Souvenir - Chapter 1

My day begins peacefully.
Mornings in this area are often frigid, with a faint mist lingering in the distance. Though the temperature is cold, it’s a crisp, dry kind of cold—different from the damp chill of Japan.

At dawn, while you’re still sleeping in the next room, I quietly slip out of bed, careful not to make a sound.

I step into your room across the hall and, as always, watch your sleeping face for a while.
You breathe softly, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Your serene expression, the way your long eyelashes form a perfectly even line, captivates me. Your small body, coursing with countless veins carrying life, exhales tiny, continuous breaths—I can feel them, and my heart races.
I gaze at you, cherishing this fragile, endearing little being.

Your skin remains porcelain-like—delicate and smooth. I always feel an irresistible urge to reach out and touch your soft cheeks and silky hair. But waking you from your peaceful sleep would be unfair.
I usually run my fingers lightly through your hair before leaving, but today, I recall how you stayed up late, engrossed in your picture book. At the last moment, I resist the impulse.
On mornings when I leave without touching your hair, I feel as if I’ve forgotten something important.

Shaking off the thought, I head to the sink. To wake my sleep-deprived mind, I fill the basin with cold water and add a drop of mint before washing my face.
Then, I change into my dark gray sweatpants and hoodie before stepping outside. The crisp air bites at my skin. Pressing my still-warm hands against my cheeks, I can already feel the cold settling in.

The air remains chilly, my breath visible in the dim, gray dawn. The sky is still too dark for a sunrise, but by the time I return, I will witness a breathtaking morning glow.
Watching the sunrise while jogging makes me feel the true beginning of a new day.

I always listen to Tchaikovsky’s music as I run. His compositions seem to speak to the fragile and vulnerable in this world, much like the gentle gaze I cast upon you.
As I run, I plan out my day’s work, my thoughts drifting to you time and again.
Are you still lost in dreams? If you wake up, I’ll need to return sooner. Leaving you alone for too long would be against the law. Quickening my pace, I remind myself—this, too, is part of my routine.
For breakfast, should I add something new alongside the usual? Maybe fresh fruit.

During my jog, I rarely focus on the music playing in my ears, but this time helps me mentally organize the tasks ahead.

On my route, I pass a familiar sight—an elderly woman carefully pushing her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel in a pet stroller.

“Good morning, Mrs. Jane.”

“Oh, good morning, Thomas.”

I remove an earbud to greet her—another daily ritual.
Occasionally, Jane isn’t here, but most days, she takes her walk at this same time.

“Is Suu still sleeping?”

“Yes. I have it set up so I’ll be notified as soon as she wakes.”

“By the way, did you hear? Someone new moved into the neighborhood.”

Jane lowers her voice, gesturing toward something.

“Look.”

Following her finger, I see a black Chevrolet Impala parked nearby.
Together, we approach the car, though we can’t tell who lives in the surrounding houses.
I don’t recall seeing this particular vehicle before. It’s a model I sometimes spot in Manhattan’s business district. In fact, I vaguely remember seeing it parked near my office before.
The windows are tinted, concealing the interior, but I notice something unusual—thin, barely noticeable wire antennas on the rear glass. For an ordinary sedan, it seems to have too many antennas. It looks oddly out of place for an anti-theft measure.

“Lately, I’ve noticed more cars heading toward the herb farm down the road,” Jane comments.

“Oh, that newly renovated cosmetics company?”

“Yes! That place used to be a simple herb farm. I loved their herbal teas and supplements.”

“They still sell those, don’t they?”

“They do, but it’s different now. The new owner—who was it again? Someone your father, James, knew… Anyway, ever since he took over, this area has gotten livelier.
Oh, they’re hosting an organic market today. You should try their Brussels sprouts—I roasted some last night, and they were unbelievably sweet! I don’t think I can ever go back to supermarket produce.”

“Thanks, I’ll check it out. Have a good day.”

“You too, Thomas.”

Normally, I’d continue straight and turn back at the bend in the road, but hearing about the market, I decide to stop by and buy some organic fruit. Suu loves their pears.
The extra distance will be just enough to leave me pleasantly fatigued.

By the time I return, Maria, our housekeeper, will likely have arrived. But I need to be home before you wake.
I quickly purchase pears and blueberries, cutting my trip short.

As I’m handed my bag, a staff member adds, “This is a sample of our new skincare line. Feel free to try it out!” Inside are a few cosmetic and supplement samples.

On my way back, I reach the curve in the road just as the sky begins to brighten.
The horizon glows orange. Today is shaping up to be another good day.
The Chevrolet I saw earlier is gone.

Upon returning home, I glance at the newspaper in the mailbox.

“TT Lotus Lab—A Rapid Rise in the Organic Market”

It’s the same research facility that was distributing samples at the market.

Apparently, their herbal-based supplements and cosmetics are booming, fueled by the growing demand for natural products.

“Tarrytown Lotus Lab…”

I wipe my sweat with a towel as I read further.

“Increased truck activity at night.”

That line catches my eye.

Still, the article states it’s simply a matter of expanding their logistics. No reason for concern—probably.

After checking on you upstairs, I take a quick shower.
My bathroom is a rare feature in this country—a circular hinoki wood bath with a jacuzzi. My mother had it custom-built to replicate a traditional Japanese outdoor bath.

While there’s a separate shower, I prefer this bathhouse.
Being able to soak up to my shoulders, stretching my legs in the warm water, is the ultimate relaxation.
I recall how long my mother used to bathe—her baths always left behind a pleasant scent.

Afterward, I apply an Australian organic body gel to a sponge and carefully wash myself.
I lather my face with foamed cleanser, rinsing it off with lukewarm water.
I don’t have much body hair aside from under my arms, making shaving easy.
However, my skin requires weekly face masks to stay smooth, so I always keep a gel mask from my regular salon on hand.

Dressed and refreshed, I head to the kitchen.

I always start my morning with coffee.
Through a business connection, I order fair-trade beans from a Brazilian farm, receiving shipments regularly.
As the rich aroma fills the house, I grind the beans, savoring the familiar sound.

Sitting in the living room, I check my emails on my laptop before turning on the TV.

The news reports on a string of kidnappings in the area, speculating that ransom may be the motive.
This neighborhood is affluent, making it an obvious target.
As a guardian, I can’t ignore such matters.
Yet, in preparation for your awakening, I switch the channel to a children’s show.

Fastening a checkered black apron, I begin preparing breakfast.

I scramble eggs with milk, grill sausages, and make pancakes.
Topping the pancakes with Maria’s homemade blueberry jam—your favorite—I add a pat of butter for good measure.

Hearing the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs, I pause, closing my eyes to listen.

You appear, rubbing your sleepy eyes.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Suu.”

I cherish this moment.

You likely don’t realize how much joy I find in sharing these mornings with you.
Even with my sleepless work nights, your presence keeps me alert—I can’t take my eyes off you for even a second.

Reaching for the pears I bought earlier, I peel and slice a ripe one, letting its sweet fragrance fill the kitchen.

“Did you buy pears again?”

“I did. Now you can have more.”

“They’re so sweet! But waiting for them to ripen takes forever.”

“Everything happens in its own time.”

“Really?”

After Maria arrives, I set out for my office in Manhattan—an hour and a half drive away.