Kyoya Ootori's Guide to Self-Deception for Fun and Profit

Chapter 11: Ps: I love you

Tokyo

Haruhi spends the next week with her mother.

Oh, some other things happen, she's sure, but when she's not reading the stories about Kotoko, she's dreaming them. It's not that she didn't feel like she knew her mum before. Her father talks about her often enough, telling affectionate stories of the woman he loved. She heard some stories too from Yuko, her mother's old college junior, before the former Suoh family's lawyer quit her job and moved away. And it's not like Haruhi doesn't remember her at all, but it's like grasping at a bubble. She was only five when she died. Some days she thinks she remembers only what her father's told her, and her imagination – her desperate longing – has simply painted pictures of what she wishes she could see.

But now, it feels like someone's drawn back the curtain to give her a painful, wonderful glimpse of the mother she always wished she knew. Her mother's school friends . . . her college classmates . . . her former colleagues . . . Haruhi reads all their stories, looks at the photos, and feels . . .

Well. She feels bruised, if she's honest. But it's a good kind of bruise.

Kyoya's included a list of contact details for everyone he's tracked down. It takes her a few days to pluck up the courage to call, but once she does, she's once again overwhelmed by people's kindness. She listens – and she learns.

It feels like surfacing from a freezing pool when she finally emerges from her almost dazed, dreamlike state to find it's already the New Year – and her father is smiling at her.

"She was a good woman, your mother," he says affectionately, and pats her on the head. "And your Kyoya," he adds just as affectionately, "he's a good boy too."

Your Kyoya.

"Yes," is all Haruhi finds that she can say.

"I can't believe we have to go back to school so soon," Mei says with deep gloom as she flicks through a rail of discounted dresses.

"Mm," Haruhi says. It's the first of January, and she and Mei met up much too early to queue up for the first sale of the year. She was up much too late the night before as well, to make sure she could greet the new year with her father after he'd come home from his shift.

"I can't decide if I should buy a couple of dresses or go for a lucky pack," Mei says, still flicking. "I can't afford both. What do you think?"

"Mm," Haruhi says. "Yes."

She realises this wasn't the answer Mei was looking for when her friend folds her arms and raises her eyebrows.

"Ah, sorry!" she apologies. "I was just thinking about . . ." She trails off, unhappily aware it's all too obvious.

"You should be thinking about your exams, rather than boys," Mei says with what Haruhi thinks is deep, unforgiveable hypocrisy. "We're both sitting the National Center Test in two weeks' time, aren't we? And don't you have other entrance exams as well?"

Haruhi's eyes flick to the clothing rail and back.

"What?" Mei says with a pout. "I can't be revising all the time."

"I'm not thinking about boys," Haruhi protests, a bit too late for it to be effective. Mei's already gone back to browsing.

"No?" Mei says as she pulls a dress out and holds it in front of herself, before putting it back with a discontented frown.

Haruhi opens her mouth. "Well, maybe just a little," she admits, feeling herself go a bit red.

"I think I'll get a lucky pack, after all," is all Mei says in reply to this confession though, and once again they join an enormous queue.