his hands in his pockets. Miwa had a stick in her hands, picked up off the side of the road, and she tapped her palm with it.
“Tomorrow is Sensei’s birthday,” she said. “What are we gonna do?”
What was he going to do? Hiroshi wondered. It was Handa’s first birthday on the island. In the year since he moved here, the kids had all celebrated their own birthdays and yet this one had them the most excited. It was special for them, and special for Hiroshi too, but he did not share in their enthusiasm. The more their excitement grew, the more apprehensive he became. The kids wanted a party of course, you couldn’t have a birthday without one, but Hiroshi knew it wouldn’t end there. The day would be filled with constant badgering, streamers, snacks, rubbish, mess and noise. Everything that set Handa on edge. Hiroshi couldn’t say that Handa didn’t like attention, but he also knew that he could quickly become very, very embarrassed when put under the spotlight.
Miwa was still talking. “Okay, so we’ll start the party at four. Tama will be in charge of decorations, Naru and Hina will distract him while we set up, and Hiro will bring the food.”
Hiroshi surfaced at the sound of his name. He straightened up. “Why do I have to do the food?”
“You cook for him every night, don’t you?”
He looked away. “Mum cooks, I just bring it to him.” Which was not entirely true these days. He had recently taken to cooking at Handa’s house under the guise of teaching him, but they had quickly given up on the lessons after Handa dropped a knife on Hiroshi’s foot and gave him five stiches. That would have been the end of cooking for him too, but unfortunately Hiroshi was a sucker for Handa’s glowing compliments.
“What presents are we all giving him?” Miwa asked.
Naru stuck her hand up. “I’m giving him a paper mâché inkstone.”
“I drew him a portrait,” Tama said.
“I’m giving him some of my sweets,” chirped Hina and Hiroshi felt like sinking his hands into his hair.
Everyone turned to him. “What about you, Hiro?”
Short answer, he didn’t know. On his birthday, Handa had given him a piece of calligraphy of his name and Hiroshi had joked about selling it. But that had been last year, this year things were different. He wanted to give him something meaningful, but he had no talent for drawing or writing or making things, and something practical, like ink or paper or socks, did not quite send the message he was after.
They were still staring, their eyes crawling all over him. He scowled. “I’m cooking, aren’t I?”
“Food ain’t a present when you’re sharing it with everyone,” Miwa said. “You really haven’t gotten him anything?” she said in an irritatingly disapproving voice.
“I would’ve thought you of all people would have gotten him something,” Tama said.
“Leave off, would you?” he snapped. “I don’t need to get him nothing.” And with that, Hiroshi straightened up and stalked down the steps of the shrine.
So he hadn’t gotten Handa anything for his birthday. Big deal. A teenage boy buying a man five years his senior a present was weird anyway. He didn’t need to give Handa a trinket-y piece of junk to show he cared. Dinner should be enough. A full belly was the best gift anyone could ask for, as far as Hiroshi was concerned. He was a little bitter that Miwa had put herself in charge of buying a cake though. He would have liked to have baked Handa a cake. It was the only thing he was good at, the only thing that might have served as a present.
Handa wouldn’t mind. Things like that only embarrassed him anyway. They didn’t need big, material gestures, their friendship was about the little, everyday things.
Yet his resolve was swamped by guilt. Tomorrow wasn’t just any day, though. Perhaps the lack of gestures up until now made this one even more important. If Hiroshi shrugged it off, wouldn’t it seem like he didn’t care? But he did care. It was because he cared that he knew Handa wouldn’t want a big deal made of it.
He raked his hands through his hair. Tama’s words came back to him: “I would’ve thought you of all people would have gotten him something.” And she was right. Hiroshi knew him the best out of anyone, he should be having the easiest time figuring out a present.
Wait. Maybe he was not the person who knew him best. There was one other person, someone who had been through multiple birthdays with Handa, who might be able to give him a second opinion. But Hiroshi really did not want to make that phone call.
“Hello?”
Hiroshi swallowed hard. “Hey, Kawafuji. It’s Hiroshi, from the island.”
“Hiroshi?”
“With the blond hair.”
“Ah-ha! The delinquent. What’s up? How’s the old wet blanket doing? Things still crazy over there?”
Hiroshi sighed. “Yes. Look, I need your opinion on something.”
There was a pause and some rustling. Hiroshi could imagine Kawafuji leaning back in his chair and putting his legs up on his desk. “Shoot.”
“Handa’s birthday is tomorrow, and I was just wondering what you guys usually did to celebrate, back in Tokyo.”
There came the sound of fingers rubbing against prickly stubble. “Hmm… not much. Handa’s never really been one for celebrating his birthday. I’d give him a present, but that’s about it.”
Hiroshi relaxed. “What kind of present?”
“Whatever he needed at the time, I suppose. Paper, brushes, ink. Usually ink.”
Well, that was to be expected from Handa’s manager. “What about in high school, though?”
“Still ink.”
Still ink? Hiroshi thought. Poor Handa. Still, maybe ink was not such a bad idea. After all, he had seemed overjoyed to receive that old, leftover bottle he had brought him that one time when the shop sold out. But when he imagined handing over a bottle of ink, after all the razzle-dazzle of the party, he could see Handa being disappointed. A bottle of ink was expected from Kawafuji, but not from him.
“What about a party?” Hiroshi asked.
“A party, huh? I don’t think he’s ever had a birthday party. He never wanted a big fuss made of him.” Hiroshi swelled with validation. Of course the introverted, awkward Handa would never want a party.
"But,” Kawafuji continued. “Things might be different on the island. Now that he has friends, he might actually enjoy being the centre of attention for a night.”
Hiroshi deflated. That was true. Everyone deserved to have a party at least once in their lives, even someone as neurotic as Handa.
“Anyway, thanks for reminding me.” Kawafuji said. “I’ll have to send him a bottle of ink tomorrow. Probably won’t get there ‘till next week, though.”
Well, he was doing better than Kawafuji, Hiroshi thought, but then stopped. As thoughtless as he was, Kawafuji still knew what he was going to give him. “What would you give him, if you couldn’t give him calligraphy supplies?”
There was a pause and then came a soft, breathy laugh. “Just give him anything, kid. Something only you can give. He’s pretty easy to please, don’t overthink it.”
A hot blush spread across his face from his ears to his nose. “Yeah, uh, well, thanks anyway,” Hiroshi mumbled. “I gotta go. Bye.”
Kawafuji chuckled. “See ya.”
Hiroshi snapped his cell phone shut. Something only he could give… He clapped his hands over his face and curled up into a ball on his bed. Why did this have to be so hard? Normally, people enjoyed giving presents to people they liked. It was supposed to be fun. It was definitely not supposed to be this agonising.
Hiroshi took Handa his dinner a little earlier that day. If Handa noticed anything off about him, he certainly did not act like it, sitting at his desk with his head down and writing from a sample book. The dinner was curry, packed in a container with the rice and everything. All he had to do was throw it in the microwave. Still, Hiroshi lingered.
“So, it’s your birthday tomorrow,” he said.
Handa did not look up. “I guess so.”
“Aren’t you excited?”
“It’s just another day.”
Hiroshi could understand his indifference. He didn’t care much about his birthday either. He used to, when he was a little kid and birthdays meant parties and presents and cake. But nineteen was not much of a milestone, he was stuck in this limbo where he was too old to play party games and yet too young to have an adult party with alcohol-fuelled shenanigans. And what did that mean for Handa, who was older still and yet was expected to celebrate his birthday with children?
He considered telling Handa about the party planned for him, to try and gauge his enthusiasm for the idea, but decided against it. It would ruin it for the kids, who desperately wanted to surprise him, and would probably raise Handa’s expectations, only to be disappointed.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Handa asked.
Finding a present for you. “Nothing,” Hiroshi replied. “Did you want to do something?”
He shrugged. “Not really.”
“Okay.” Hiroshi stood up. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
On his way out the door, Hiroshi could hear the soft turning of pages as Handa flicked through the copy book. He shut the door quietly behind him and looked up at the sky. The wind had cleared the clouds away and the sky was painted in a gradient fading from blue to pink to a pale yellow. Why was this so hard? He had thought in the last few months that he had finally gotten Handa all figured out, and now he was second guessing himself. He just wanted to make the day special for him. He would cook all of Handa’s favourite foods, he decided, yet as he walked home he could not remember whether Handa preferred his fish crumbed or grilled.
The next morning was spent in the oily heat of the kitchen, minutes flying by with every egg boiled, prawns shelled, and fish filleted. It was an enormous amount of food, going above and beyond the usual finger food that was expected at parties, but Hiroshi was determined not to show up with bowls of store-bought snacks and frozen food. His mother tried to help at first but was driven from the kitchen after butting heads with Hiroshi for the fiftieth time. Putting two people who both thought they were the best at cooking together in the kitchen was a recipe for a fight.
Hiroshi took the food to Handa’s house wrapped in a tea towel and tucked in a basket. He didn’t know why his stomach was churning. His chest was tight, and not from the walk up the hill. He had to stop outside the door to catch his breath a moment, before sliding it open.
There was a loud pop and streamers floated down around him. Naru, Hina, Tama and Miwa sat in the living room in disarray, as if they had just scrambled into position. Naru clutched an empty party popper.
“Dangit, Hiroshi, you could’ve knocked,” Miwa complained.
A cake lay on the table, all cream and strawberries, with neat, professional piping. He put the basket down and started laying out the food. “Where’s Sensei?”
“We made him go down to Kinnoshita’s to get us some snacks.”
Hiroshi snorted. “He’s going to be mad when he comes back and sees all this food.”
“Nobody can be mad on their birthday,” Hina said sweetly.
Hiroshi hoped that was true. He felt a little foolish as he knelt beside the other girls, party popper in hand. Miwa had five in one hand, the strings twisted together to form one thick fuse. This time when the door opened, Handa shuffled in with a plastic bag hanging from one arm, and they sent streamers showering over him with loud pops.
He stared at them with a knitted brow. “What?”
“Happy Birthday, Sensei!”
Still, he gaped. “What?” He looked at the food behind them and frowned. “Hey, you guys don’t even need snacks!”
They laughed at him, and he shucked off his sandals and came to sit down. Hiroshi shifted to make room for him, and Handa glanced at him as he sat down. “Did you make all this?”
“Well, except for the cake. Miwa bought the cake,” Hiroshi said.
"Sensei!” Naru popped up between them. “Happy birthday!” She held out a wrapped parcel to him.
“Oh, are we doing presents?” Tama asked, rustling around behind her for the portrait she drew of Handa and Naru.
Hiroshi’s stomach sunk. It was a unique torture, sitting there and watching Handa gratefully accept Hina’s sweets, laugh at the papier-mâché inkstone, and admire Tama’s drawing. Then, everyone turned to him expectantly. His stomach dropped. Handa’s eyes were so eager, and he knew he couldn’t get away with the food excuse.
“I got you a gift,” he said apologetically. “But it’s at home.”
Miwa guffawed. “Yeah, right. You didn’t get him anything!”
Hiroshi had to physically hold back from decking her in the face. “I did! You little…”
“Now, now,” Handa said, sounding more like a sensei than he ever had. “Hiroshi cooked the food, that’s more than enough.” He smiled at him. “Thank you, Hiro.”
Hiroshi felt his ears grow hot. “It’s nothin’ special.”
They ate the food while it was still warm, and thankfully not too soggy. The tempura was Handa’s favourite, although he hated wasabi, which came as a surprise to Hiroshi. “I thought everyone in Tokyo ate wasabi,” Hiroshi said, dabbing his tempura prawn into the green paste.
“It’s not the spiciness, I just hate the taste,” Handa said, although Hiroshi noticed that he took an extra long sip of iced tea after that.
Miwa scooped up a pea-sized clump of wasabi and waved it in Naru’s face, daring her to eat it. Handa lurched forwards to stop her, but it was too late. She chomped down on the end of the chopstick and her face wrinkled like a cat’s bum and she started coughing. Handa whacked Miwa of the back of the head and went to the kitchen for some water while Hiroshi and Tama laughed. Hina started wailing and did not stop until they removed the offending condiment from the table, which only made them all laugh harder.
“You guys are a handful,” Handa complained.
“You love us,” Miwa teased.
Handa blushed bright, and Hiroshi swore his eyes skittered over to him, just for a second. But then Naru spilled her juice across the table and, as they all jumped to mop it up, Hiroshi began to wonder if he had imagined it.
After they finished eating they sat around the table, warm, full and sleepy. Except for Naru. She jumped to her feet. “Let’s play party games.”
The teenagers looked at each other. “Did we plan any games?” Tama asked.
"Nup.”
Naru deflated. Miwa sat up. “We can still play games that don’t need anything.”
Naru perked up. “Shadow tag!”
“No running, please,” Handa groaned, leaning back on his elbows.
“Simon says?” Hina suggested.
“Truth or dare!” Miwa’s eyes glowed wickedly.
“What about telephone?” Tama said. Telephone did not require them to get up, so that one seemed the easiest. Naru went first, since she wanted to play so badly, and she whispered in Miwa’s ear, who whispered to Tama. Tama turned to Hiroshi and cupped her hand around his ear. “I love you Sensei.”
At first he thought Tama was messing with him, but then again, this was coming from Naru. He glanced at Handa beside him, who leaned in. He could smell his shampoo. He swallowed hard and whispered, “I love wasabi.”
Handa pulled back and glared at him. He turned to Hina and whispered to her. Hina’s face furrowed. “I hate wasabi?” She said aloud.
Naru jumped to her feet. “That’s not what I said! I said Happy Birthday Sensei!”
Hiroshi raised his eyebrow at Tama, who turned the other way.
Miwa laughed. “Did we all change it?”
“Guilty,” Hiroshi said, raising a hand.
Handa punched him in the shoulder. “I knew it!”
“You also changed it!” Hiroshi argued.
Miwa clapped her hands. “Okay! Let’s change direction this time. Sensei, you start, since you’re the birthday boy.”
Handa pondered for a moment, before turning to Hiroshi and cupping his hand around his ear. Hiroshi could feel his breath and his skin tingled with goosebumps. “Thank you for the party,” he whispered, and Hiroshi felt his heart squeeze.
He whispered to Tama, who whispered to Miwa. Her face broke out in a grin. “Aw Sensei, you’re such a sap.”
“Shut up!” Handa said, turning red.
It really was sweet, and Hiroshi smiled, unable to believe that just a day ago his stomach had been turning itself in knots. Watching Handa have fun with everyone was a nice reminder of how much he had changed; Hiroshi had to stop thinking of him as the anti-social stiff he was when he first came to the island and let him enjoy his birthday.
Miwa whispered to Naru who whispered to Hina. “Thank you for the party?” she said.
Handa nodded and Naru cheered. “We did it!”
“I think it’s more fun when we change it,” Hiroshi said.
“It’s only fun if you mishear it, not purposely change it,” Tama pointed out.
Hiroshi rolled his eyes. Handa smirked and leaned in, his shoulder pressing against his, lips almost brushing his ear. “I’ll change it if you change it.”
A shiver went up Hiroshi spine, and he put his arm behind Handa’s back so he could turn his head and whisper back. “Deal.”
They grinned at each other until Miwa shouted, “Hey you two, quit playing without us.”
Hiroshi put the last dish in the drying rack just as Handa came back from dropping Naru and Hina home. The table was wiped clean, but he had left the streamers and paperchains strewn along the walls and floors. His birthday wasn’t over yet, after all.
Handa seemed surprised to see him in the kitchen. “Oh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
Hiroshi shrugged. “You shouldn’t have to clean up at your own party, and Miwa and Tama sure weren’t going to do it.” The two girls had legged it as soon as the sun went down. Handa came to the sink to fill the kettle and Hiroshi dried his hands on his pants. “So, did you have a good time?”
“Yeah. I was really surprised when I walked in.” Handa said as he measured tea leaves into the teapot. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to remember, let alone throw me a party.”
“’Course we remembered,” Hiroshi said. “Though I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about celebrating with a bunch of kids.”
Handa waved him away. “I don’t mind, as long as they had fun.”
They. It made Hiroshi happier than it probably should have that Handa did not include him with the others. Maybe that was why after everyone had left, Hiroshi felt so comfortable staying behind.
Once the tea brewed, they took their cups and sipped them out on the verandah. The cherry tree reached twiggy fingers up towards the moon, the buds on the leafless branches turning to drops of silver. “Your house will be full of cherry blossoms soon,” Hiroshi said to Handa.
“Huh?”
“The cherry tree there. When the wind blows from the south, it brings all the petals into the house. It’s already got buds on it.”
“I never knew that was a cherry tree.” Handa looked up at it. “It’s spring already, huh? Soon I’ll have been here for a whole year.”
“Doesn’t feel like it’s been that long,” Hiroshi said.
“Mm. But it also feels like I’ve been here longer. I’m glad I get to see the cherry blossoms.”
Hiroshi looked at him. “Would you ever go back to Tokyo?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“So quick!”
Handa laughed. “I’m surprised too, but I like it here.”
“I’m glad.” Hiroshi said, and when Handa looked at him, he quickly backpedalled. “Glad that you get to see the cherry blossoms.” He glanced away and took a gulp of his tea, feeling it scald his throat all the way down to his stomach.
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to an owl call in the distance. There was a shred of streamer caught in Handa’s hair, and Hiroshi was just lifting his hand to pluck it out when he turned to him. “So, can I ask what my present is?”
Hiroshi’s stomach dropped. Handa’s eyes were playful, his smile plying, and the blossoms blooming inside Hiroshi’s stomach withered when he remembered he had never actually got him anything. He wished he had something to give him, something special. Well, there was always that. Kawafuji’s words came back to him at the worst possible moment. Something only you can give, don’t overthink it. This was probably the one thing he could stand to overthink, yet the words were already out of his mouth.
“It’s not at home. I just couldn’t give it to you in front of everyone.”
Handa’s face lit up and he held his hands out expectantly. Hiroshi swallowed. “You have to close your eyes first.”
His eyelids slid shut without a beat and Hiroshi’s stomach plummeted. Oh God, he was really doing this. Hiroshi took a deep breath, leaned in, and kissed him on the lips.
When he pulled back, Handa was staring at him. “What was that?”
Hiroshi’s jaw ached as a blush spread across his whole face. “A kiss?”
“I know that!” Handa shoved him and Hiroshi toppled, landing hard on his forearm against the floorboards.
“What the hell?” he yelled, his elbow and his pride throbbing. “You asked!”
And then, just as quickly, Handa was hauling him back upright. With a hand on his shoulder and another bunched in his shirt, he yanked him into a kiss. A tightly closed and rather forceful kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. When Handa released him, he looked just as baffled as Hiroshi felt.
“Come on,” Hiroshi got to his feet, took Handa’s hand and tugged him inside. Ankle deep in streamers and paper chains, Hiroshi cupped his face and kissed him properly, tilting his head and parting his lips slightly. He felt Handa gingerly place his hands on his hips. Handa was tense, like a block of clay, but as Hiroshi slid his hands into his hair and opened his mouth, he softened and began to kiss him back.
When they parted, they studied each other with a kind of frank curiosity, as if seeing each other for the first time. Hiroshi swallowed. “Uh, happy birthday?”
Handa’s face crumpled into an embarrassed mess, and he buried himself in the crook of Hiroshi’s neck. Hiroshi laughed and patted him lightly on the back. He felt Handa mumble something against his skin. “What was that?”
“I said it’s a good thing you didn’t give me my present with everyone else around.”
“To be honest, I didn’t know what I was going to give you until we were right there, on the verandah.”
Handa pulled back. “You truly didn’t get me anything?!”
Hiroshi flushed indignantly. “You’re impossible to buy for! I was going to bake you a cake but then Miwa already bought you one, and then I called Kawafuji but he was no help, so I thought the food would be enough but then everyone was looking at me and I felt bad because I really did want to get you something, and, well… I’m sorry.”
Handa pouted. For a moment, Hiroshi thought he was really mad, but then he looked down at his feet and mumbled, “I guess you can make it up to me…”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, one present is pretty stingy…”
Hiroshi laughed. “That’s how birthday presents work, idiot,” but he was already leaning in. Handa’s arms came up to wrap around his neck and he felt his chest swell as Handa tilted his head and came in to meet him.
And then they kissed and kissed for so long that Hiroshi used up all his presents for Handa for the next ten years.