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Chocho waited until Lucky was in bed to turn on her computer. The icon for the chat client she had downloaded shone brightly on her desktop, and the packaging for the shiny new webcam she had splurged for had just gone in the wastebasket last night. She wrestled a little with wires, plugs, and ports before testing out her camera and microphone settings. Twenty minutes after she started, she caught herself fiddling with her network settings instead of doing what she logged in to do, so she put on her headphones, fixed her hair, and shot a message to the only contact with a green dot marking them available.
Gakuon. Can we talk?
Her ex-husband had never been one for technology, but it only took him a couple minutes to notice her message and send her an invite for a video call, which she accepted.
Gakuon’s face showed up in the little video window, pixelated but present, looking slightly puzzled. “Chocho. What is it? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
Chocho smiled, just a bit. “Oblivious as ever, I see. It’s Mother’s Day, Gakuon. I was hoping to talk to our children.”
Gakuon’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darted to the corner of his screen, presumably double-checking the date. “It appears you’re correct about the date. Happy Mother’s Day.” He made no move to fetch the children, so Chocho cleared her throat. No reaction.
“Gakuon, where are our children?” Chocho asked directly.
“With their managers.” Gakuon said this as if this were the most natural thing in the world, but Chocho had no idea what the man was talking about.
“Their managers.”
“Yes.”
“Gakuon, they are five. What are their managers supposed to manage? Their education?” Educating the septuplets while giving them at least a little privacy had been something the two of them had discussed for years without ever figuring out a good option. Chocho… was no longer involved with that problem.
Gakuon had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. “Their managers are currently preparing them for their debut on the competitive circuit.”
It was Chocho’s turn to have no reaction. “Their debut? Don’t you mean their individual debuts? And isn't it a little early to start making these preparations?”
Gakuon started fiddling with his braid, looking more uncomfortable. “I didn’t misspeak. The six of them will debut as a unit within the next six months.”
The only thing keeping Chocho from yelling was Lucky, sound asleep in their apartment’s other room. “What the heck, Gakuon!” Her ex-husband flinched. “I suppose we spent all that time, all that money, all those secretive and over-complicated precautions for nothing?!?” She let her frustrations show, on her face. Just for a moment. It was enough to make Gakuon look away from the screen. He was probably looking longingly at a piano or sheet music or something.
But he didn’t end the call, so Chocho decided she was good to ask for answers. “Why are you going to throw away all our efforts to give our children the chance for privacy and a normal life?” She thought about it for a second. “Is Pietro in on this or not?”
Gakuon didn’t look at her, but he didn’t clam up. “It was my idea, but Crescendo-san is supportive and is helping turn it into a reality. I’ve long dreamed of changing the musical world, you know this. It’s important that I can prove I’m not some singular prodigy whose like will never come around again.”
“And your counter-examples are your biological children?” Chocho rubbed her eyes. This was not how she’d been expecting this call to go. “Everyone’s just going to say it’s genetic and move on.”
Gakuon cleared his throat. “Nonetheless. The fact remains that they are geniuses in their own right.”
“Their fantasies derive from yours and anyone who has ever experienced your playing will know that.”
Gakuon’s hands stilled, and while he didn’t smile, his eyes looked satisfied. “Nobody who has experienced my playing has ever been able to argue another player’s is better. Why should it be any different for them? Even a derivative of my fantasy is immeasurably superior to none at all.”
“So you intend to just…” Chocho paused, searching for the right word, “‘might makes right’ the global competitive piano scene? Since nobody can argue with your results?”
“Yes.” His confidence unsettled her. He’d always been quietly ambitious, but Chocho missed their early years together, when that ambition had been fuel for a deeper understanding of the instrument he had adored above all, even her. When had he changed? Why hadn’t she noticed? The pianist took her silence as permission to continue. “This is the best way to revolutionize the world of music, Chocho. I can’t be alone. There must be others who can do what I can, what the children can. We must nurture that genius, elevate it, celebrate it. I want everyone to be able to experience fantasy, be mesmerized by music, no matter what genre they’re listening to or what their circumstances are.” Now he looked at her, crossing his arms. “This is the best way to fulfill my dreams.”
Chocho crossed her arms back and glared at the webcam, ignoring what was most likely a self-righteous look on his face. “The best, Gakuon? Really?”
His mouth twitched. “Well, it’s the fastest.”
Chocho had known she was marrying a man who wasn’t quite sane in the same way as most people. She had known she’d have to mitigate him, provide a buffer between this special young man and ‘the real world.’ Once, she had even relished the role. Had she been as blinded by his talents as his audiences were? Now, in the sterile light of a backlit monitor and with eight time zones and thousands of miles between them, she saw that his unconventional approach could just as easily shake up her loved ones’ lives as it had a world that had once looked askance at a no-name teenager demanding to be taken seriously.
Long habit and even longer experience told her she had to say something. “Our children are people, Gakuon. They aren’t just tools for your dreams.” She doubted it would have an effect, but part of her hoped he would listen to her, at least a little. Like he used to. He used to listen to her all the time, when it was about their children, but that had abruptly ended one day with a single slap, and she had never gotten an answer as to why.
“Chocho, you lost all right to have an opinion about these things when we divorced.” She gritted her teeth, unable to dispute this, at least legally. Gakuon glanced away (there was definitely a piano in that direction) and then looked back, seeming suddenly unsure. “But that doesn’t have to be the end, for us.” A pause, then he continued, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “Is it possible we made a mistake somewhere? I wake up alone and I feel lost. My dream is closer than ever in reach, but I feel like everyone who matters is getting farther away from me – you, the children… Even Crescendo-san feels more driven to fulfill our goals than to support us emotionally the way he did when you were here. He’s hired a manager for me, to help with my schedule, but they simply aren’t as good as you were, and I get the feeling that they never will be.” He swallowed. “I miss you, Chocho.”
Chocho reached a hand up towards the screen, slowly tracing the pixels that made up his braid. “Do you miss Lucky?”
For all his faults, she could count on her ex-husband to be direct and honest. Mimin took after him strongly in that way. So she was surprised when he didn’t give her an answer. “The debut plans don’t involve him. We’re branding them as the Otogami Sextuplets. He could have a normal life, if you came back. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Chocho laughed. “I wanted a lot of things. I never wanted this. But before I answer you, a follow-up question. If we were to come back, what would happen if you caught him playing the piano?”
Gakuon looked shocked. “He shouldn’t do that. He’s wasted all the potential I thought he had; he’s a disgrace to the instrument.”
“Doesn’t that just mean he should take lessons?” Chocho prodded.
Gakuon shook his head. “The others showed immense aptitude even without lessons. With tutoring, they’ll climb to even greater heights in the years to come. It will take him the same amount of time to get past mediocrity, and I doubt he will ever be able to reach the level they’re at even now. There are other paths he can take. Any path, other than piano. Or you could even leave him with your sister.”
“My sister, the piano teacher?” Chocho asked wryly. “The one who’s furious at me for getting our entire family into your bad graces? That sister?”
“On second thought, not your sister.” Gakuon narrowed his eyes, drumming his fingers on his arm as if it were a keyboard. If their connection was better, Chocho might have been able to tell which piece he was imagining playing. “He might be tempted to continue insulting the piano with his playing if he’s constantly exposed to the instrument.”
Chocho shook her head. “No, Gakuon. I can’t bring him back if all you’re going to do is belittle him – or, God forbid, hit him – for doing something he loves.”
“It’s not so much doing something he loves badly as it is doing it on purpose,” Gakuon began, then he noticed her thunderous expression.
“You think he did it on purpose? Are you telling me that you think hitting your five-year-old son is justified?”
Gakuon looked straight at her. He didn’t respond, since he knew she wouldn’t like his answer, but he didn’t back down either.
(Deep, deep inside, a worry planted itself in Chocho’s mind. Lucky was as innocent a child as they came, with not a malicious bone in his body. If Gakuon really was reacting violently to playing badly ‘on purpose,’ could he become violent with the others, too, if they crossed some invisible line only he was delusional enough to see? It took her a few days to articulate this fear to herself, but once she did, it kept her up at night for weeks.)
“I wish things had been different – ” they both started to say, then looked away. Chocho knew that the differences they wished for were not remotely similar. She also knew that Gakuon would never admit that he was the problem.
“If I can’t talk to the children, I guess we’re done here,” she found herself saying.
“Could you – ” Gakuon cut himself off. “No. I need to stop asking.” He sighed. “For what it’s worth, happy Mother’s Day.”
Chocho accepted this with a neutral nod, ended the call, and only then let her poise slip. The terms of the divorce didn’t forbid her from contacting the rest of her children so long as Gakuon or someone he deputized was present to supervise the interaction, but she had known their move to Italy and the subsequent time difference would make it hard to reach them. Mother’s Day had been an excuse to reach out, one even Gakuon probably wouldn’t dispute, but she hadn’t counted on him delegating child-rearing to administrative staff. She’d need to contact Pietro to ask about these managers and their backgrounds. She really needed to. But not now. She let herself feel the exhaustion she’d been battling all day. Her chronic pain and fatigue were slowly but steadily worsening, and she hadn’t told anyone yet. She needed to talk to her physician.
She dreaded having to tell Lucky.
She sat and worried about all her children, near and far, until she caught herself nodding off to sleep, then painfully stood up and made her way to their apartment’s only bedroom. Without turning on a light, she could just make out the bundle of blankets her son slept under.
A scant four months ago, that pile would have been much bigger. The septuplets didn’t often sleep in cuddle piles anymore, but it was adorable whenever it occurred. A relatively recent photo of one such cuddle pile was her desktop background, reminding her of good times and the children she wouldn’t get to watch grow up.
She hoped Sorachika would learn to ask good questions, rather than any and all that came to mind.
She hoped Don would learn to stand up for himself.
She hoped Sikato would stop trying to be Gakuon’s clone.
She hoped Mimin would learn when it was time to be serious and when it was okay to be whimsical.
She hoped Reijiro would be okay without Lucky.
And she hoped Fanta would be okay without her.
After changing into her sleeping clothes and braiding her hair in preparation for bed, she picked up the edge of her futon and slipped underneath – apparently not quietly enough. She caught the shine of open eyes underneath the other futon, which darted to the red numbers displaying 23:15 and then to her.
“Mom?”
“Yes, Lucky?” Chocho sighed. Hopefully he would fall asleep soon, she didn’t want to deal with a cranky preschooler tomorrow morning.
Preoccupied with parental dread, she was surprised when he explained, “It’s still today, so I can say it one more time. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.” He pushed off the covers and padded over to kneel next to her. “You’re the best mom ever. I love you.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead, but Chocho pulled him into a bear hug and held her son until tiredness reclaimed him. Even then, she didn’t let go.
Lucky was the last child left, the only one she could be a mother to. Nobody else was on his side, so she would just have to love him eightfold, enough for herself and the seven members of their family who were lost to them. Not that this was hard to do. Lucky was a loving child, and very easy to love.
She tucked him under his blanket with a final kiss on his untameable hair, then crawled back under her own covers. For now, this would do.