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“So… that should be it for today,” Honami says. Kanade watches her carefully, the way that she clenches her fists, her downtrodden gaze. Kanade is sad, too. “I already talked to your new cleaner and she will definitely do a good job. I filled her in on your needs so you won’t have to do a full walkthrough… when I first started your grandmother gave one to me so you wouldn’t have to.” Honami pauses, looking up in thought before worry crosses her features. “Of course, if you need me to come and talk to her again, I can always come over to make sure—”
“Thank you,” Kanade cuts her off, a warmth mixing with the pain of saying goodbye.
It isn’t goodbye forever—Honami just needs more time to practice and perform with her band. Leo/need is touring and Kanade is so proud of her friend—Kanade’s desire to support her overriding any selfish need to keep her close by. It’s still difficult to let her go. Honami had been caring for her for three years now… stopping by every week to clean. It started with what she was hired for—cleaning—until Honami saw how she lived. Then, Honami started bringing meals over with her. At first they were “leftovers”, until Kanade realized she would go out of her way to make Kanade’s favorite meals.
They cleaned out Kanade’s mother’s things together. Honami didn’t mind that she could hardly get through a single box without bursting into tears. They went to events. They made candles in the quiet of Kanade’s kitchen.
Honami didn’t ask when Kanade needed meals for two, didn’t ask when she knew someone else was also living in the house.
To be completely honest, Kanade didn’t need Honami’s services as desperately for the past year. She learned the hard way that she and Mafuyu both couldn’t rot away in her bedroom, one of them had to get their shit together and Mafuyu was in no place to do that. Kanade can’t cook anything as fancy as Honami, but she and Mafuyu eat more than cup noodles. They also don’t sit in piles of trash, so, improvements all around.
“So,” Honami tries again, but doesn’t get to “goodbye” quite yet.
“Honami, let’s have tea.” Kanade shuffles past her and into the kitchen, flipping the light switch. Honami really lingered on the cleaning today, the room filling with the citrus scent of cleaner. “Mafuyu bought a new flavor the other day.”
“Yes, please,” Honami says, resting her bag by the door and following her back into the house. She takes a seat at the kitchen table, letting Kanade put the kettle on for once. “I heard that Ichika is giving N25 producing credit for our new song.”
Kanade sighs. She’s told Ichika a hundred times that she and Mafuyu hopping on a call to fix a single bridge shouldn’t count as producing anything , but Ichika is insistent. “I wonder if anyone would notice. Our genre doesn’t cross paths.”
“I’m not sure,” Honami wonders out loud. “Ichika is really happy with the song, though. Thank you for mentoring her.”
“She has a good sense for arrangements, I was just teaching her the technical aspects,” she insists. Kanade likes this. She likes that she can talk to Honami as a friend, rather than as her employer. She nods at the kettle. “I need to get something from my room.”
She heads to the opposite end of her house, pulling out the card and small gift box she had stashed where she knew Honami wouldn’t clean. She returns with her heart fluttering, placing the gift and envelope in front of her friend.
“A little thanks for your hard work.”
“Kanade… you know that you don’t have to get me anything,” Honami says, a frown settling. “I was just doing my job.”
She wants to argue that Honami has done much more than that, but knows it won’t get her anywhere. Kanade adds, “And congratulations on you and your band’s success.”
Honami begins to fiddle with the envelope and Kanade panics, “Read that at home, please. It’s… a little embarrassing.”
She giggles. “I won’t tease you.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” Kanade covers her face, sitting at the table with her. “Read it later, please.”
The letter might not say anything new , but it’s certainly gratitude that hasn’t been expressed in the mortifying depth that had been achieved the night before. Kanade says it as if the present is any better, but she prefers to give an explanation in person.
Honami carefully slips the lid off of the gift box, gasping and covering her mouth at the contents. “Kanade… it’s beautiful.”
Kanade is relieved that she likes it. She had to take the silver necklace to a jeweler to get it cleaned up. She vaguely remembers it from her childhood, her father explaining the meaning while playing a few notes on his keyboard. It has a similar story as the music box she cherished.
“Um,” Kanade starts, nerves biting at her thoughts, “When my mother was alive my father wrote many songs for her. He wrote one when she was pregnant with me as a thank you for, you know, carrying me… giving me the nutrients I needed…” Kanade shakes her head, shrugging. “He had this necklace made as a gift to go with the song, it has a few notes of the melody etched on both sides.”
Honami picks the necklace up out of the box, examining the notes on the flat silver pendant. Concern is written on her face. “Kanade, I can’t accept this. It’s your mother’s…”
“I want you to have it,” Kanade insists. “I think my mother and father would be very, very grateful for you if they knew what you do for me. You… take care of me. So please, I want you to have this necklace.”
Honami hangs her head, trying to hide her tears, but Kanade can see them glistening in the corners of her eyes.
Kanade folds her hands on the table. “I also… rearranged the song for you. The music sheets are in the envelope… it’s played on the piano so either I or Saki could play it for you. I guess what I’m trying to say is you’re not my mother… but you are someone who cared deeply for me and my health. And I’ll always remember that.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” Honami whimpers. When she looks up at Kanade, tears are rolling down her cheeks. Kanade bites her lip—upsetting her wasn’t her intention. “I’m worried.”
“I will be okay. I promise.” Kanade nods. She reaches across the table and puts her hand over Honami’s. It feels hot, her hands are shaking. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t want to cry today.” She wipes the tears to no end, the kettle whistling as it comes to a boil. Kanade takes quiet steps to the counter, pouring two cups of tea. She leaves a third cup empty with a tea bag sitting in it for when Mafuyu returns.
The two girls sit close together, letting the feelings wash over them and coveting the heat of the mugs. Kanade isn’t sure where this leads them. Honami at the very least was a close friend, but Kanade is stuck on if she wants more. Even so, she feels comfortable leaving it as this. She wants to support Honami in all that she does.
She watches as Honami attempts to undo the necklace clasp, but her hands shake and she’s unable to press down the delicate latch.
“Do you want to put it on?” Kanade asks. She holds out her hand and Honami drapes the chain into her waiting palm.
Kanade unclasps the necklace on her second try before standing behind Honami. She sweeps her soft curls over one shoulder, snaking her hands around her neck and fastening the necklace. Honami shudders as her cold fingertips brush hot skin. Kanade doesn’t pull away, instead leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Honami, balancing her chin on her shoulder.
Honami takes her hand, leaning her head against Kanade’s. Kanade hears her heart beat, her faster-than-normal pulse fluttering under her skin.
“Thank you,” Kanade says, once more, hoping it will cover the vast emotions.