Unbreak My Heart(55)

I stare at the envelope for several seconds, maybe a minute. I don’t know how I won’t fall to pieces when I read this letter that comes from beyond the grave.

But I don’t know if it matters whether I fall apart or not.

I’m here with the women in my life—the one I love, and the one who is the mother of my brother’s child.

I slide my finger under the flap.





36





Hey Andrew,



If you’re reading this letter . . .

Wait, hold on . . .

Cue: laugh track . . .

I mean, c’mon. How awesome is it to say that? It’s like something you’d see in a movie, all foreboding and whatnot. How many times can you truly say, “if you’re reading this letter?” Maybe . . . once.

But seriously, if you’re reading this letter, it means one thing: I knocked up a woman.

Who knew the boys could still swim that far? But hey, I suppose I’ve got strong swimmers.

It also means I need you.

This is the truly serious part. This letter is for you. No one else has read it. No one else has seen it. You need to know this because you’re the only one who can help me now.

I’m not here, but you are, and that’s why this falls on your shoulders.

I need you to take care of my kid.

No, I don’t mean raise the kid. Please. Go live your life.

What I mean is this: please make sure Kana is taken care of. Please make sure our baby is too. In late April, I opened a new mutual fund. You might have found it when going through my financials and wondered what it was about. You might not have gotten there yet. In any case, you will, because it’s part of what I left behind.

You’ll find all the paperwork for it if you go to my accountant’s and get the info. It’s the new one, nicknamed “tadpole.” Clever, huh?

You’re in charge of my stuff, and I need you to look out for my family. My family includes you, but it also includes two new people.

I’m asking you this from beyond the grave because I know you’ll do it. Because this matters to me. Because you’re my brother, and I love you so damn much. You used to say I looked out for you, and maybe that’s true.

But Andrew, I need you now. I need you to look out for me.

P.S. Try not to miss me too much!

P.P.S. If you ever make it to Tokyo, there are some pictures I took of Holland one of the days the three of us hung out. I put them behind a photo frame. I wanted you to have them. You know, on account of you being irrevocably in love with her. I took them to remind you that you really ought to find a way to get back together with her.

Look at me, telling you what to do from the next life.

Well, I have to sign off now. But in case I haven’t said it enough, I love you, in this world and the next one.



Ian





37





Andrew



We exit the subway at Shibuya Station, where we began our trip here more than a month ago. That out-of-time feeling returns, like I’m a little bit lost again.

But that’s only because his letter—his news—was so unexpected.

“I can’t quite grasp it,” I tell Holland as we head down the escalator. “There’s a part of him that’s still here on earth.”

She squeezes my fingers. “It’s intense to think about. It’s humbling.”

I nod. “That’s it. That’s exactly it. And it’s wild too.” I look at her and smile. “Like he had the last word.”

She laughs. “This is one helluva last word.”

Talking about the news—the baby, holy smokes, the baby—with Holland helps me process the enormity of what’s to come. Actually, talking with her has helped me with so many things, since way back when.

“Hey,” I say, stopping outside the Hachiko mosaic and pulling her close.

She tilts her head in question. “Hey, what?”

I run my fingers through her hair. “I like talking with you. That’s all.”

She dusts a quick kiss on my lips. “I like talking with you too.”

We turn, and I tap the mosaic dog’s head, then she does the same.

When we reach the crossing, I gently grab her wrist. “I want to take a picture.”

“Be my guest.”

“Of both of us.”

“I’ve been wanting that photo for a long time.”

We stand in front of the intersection, and I lift the phone and snap a selfie. I send it to her.



Andrew: We don’t have to miss each other anymore. We can have each other.





After she reads it, she takes my hand and we walk home.



*

I pick up the Lucite frame for the first time since the night I arrived. I turn it around and slide the photos out from the back.

“I can’t believe I ever thought anything else of these, even for a second,” I say as Holland looks at the pictures with me.

“You didn’t, Andrew.” Her voice is soft, reassuring.

“What do you mean?”

She taps my heart. “You knew. You knew in here. You just weren’t ready to fully understand everything he’d done. But what else could they be but for you?”