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“Mom, you can take it easy.”
Sara’s voice was light, carried softly by the summer breeze that rustled the leaves and bushes. It used to be much easier to make this hike, but it also used to be easier to read the paper and make her tea. Diana wasn’t going to complain—not when she’d managed to ride the tides of time so well. Akko wouldn’t complain either, she was sure. In her humble opinion her wife had aged the most gracefully of them all.
She missed her.
The flagstones were old and worn. There was a stubborn growth of grass in the cracks in between, and little flowers. Red ones. They spattered the meadow like freckles, alive and magical in a way so similar to Akko’s laughter.
She missed that too.
The star of this afternoon’s show was another fifteen steps away. That was a lot when you were eighty, but Sara supported her firmly by the arm and brought her closer to their destination one patient step at a time.
“Your eyes are the same color as the flowers,” Diana hummed.
“And Kaa-san’s,” Sara grinned at her. Even her daughter was beginning to show grays in her hair. “Which totally makes sense. Shiny magic around the meadow and all.”
Diana laughed.
They finally arrived at the smooth, stone bench perched at the end of the pathway. It was a few paces from the base of a tall Sakura tree, shining vibrantly pink in a sea of oak, willow, and beech. The fact that it acclimated to Great Britain’s climate was a dendrological phenomenon that she couldn't find the energy to examine—after all, one could quite literally just say it was “magic.”
Because it was.
“Hello there,” Diana spoke softly. Her fingers ghosted over the cool band around her ring finger. She silently admired the deep brown hue of the bark, the way that the branches splayed outwards and upwards with confidence and grace. The leaves crowned it beautifully—she liked that it was in full bloom at this time of the year.
It was a monument that captured everything that Akko was at her prime. It was like watching her spread her arms out towards her adoring audience back when she was still performing.
“We have dried plums, orange juice, and ramen,” Diana began to list off. “And yes, I bought it from the that place you like. It’s still open—so don’t get huffy on authenticity on us.” Sara laughed while preparing their simple picnic spread from the basket. This was their routine, year after year since Akko’s peaceful passing: just the two of them on a short walk into the woods within the Cavendish estate carrying Akko’s favorite food.
Sara arranged each dish on a checkered cloth that was spread between them on the bench. There were two of each dish, but before eating they would light incense at the roots of the tree. They sat in silence for a moment while the smoke rose and wafted through the leaves—higher, and higher until they couldn’t see it anymore.
Diana wondered if it reached her wife, wherever she was. She hoped it carried their thoughts... their laughter.
Their love.
“Happy birthday, Kaa-san!” Sara clapped her hands together with a bow.
Diana smiled at the tree fondly.
“Happy birthday, my dear.”
Today was a beautiful day to receive a poem.
“I never knew you were a writer.”
She had her eyebrow quirked in judgment, looking down at the wrinkled parchment held out for her to take. The judgement was a jest, of course. Akko could see right through it—as if the small crack of a smile at the edge of her lips wasn’t indication enough.
The paper had a verse scrawled on it (and a fascinating draft in Akko’s native Japanese tucked in the corner of the page).
‘The world is small and lovely—
When seen from such a view
I can’t imagine doing it—
With anyone but you.’
Akko was grinning so brightly that she didn’t have the heart to comment on uneven meter. The sentiment warmed her heart enough in itself—even more so the fact that it was Akko who made it. “Do you like it?”
She loved it. “Maybe a little bit.”
“Mou, Diana!” Akko huffed, crossing her arms. “So hard to please!”
But Diana smiled softly, taking Akko’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze to let her know that—yes, she loved it. She just didn’t know how to say so.
She’d learn how one day. Akko was always better at words than she was. But for now, she’d pull Akko to the cafeteria to make the most of the precious few minutes they had for lunch.
She’d keep that wrinkled piece of parchment for years.
The weather was always cooperative when they came to visit.
“Is it true that she started a communist uprising among the kitchen staff?”
“And where did you hear that?” Diana raised an eyebrow.
“From the kitchen staff,” Sara deadpanned. “When I was in school several decades ago.”
“If you’re so sure, then why are you asking?”
“Because neither of you confirmed it!” she whined, sounding so much like her mother.
Diana winked, pouring her daughter another glass of juice. “I feel like the mystery adds to the charm of the story, doesn’t it? I will neither confirm nor deny it. It’s up to you.”
“But isn’t that why they have better working conditions now? I don’t get why Kaa-san wouldn’t want to be credited for the betterment of fae and goblin working conditions at Luna Nova.”
“I think that perhaps your mother,” Diana started pointedly, “despite her success, didn’t feel like encouraging her daughter to pick up ‘starting revolts’ as a solution to problems.”
“’Despite her success’ huh?” Sara grinned triumphantly. “So after all these years you finally let it slip.”
Sara’s laughter was musical. Contagious. Soon she was laughing too; it was a skill that Sara seemed to have inherited from Akko flawlessly. Diana sighed, “You’re both always so good at that.”
“At what?”
“Making me feel better.”
It was another one of those ‘bad’ days.
Akko called them ‘No-No Days’ just to tease a smile out of her, but sometimes joking and jests weren’t enough. And on those days, Akko knew better than poke at her and let her have her space.
But today, she slipped a sneaky little note into Diana’s pocket while they walked back from the library—one she rolled open while they sat silently on her dormitory’s couch.
"I think you have such pretty eyes—
But why are they so dour?
Whatever weight is bearing down—
Let’s turn from 'yours' to 'ours.'"
By the last line of the verse, she was flooded with relief.
It was a slow easing of pressure from behind her eyes and in her chest, it came along with the feeling that she could breathe again. Quite literally, too, given that her nose had cleared up (having been clogged from crying.) Akko wasn’t looking at her though—she was just leaning back with her eyes closed, holding Diana’s hand while rubbing circles at its back with her thumb. It was repetitive. Reassuring.
“You don’t have to talk about it now,” Akko mumbled. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I meant. But I’m here if you want to. And I’m here even if you don’t.”
Emotional and grateful, Diana lifted their hands to kiss tenderly at Akko’s knuckles.
She loved her so much.
She still wasn’t very good with words—but she hoped that Akko could feel it.
“So when she proposed,” Sara began, picking off at the dried plums they brought with them to woods, “did she write you another one of those poems?”
Diana hummed. She looked at the jar of plums, covered in sticky sweet syrup. They were wrinkled pits that looked nothing like the kind of food she thought Akko would have been into, but here she was: sharing plums with Sara who picked up Akko’s sweet tooth herself. “I don’t think she did, actually. And the question of who proposed to who is still up for debate.”
“Really, mum?” The younger witch laughed. “After all these years you’re still not letting that go? As far as I know, Kaa-san dropped on her knees first.”
“On a whim, after running out of the restaurant we were having dinner in—leaving me bewildered for all of fifteen minutes, mind you—and coming back with a ring she brought from the store across the street.”
“That sounds just like her,” Sara shook her head.
“I, on the other hand,” Diana said carefully, “had my ring ready for a whole month by that point. Had it in my pocket for every dinner we had since I bought it. I guess… I kept waiting for the perfect moment.”
“Well, she gave you the perfect moment.”
Not for the first time that afternoon, Diana looked up at the bright pink leaves that kept them shielded from the sun. They rustled in the wind peacefully.
“She often did.” Diana smiled fondly. “Another poem I did get from her was from when were newly married.”
“Akko?”
She wasn’t there. That was odd. It was still too early for her to be up, and Diana knew that Akko’s morning disposition wasn’t the best, so where could she have gone? She flung her arm to the side on instinct, longing for the fading traces of warmth still lingering under the covers. There was a note.
“Honey?” Diana called out softly. She could smell breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. She chuckled, “Married for all of three days and you’re leaving me to wake up alone already?”
“Mmgetting food mmready!” came a muffled yell from beyond their opened door. It sounded very much like she was eating it too.
Diana sank back into their sheets in contemplation. Should she get up? Should she rest her eyes a little more? It was a Saturday anyway, perhaps a little more rest would—
“Hi.”
The object of her affection popped around the side of their doorway. She looked silly—head tilted sideways and hovering on its own.
“Hey.” Diana smiled back lazily.
“Made us breakfast.”
“I hope you didn’t eat all of it before I even got out of bed.”
“Mou!” Akko pouted. “I tried to surprise you. It’s rare that I wake up before you, you know!”
Diana pulled her covers up, still feeling groggy. “I’m very excited to try it then.”
“Now get up, sleeping beauty!” Akko was dashing away to the kitchen once more, footsteps fading into muffled thuds on their carpeted dark wood floors.
She read Akko’s note another time.
‘In every day that I wake up—
And see I’m not alone
I tell myself, “it’s not a dream”—
“Good morning,” “Welcome home.”
“No way.” Sara shook her head, glass of orange juice stalling halfway up. “Kaa-san burnt the whole meal?”
“She wasn’t always the awe-inspiring cook you knew her to be.”
“I find that hard to believe,” her daughter said firmly. “Like—with all the roast porchetta and her take on Aunt Sucy’s adobo? By Jennifer mum, did you see how wonderfully glazed she gets that sauce? And when she pours it over the rice!”
Diana was laughing by now. “And you wonder why I have medication for hypertension.”
“Fair.”
“You know, she only got better when you were born.”
Sara leaned forward, hands bunching up on her lap. Even now, a full-grown adult, she kept the habits that grew so dear to Diana. The mess of her light brown hair, the curious red eyes. She was so proud of her. And know that even though she was gone now, Akko was there to see her grow and bloom into who she was now… there wasn’t much more to ask for, Diana thought.
“She wanted to get you started on helping her with kitchen chores as early as you could talk,” Diana chuckled.
“Is this why we have so many pictures of me as a baby holding weird ingredients?”
Diana nodded.
“Mum! You let me hold a whole chicken.”
“I tried to talk her out of that one.”
“An entire chicken!”
A strong and sudden ‘thud’ nearly made Diana jump in her seat.
“By the Nine, Akko.” Diana secured the sleeping bundle in her arms. “You’re going to wake her.”
“Sorry!” Akko grinned, patting the top of a stack of books she’d unloaded onto the kitchen table.
“Cookbooks?”
“Mhm!” Akko nodded. “I’ve got Japanese, American—and English recipes too, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
“Nothing, honey.” Akko walked over to the couch where Diana was seated. “How is the little lady?”
“Asleep.” Diana punctuated. “And I’d very much like to keep it that way.”
“Giving you trouble again, huh?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” She reassured. “I’m pretty sure that we can get a chef to handle culinary affairs for our household. You don’t need to worry about—”
“Hmm, nope!” Akko whispered, settling down to lay down on her lap and careful not to jostle Sara’s sleeping form. “I had the best lunch bentos as a kid.”
“I remember you telling me this.”
“Kaa-san always amazed me. I’d go to school and tell everyone what I was having for lunch and that my mom made it because it was just so, so good.”
Diana grinned. “If mom’s katsudon is any benchmark for judgement, I can understand why you seem so spoiled with good food.”
“Exactly!” Akko beamed. “Oh—sorry. Yes. Quiet. But I want to do this for her.” She softly reached up to brush against the blankets around Sara. “I want her to say, “Kaa-san made me this!” and to always like the food at home. I want to send her to school with bento boxes that she’ll miss when she eventually needs to settle for the endless potatoes in Luna Nova.”
They both snickered.
Akko carefully sat up to lean on Diana’s shoulder, looking down at their peacefully sleeping daughter.
“So I’m going to be such a good cook. And I think I’m getting a little better at improv poetry.”
“Really now?” Diana hummed.
Akko nodded.
“Her little eyes are mine,
Her lovely laugh is yours
Can’t wait until she’s old enough
To handle kitchen chores.”
Their snickering rose into laugher—and then groaning, because Sara woke up with the most enthusiastic of cries.
“The potatoes really were lame though, mum.”
“I never disagreed. But we needed to make do with what we had.”
“Honorable Cavendish Translation mode, I hated it too?”
Their food and drinks had run low by now. The slow creep of darkness was starting, but they stayed to watch as the sky turned pink, orange, and blue. The wind was almost musical.
“I miss her.” Sara began quietly.
“As do I,” Diana fetched a little note from her purse. “Always.”
“But I’m so happy with what she’s left us.”
“For me—that would be you.” Diana reached over to hold her hand. They both looked up towards the tree. “And I’d never ask for anything more.”
“I love you, mum.”
“And I love you.” She brushed her thumb over the tattered edges of the notes—they were beginning to thin along the folds.
“Do you think you want to read it already?”
“I think I’m ready to now, yes.” Diana let her go to hold the note with both hands. “I’ve been… hanging on to it for far too long.”
It was the last one.
The final verse that Akko had left her—one she’s never had the heart to open. It meant letting go. It meant… that she’d never have another poem to look forward to.
But over time her grief had refined itself into longing, and the longing mellowed into the bittersweet taste of love that endures. Now all that was left was love.
Besides, today was a beautiful day to receive a poem.
"Lean softly on our daughter—
Don’t worry over me.
My darling, lay your grief to rest—
It’s time we both be free."