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“Look, Daddy!” Yuma cried as the park came into view, brightly colored windsocks and paper cranes blowing in the warm summer breeze. “Pwetty!”
Their quiet seaside town had a small but lovely festival for Tanabata, a favorite of Tohru’s since she was a young girl. It was something she’d always wanted to share with her family, and something Kyo had grown to love.
When Tohru had told him the story of Tanabata back in high school, he couldn’t help but feel a connection to the literal star-crossed lovers of the old folk tale, Orihime and Hikoboshi. Sure, they were separated by a heavenly river and stern father, rather than an ancient family curse, but so much of the legend hit close to home.
“Oh, I think Emiko-chan is hungry!” Tohru said, frowning as their 4-month-old began to fuss. She loosened the sling and shifted her yukata, allowing her infant daughter to nurse as their family made their way through the small park.
Kyo gazed at the pair affectionately. He still couldn’t believe this was his life sometimes – married to the woman of his dreams, father to three incredible children, making their own way out in the world together, more in love than ever.
“Dad, I want yakitori!” said Hajime, pointing at the nearest food stand.
“Yakitowi, daddy! Yakitowi!” cried Yuma, mimicking his older brother’s gesture.
“It’s okay,” smiled Tohru, shifting Emiko to her other side. “I’ll wait right here.”
Kyo kissed her on the cheek and brushed his fingers lightly against Emiko’s head before taking each of his sons by the hand to the yakitori booth.
Tohru watched him lift Yuma so their younger son could see how the meat was prepared. She smiled. It was such a privilege to watch Kyo with their children. He was everything she could have ever hoped for in a husband and co-parent; dedicated, caring, patient, and endlessly loving. As she watched him set Yuma down, she was sure he was answering question after question from ever-curious Hajime.
As the three of them returned to the bench where Tohru had finished nursing Emiko, Hajime held out a skewer for his mother.
“Thank you so much, Hajime-kun!” Tohru beamed, causing Hajime to flush. He really did look so much like his father.
“Mom,” Hajime said between careful, neat bites of chicken. “What did you wish for when you went to the festival as a kid?”
“Oh, let’s see,” Tohru answered. “I remember wishing to be a better cook, so I could help my mother with meals. I think I also wished to become better at stitching so I could mend our clothing.”
Kyo chuckled. That was so like Tohru, wishing for skills she could use to help others.
“What about you, Dad?” Hajime focused his brown eyes on Kyo.
“Oh... uh, I never went to Tanabata as a kid. The first time I went was after you were born.”
Hajime cocked his head. “So you never got to make a wish?”
“I made plenty of wishes,” Kyo chuckled, remembering all the times he and Tohru made wishes on the roof in the first home they shared together. “Just not here.”
Hajime frowned. “That’s sad.”
Kyo didn’t know how to respond, so he busied himself wiping Yuma’s sauce-covered chin as the nearly 4-year-old tried to squirm away. Hajime, their oldest, was incredibly perceptive and had a strong sense of right and wrong. He was also rather blunt.
After a long silence, Hajime blurted, “I think you should make a wish today with me and Yuma.”
“I dunno,” said Kyo, scratching the back of his neck. “Those are for you and the other kids, I really shouldn’t take one for myself.”
“But you never got to make one,” argued Hajime. “It’s not fair!”
Kyo looked to Tohru for help, but she was busy burping Emiko. “Okay, I’ll make a wish with you,” he agreed. “But only if you help me write wishes for your brother and sister, too.”
“Deal,” said Hajime, smiling again.
Now that everyone had been fed, Hajime led the way to the tables with multicolored strips of washi and a variety of pens. He and Yuma sat down together, and he helped Yuma with the kana to wish for better handwriting, only becoming slightly impatient when his younger brother attempted to start over on a new strip of paper because he ran out of space. Hajime wished to make pancakes as good as his mom’s.
Kyo and Tohru watched their sons happily, delighted at the way the two boys worked together.
"Mom, what does Emiko wish for?”
“She wishes to grow up to be healthy and kind like her two brothers!” Tohru responded cheerfully.
Tohru could see Kyo struggling with what to wish for. And she understood – so many of their dreams had come true. It was hard to imagine wishing for anything to be different.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to write anything, Kyo-kun,” she said once Hajime was focused on transcribing Emiko’s wish.
“No, I'll figure it out,” Kyo replied, brow furrowed in concentration.
“What do you wish for, Mom?” Hajime called out, having finished his and his sisters. Yuma was still intensely focused on his own strip of paper.
“Hmm,” Tohru said. “I wish that you and Yuma-kun and Emiko-chan grow up to be as happy as me and Daddy!”
“Mom!” Hajime rolled his eyes, exasperated. “It’s supposed to be for you!”
“I know, Hajime-kun! That is what I wish for most of all!”
Kyo gave Tohru a fond look; so many years ago, what Tohru had wished for more than anything was for the Sohma family curse to break so they could be together.
Kyo made his decision. He scribbled his own wish and went to help Hajime and Yuma attach their family’s strips to the paper chains already hanging from the maple branches over this corner of the park.
As Emiko started to doze in her sling, Tohru stood and watched her boys return, the linked paper rings rustling behind them in the gentle summer breeze, thinking about the wishes everyone had made today and on so many occasions in the past. She and Kyo, more than most, knew the true power of a wish.
As they left the festival that afternoon, smiling and exhausted, Kyo thought about the wish he had made. Looking at his family, Tohru with Emiko wrapped against her chest, Hajime holding his mom's hand and looking at his baby sister with such affection, Yuma skipping along at Kyo's side, he couldn’t imagine wishing for anything else for the rest of his life.
I wish for a long life spent with my family.