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Tadashi’s parents met serving the Shindo family: at age thirty, his father was nearing his fifth year as the gardener for the estate, and his mother, a bright-eyed, newly-hired maid, always found herself gravitating towards the rose bushes during her breaks. His mother and father recall the memories fondly, telling them as bedtime stories while looking at their son and one another with starry glances, and Tadashi always feels warm, always smiles and leans into his mother. One night, when he’s feeling particularly wonderstruck, he tells his parents that he’s going to fall in love with a maid, too.
After giving a strange look that Tadashi can’t name, his father ruffles his hair and says that he hopes that Tadashi will find love outside of the Shindo estate.
On a lovely April morning, one month into Tadashi’s first year of school, his mother walks him to school. She kneels down and kisses the beauty mark under his eye, and though he feels warm and loved, he squirms, eager to get into the classroom. She sends him off with a ruffle of his hair and a, “Be a good boy today!”
It’s his father who picks him up from school, though, and he looks exceptionally sad. Tadashi thinks of all of the bad things he might have accidentally done — he might have left his pajamas on the floor, or might have scuffed up the floor coming in from the garden last night — but before he can apologize, his father tells him that he has very, very bad news.
Tadashi is six years old, and the maids talk freely about his mother’s death. They call it tragic. For the rest of the week, Tadashi’s father allows him to stay home from school, just as Mr. Shindo has allowed him the rest of the week off of work, and Tadashi, to curb his boredom, helps some of the maids fold towels. They pinch his cheeks and sneak him candies from the dish in the parlor and gossip, they love to gossip, and Tadashi listens as they call it a ‘hit-and-run’ and say there was blood everywhere, merely two houses over from the estate. Suddenly, his stomach lurches, and he excuses himself to the garden, hoping to hide amongst the flowers as tears threaten to spill again.
His father finds him just as the sun is setting, the tears long since dried while the ache still carves a pit in his stomach. Even though he would normally argue that he is much too old to be carried, his father sweeps him up in his arms and says he has been a good boy, so strong, but it’s okay to cry, too. Tadashi nestles into his father’s shoulder, soaking his shirt as the tears fall once again.
That weekend, as the sun shines high and bright on Saturday afternoon, Tadashi’s father allows him to climb the step ladder and attempt to trim the tops of the rose bushes, holding him steady with a firm arm around his legs and one foot planted on the lowest rung. The rose bushes have always been Tadashi’s favorite in the entire garden. The gorgeous bundles of pinks and reds remind him of love, of beauty, of sunset walks around the garden with his mother and father when his father would pick them each a pale pink rose. The bushes are tall and mighty, imposing yet beautiful, high walls to hide away the Shindo estate. Tadashi, for a second, wonders if he will ever get to be as tall and beautiful and loved.
Before he can find the right words and ask his father, the illusion is shattered by a sharp cough behind them. Tadashi’s father’s laughter stops abruptly, and he lifts him off of the ladder and onto the ground, lower back cracking at the quick motion. Tadashi turns around and stands with his head bowed, just as his mother and father have taught him to do at a very young age in the presence of the master.
“It looks like we’re having fun here,” Mr. Shindo says with a chuckle, though Tadashi can’t imagine what’s funny. He can only think of how scared he is of the master, tall and imposing like the rose bushes but lacking the same fond feelings. Behind him, his wife does not smile, all tight lips and high cheekbones tucked beneath a lace parasol. She is not soft, not like Tadashi’s mother.
When Tadashi sneaks a glance upwards, he meets the eye of young Mr. Ainosuke, who shies away, hugging his mother’s legs.
His mother swats him away.
“My family sends our deepest condolences,” Mr. Shindo says, and Tadashi’s father nods, head still bowed. Tadashi looks down just the same. “Your wife served our family well.” He pauses intentionally, allowing Tadashi’s father the space to thank him, and when Tadashi dares to look up again, he meets Mr. Shindo’s gaze and jumps, forcing his head down. “How is the little one handling it?”
“As well as he can, sir.” Tadashi’s father moves an arm to squeeze his son’s shoulder. Tadashi is thankful that he answers for him — he still isn’t sure if he’s allowed to speak in the master’s presence. “He’s hurting, but he has lovely memories of her.”
“He’s a good boy,” Mr. Shindo says, reaching down a large hand to ruffle Tadashi’s hair. He doesn’t flinch, only because he knows that would be impolite, but there’s nothing comforting about the touch. “If there is anything we can do to make this easier on your family, please let us know.”
“Of course, sir. We are incredibly grateful for your support.” And the conversation is over, Mr. Shindo walking away with brisk strides while his wife floats behind him. Little Ainosuke struggles to keep up.
After they leave, Tadashi’s father does not let him climb back up the ladder to face the greatest heights of the rose bushes. Instead, he tells Tadashi that he ought to go practice his reading. Tadashi has been reading just fine since age three but knows that he is being sent away, so he holds down any complaints. His father doesn’t want to hear them; he’s hurting enough.
One month later, once the pain of Tadashi’s mother’s death has settled into a dull ache, his father rises with the sun to begin tending to the garden. He instead finds Mrs. Shindo dead in the pool.
It’s a suicide, according the maids who sometimes allow Tadashi to help fold towels, though Tadashi doesn’t know what that means. He just knows it’s going to be a bad day when he’s woken up by a maid, not his father, who tells him to get dressed quickly and to keep to himself the best that he can today.
For days, the air in the estate is hectic and suffocating as the staff prepares the house for the wake. Every day, his father walks him to and from school, but he does not ask Tadashi to help him in the garden — instead, Tadashi is told to stay out of the way, find somewhere else to play no matter where he goes. A day before the wake, Mr. Shindo’s three sisters arrive at the estate, and Tadashi, for the first time, feels invisible. Ensuring that the master’s sisters are pleased becomes everyone’s top priority, and Tadashi finds it better to blend into the background and cause no trouble.
On the day of the wake, his father instructs him to stay in their room, but Tadashi can’t help but be curious. Everything for his mother was small and personal, a celebration despite the pain of loss, and he wonders if it will be the same for Mrs. Shindo: surely it will, since the servants have spent copious amounts of energy making it just so.
He sneaks out of the servant’s quarters and is thankfully small enough to hide behind pillars and busts. The event is dreadful and stuffy, and the black-clad legs of Mr. Shindo’s friends reveal nothing of interest to Tadashi. He considers going back to the servant’s quarters — sure, he has read all of his chapter books and can’t go play in the garden, but that would be better than the uncomfortable air of a wake where no one seems to be truly sad.
Tadashi runs behind another pillar, this one topped by an ornate vase full of flowers that he could have possibly helped pick. Maybe not, though, since his father hasn’t let him do much of anything this week. He’s about to rush behind a big statue that makes him blush and giggle whenever he sees it when he suddenly feels cold, as though he’s being watched. Knowing he’s about to be in trouble with the master of the house — or, even worse, one of his stick-straight, no-nonsense sisters — he turns around slowly, apology sticking in the back of his throat as he braces for the worst.
It’s not the master of the house who catches him but Mr. Ainosuke, who stares at him from a distance with wide, puffy eyes. He has one finger hooked out on his bottom lip, his cheeks are red and splotchy, and he looks just as lost and helpless as Tadashi (though Tadashi can run away). He should run, he knows this, but he hovers behind the pillar for a second longer. Mr. Ainosuke’s eyes beg for something that Tadashi can’t name.
Tadashi pauses for a second, then he smiles.
His smile is far from confident or reassuring, but he remembers that the occasional smile from his father or another one of the servants always made him feel a little better after losing his mother. Regardless, it’s enough to spark something behind Mr. Ainosuke’s eyes. His eyebrows raise in surprise, and Tadashi thinks that he’s about to smile back.
But before he can, Mr. Shindo seems to appear from thin air, placing an arm around his son to usher him towards a guest.
And Tadashi sees Mr. Shindo pinch Mr. Ainosuke’s bicep tightly between his thumb and forefinger, causing his son to jump up and yelp. That only seems to make Mr. Shindo angrier, though none of it shows on his face as he kneels down in front of his son.
Tadashi, still hidden behind the pillar, strains to hear the cold words hidden behind Mr. Shindo’s unyielding smile: “No son of mine is going to cry like this.”
“I’m trying to stop,” Tadashi hears Mr. Ainosuke barely say, and it’s punctuated by a hiss.
“Trying isn’t good enough, Ainosuke. Get over yourself.”
Tadashi can’t imagine why Mr. Shindo is acting like this, especially when he has been so… maybe not kind, because Tadashi is rather terrified of him and certainly didn’t feel comforted when he came to the garden, but he seems, at the very least, respectable. Not to mention that Mr. Ainosuke is surely in a lot of pain already — Tadashi still feels sad over his own mother’s death, even though life did carry on.
Mr. Shindo ushers Mr. Ainosuke away, and Tadashi runs back to the servant’s quarters, careful to not leave even a hair from his head or a scuff from his shoe on the polished floor. He does not see Mr. Ainosuke turn to look back at him before his father pulls him forward, though he does, briefly, feel his sad gaze burn against his back.
Tadashi, already knowing that he has broken a million rules today, doesn’t risk looking back.
By some miracle, he gets away with it: when he returns, his father is still out in the garden for work; just like every extra hand in the house, his father is tied up with affairs pertaining to Mrs. Shindo’s death. He considers finding him in the garden but remembers that he has been told to stay out of the way, so he focuses his attention on rereading one of his books. That doesn’t sate him, either: all he can see are Mr. Ainosuke’s sad eyes and the way Mr. Shindo pinched him so roughly.
At some point, Tadashi falls asleep, and his father wakes him by shaking his shoulders, smiling down at him kindly. Behind his smile, he seems tired, and Tadashi sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes.
He means to ask about the garden or the wake, but one question on the tip of his tongue is far more important.
“Do you think Mr. Ainosuke is sad about his mom?”
Tadashi’s father freezes. He runs his hand through his hair, which Tadashi notices, for the first time, seems to be thinner and grayer than Mr. Shindo’s, though he never thought his father to be terribly old. With the sad look on his face, Tadashi begins to wonder if he’s about to be scolded.
“Of course he’s sad, Tadashi,” his father explains, calm and slow. “Think about how you felt. I can imagine Mr. Ainosuke feels the same way.”
Tadashi swings his legs off the edge of his bed. “I know.” And he does know, because even now, mentioning his mother makes his heart hurt. “I just didn’t know if Mr. Shindo would let him. He seems kind of mean.”
Tadashi’s father blanches. Tadashi knows he has said something wrong now and braces himself to either cry or beg for forgiveness — or say nothing at all.
Before he can speak, though, his father kneels down, places a hand on his shoulder, and gives an apologetic and fake smile.
“We should never worry about what happens between Mr. Shindo and Mr. Ainosuke. It’s not our business, and we’re better off not asking questions.” His father squeezes his shoulder gently, and Tadashi blinks.
“If you can help it, it’s best to stay as far, far away from their business as possible,” his father continues. “You don’t ever want to be in too deep with the Shindo family.”
When his father hugs him, Tadashi gives a soft gasp. His mother was very affectionate and loving, and his father, for all of his kind words and comforting smiles, was never the most physically affectionate. Since Tadashi wouldn’t consider himself terribly affectionate, either, he stands stick-straight, waiting for his father to let him go.
“Can you promise me that, Tadashi?” his father asks, and Tadashi knows, if he wants his father to be happy, he should say yes. But he thinks of the maids who like to gossip when Tadashi helps them with little tasks, and he knows they don’t try to stay out of the Shindo family’s business. He thinks of how he lives in the Shindo family estate, how the reason he can eat and sleep and breathe is because his parents are entwined with Shindo family business.
He thinks of Mr. Ainosuke, with his sad eyes and his dead mother, who will never, ever be free of Shindo family business.
And he thinks that is just not fair to Mr. Ainosuke.
But now is not the time to argue. Finally, Tadashi hugs his father back and nods into his shoulder.
“Thank you, Tadashi. You’re a good boy.”