Chapter 29

Breakfast began at seven-thirty, earlier than anyone wanted on a Saturday.

Kaito was dressed before the rice had finished steaming, his dark hair still damp at the ends and his test documents arranged in a careful stack beside his bowl: identification, booking confirmation, learner’s license, wallet. He checked the stack once, then again, as though something might have changed while he looked away.

Hana set a bowl of miso soup in front of him.

“Eat.”

“I’m eating.”

“You’re moving food around.”

“That’s still eating.”

“It’s not.”

Across the table, Midori hid a smile behind her tea. Her statistics workbook lay open beside her plate, several pages marked with small sticky notes. She would not leave for tutoring until one, but she had been preparing since the night before.

Emiko stood at the counter, wrapping two rice balls in paper and sliding them into a small container.

“You may not be hungry now,” she told Kaito, “but you ll be hungry later.”

“I can buy something.”

“You can eat this.”

Kaito accepted the container without argument. That, more than anything, showed Hana how nervous he was.

“Do you have everything?” Emiko asked.

“Yes.”

“Your ID?”

“Yes.”

“Your learner’s license?”

“Yes.”

“Your phone?”

“In my pocket.”

“Your wallet?”

“Also in my pocket.”

Hana poured him tea.

“Drink that before you go.”

He looked at the cup as if it had personally offended him.

“Hana—”

“Drink.”

He drank.

Midori looked over the top of her workbook. “Try not to hit anything.”

Kaito turned toward her slowly. “That’s not helpful.”

“It’s realistic.”

“I passed all my lessons.”

“That does not mean you cannot hit something today.”

“Midori,” Emiko said.

“I believe in him,” Midori said quickly. “I am just saying that traffic cones have feelings too.”

Kaito gave her a flat, suffering look. Hana had to turn away so he would not see her smile.

At seven forty-five, he stood in the entryway with his shoes on, folder under one arm and the container of rice balls in the other hand. The nervousness he had kept hidden at breakfast had settled visibly across his shoulders.

Emiko reached up and straightened the collar of his shirt.

“You know what you are doing,” she said.

“I know.”

“Don’t rush.”

“I won’t.”

Be quiet and kiss ne.

Emiko laid some tongue on him.

“Get a room, you two!” chimed Midori.

“Make every safety check obvious,” Hana added. “Mirrors, blind spots, signals. Do not assume the tester knows what you saw.”

Kaito nodded once. “I know.”

The Singapore Safety Driving Centre required candidates to report well before the actual Traffic Police practical test for a warm-up session, then return to the test vehicle’s reporting point before their scheduled test time. The practical test itself began in the circuit before moving onto public roads, and a candidate who accumulated too many demerit points—or made a serious immediate-failure error—would not progress through the normal sequence.

Kaito paused at the door.

“I’ll text when I’m done.”

“Text when you get there,” Emiko corrected.

“And when you are done,” Hana said.

“And when you are coming home,” Midori added.

Kaito opened the door. “I’ll send one message. That is all anyone gets.”

Then he was gone.

The house remained quiet for a few seconds after the door shut.

Emiko exhaled first.

“He’ll be fine.”

Hana looked at the clock above the stove. “He has to be.”

The waiting morning

The morning took on the stretched, unnatural shape of time spent waiting for someone else to finish something important.

Emiko brought a folder to the dining table and spread its contents out with careful precision: lab forms, a notebook, copies of papers, a list in her tidy handwriting. She sorted them into piles, reconsidered the piles, then placed several sheets in a document envelope. She had to go to the lab later that morning to finish a few pieces of paperwork and retrieve materials needed for the Hopkins matter. She did not discuss the details.

Midori worked through statistics questions at the other end of the table. Every so often, she read part of a problem aloud.

“If the sample variance is—no. This wording is terrible.”

“It’s probably not terrible,” Hana said, sorting laundry nearby. “You are probably tired of looking at it.”

“I have not even started tutoring yet.”

“You have been preparing since yesterday.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Midori frowned at the workbook. “No.”

At nine o’clock, Emiko checked her phone.

At nine thirty, Hana started a load of laundry, wiped the kitchen counter, then wiped it again ten minutes later because she could not think of anything else that needed doing.

At ten, Midori made tea for everyone and left her own cup untouched beside the workbook.

At ten forty-five, Emiko looked at the clock, then at the front door.

“He should be in the test now,” she said quietly.

Hana nodded.

Kaito would have done the warm-up first, practicing with an instructor and settling into the car before reporting for the actual test. Then came the enclosed circuit: stopping precisely, negotiating slopes and narrow courses, performing parking maneuvers, watching every stop line and every mirror. Only after clearing that portion could he go out onto the public roads with the tester beside him.

Hana imagined him taking a breath before every instruction. She imagined his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes moving from mirror to road to blind spot and back again. She told herself not to imagine anything at all.

At eleven-fifteen, Emiko rose and gathered her bag.

“I should go,” she said. “I can finish the paperwork while he is on his way back.”

“You do not have to leave this minute,” Midori said.

“I do. If I wait, I’ll spend the afternoon thinking about what I should have done this morning.”

Hana understood that feeling too well.

Emiko checked the document envelope once more, added her keys, and slipped her phone into her pocket.

“I’ll be back by five,” she said. “Possibly a little after.”

“Call if you need anything,” Hana said.

“I will.”

She paused at the door.

“If Kaito comes home before I do—”

“We’ll tell him you are proud of him,” Hana said.

Emiko’s expression softened.

“Tell him yourself,” Midori said. “You can call.”

“I’ll call.”

Then Emiko left for the lab.

The house felt larger without her.

At twelve fifteen, the front door opened.

Kaito stepped inside with his bag over one shoulder and his folder held loosely at his side. He stood still in the entryway, his face unreadable for one long second.

Hana was already on her feet.

“Well?”

Midori had risen too, one hand pressed against the edge of the table.

Kaito looked from Hana to Midori.