Bumping into an old friend from law school at the mall was something of a surprise, but Ryoma vanishing the moment she turned her back wasn't at all. Rinko sighed, then smiled ruefully as Angela looked about curiously.
"Wasn't your son here a moment ago?"
"Oh yes � I'd probably better go and find him before trouble does." Ryoma really did take after his father, Rinko thought; as much as the comparison would irritate him, he had an unblinking self-confidence that was uncanny in a ten-year-old, and a knowing little smirk that always managed to infuriate people who should know better.
"Shouldn't you call security?" Angela asked, looking politely worried. "This place is huge�"
Rinko just smiled. "He'll be in the nearest sports shop." Ryoma was predictable that way; he saw nothing but tennis � or more precisely, nothing but the driving need to beat his father. The boy's pride didn't take well to Nanjiroh's smug superiority, and in her heart Rinko knew that despite his (admittedly rather eccentric) efforts her husband wasn't much of a father. He was just too self-centred, not to mention plain embarrassing. Certainly far worse than her parents had ever been, and at Ryoma's age she'd been mortified by their well-meaning strictures.
"Oh? How old is he now?" Angela still seemed a little uncertain � or maybe she was just keen to get away; children really weren't her thing.
"He's ten." Rinko glanced off down the mall towards the big sports outfitter she'd dragged Ryoma here to visit. Now that the tennis season had kicked back into gear, it was past time he had some new clothes; last year's shirts and shorts were just a little too small for regular wear. Ryoma, of course, had objected to giving up an afternoon to shopping with his mother when he could be on the courts, but Rinko had been determined that this time he was going to try things on. Maybe that way she could get him to pick something a little less overpriced than Fila.
She snapped open her purse, pulling out a business card and resisting the reflexive urge to bow as she passed it over. "I'd better find him � here's my number, though; call me some time and we can get together."
"Of course." Angela smiled politely and inclined her head, sharp-edged artificial lighting glinting off her blonde highlights as she walked away with a click of heels. Probably, Rinko thought with some resignation, she was wondering why a young and successful contract lawyer had burdened herself with the demands of a husband and child. A lot of people seemed to.
Even for a Sunday afternoon, the mall was busy. Rinko picked her way carefully through the crowds, hoping that no one bigger than Ryoma had run into the wrong end of his attitude. He tended to slide like a fish through crowded public places � out of his element, but unobtrusive unless someone annoyed him. Of course, the trouble was that almost everyone was bigger than him � and as far as Ryoma was concerned almost everyone was annoying. He'd been provoking everybody he met since he was three years old; by now it just seemed to be part of his personality, and of course Nanjiroh encouraged � or goaded � him. Sometimes Rinko despaired of Ryoma ever learning manners.
It was the white cap that caught her eye, in a chance gap between shoppers. Rinko stopped abruptly, almost tripping a large woman with a pushchair, then pushed apologetically through the crowd to her son's side. They were three storefronts up from the sports shop, but Ryoma was standing with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, staring into a plate-glass window.
Rinko was startled enough by the expression on his face that she didn't immediately scold him; beneath the semi-concealment of his cap brim Ryoma's face was painted with an entranced, wistful sort of wonder. It made Rinko's heart clench a little, because it was so rare to see anything beyond apathy or vague irritation in her son's eyes. Curious, she followed his gaze, surprised to realise that this was a pet shop. Five fluffy, mewling grey-and-white kittens were tumbled in a blanket-lined wire mesh pen, pouncing and scrambling over each other in play, and despite his faux-careless posture Ryoma was staring as though he'd never wanted anything else in his life. Maybe he hadn't, Rinko realised with something of a pang; even tennis, the centre of his days, was something Ryoma did rather than something he cared about.
"Do you like them?" Rinko asked curiously, feeling a faint sting of pity for the animals, facing the world alone at such a young age. Ryoma started, then tugged his cap down with a little shrug.
"Not really," he muttered, already turning away; Rinko sighed to herself.
"Well, come on then � maybe if we're quick the courts will still be open when we get home."
"Ha! Is that all you've got?"
"Shut up, old man!"
Rinko sighed, tapping a pen against her case notes as she watched her husband humiliating their son in the back yard. When they'd first moved in, more than a few of the neighbours had expressed concern about the Japanese shouting that always accompanied the thwack of ball on gut, but by now it was just another eccentricity of the Echizen household. A harmless one at that; their first cleaning lady had resigned abruptly after Nanjiroh had left his magazines in the living room.
Ryoma was getting better every time he set foot on the court, Rinko thought absently, watching the way he stretched for the balls that Nanjiroh aimed just out of his reach. It wasn't enough, though, and wouldn't be for a long time yet. But one day he would beat his father � Nanjiroh believed it, and Rinko just had to hope that it wouldn't split her precarious family apart at its seams.
It was one of her biggest worries, because she had no idea what Ryoma would do when he finally achieved his dearest wish. It wasn't as though there seemed to be anything else he wanted from life, or from tennis, and he never seemed to connect with any of the other children at school. Rinko found herself chewing the end of her pen, and laid it hastily down before she ended up with a mouthful of ink. She couldn't quite banish the memory of the way Ryoma had looked at those kittens last week, wide-eyed and unguarded for once. It reminded her a little of the expression Nanjiroh had worn during the first few weeks after Ryoma had been born � as though he had been surprised by an unexpected emotion.
Making up her mind, Rinko reached for her planner and flipped through the address book. One of her clients had mentioned something in passing a few weeks ago that might be just right for her purposes.
Nanjiroh gravitated to the porch the moment Rinko pulled into the driveway. She had to smile as he made a show of eyeing her suspiciously; she was much later than usual, for a Friday.
"Oi, where have you been?" he demanded, lounging against the doorpost as she got out of the car. "Did you find another man?"
"Of course not." Rinko laughed, pulling the big box out of the back seat. "Here, take this inside; it's heavy."
"Che." Nanjiroh ambled forward, scratching at his chest as he eyed the box. "Books again?"
"Just because you don't read anything more refined than Playboy." Rinko skirted round to the driver's side to fetch the other box; an enquiring little meow issued from the holes in the lid as she lifted it. "Anyway, it's a present for Ryoma."
"You're only gonna spoil the kid," Nanjiroh muttered, stumbling up the steps behind the bigger box and shoving the door open. "Oi, young man! Get down here!" he shouted in the general direction of the stairs as he dumped the box onto the coffee table and planted himself definitively onto the sofa as though declaring his manly duty over and done with for the day.
Ryoma's footsteps on the stairs were heavy with grumpy reluctance as Rinko set the carrier down onto the floor, kneeling to slit the tape that held it closed. When she looked up, Nanjiroh was eyeing her with deep suspicion.
"Woman, why does that box have holes in?" he demanded just as Ryoma poked an annoyed face around the door.
"What?"
"Don't ask me." Nanjiroh sprawled back lazily, putting on his bored face. "Your mother brought you something."
"A present?" Ryoma eyed her warily, then shrugged and wandered into the room, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's not my birthday."
"I know." Rinko smiled for her son. There was a smear of ink just below his left cheekbone; he'd probably been doing homework. "Come and see."
"Whatever." Ryoma dropped down onto the floor beside her, looking at the box without much apparent interest. "Why are there holes?"
"Open it and see." Rinko smiled, sitting back and watching as Ryoma reached out and pulled back the flaps. The way his eyes widened, amazed and suddenly defenceless, told her that she had made the right decision.
"Mom�" Ryoma stared down into the box as though he wasn't sure this was real. A little ball of white and brown fluff stared back at him, blue-eyed and unblinking, from a blanket nest.
"Mrow," the kitten declared sleepily after a long moment, climbing to its feet and arching its back before setting its paws onto the side of the box and attempting to pull itself up. Rinko watched as Ryoma held out a tentative hand, the corners of his mouth twitching up as the kitten sniffed at his fingers then butted its little head into the palm of his hand, demanding caresses. Yes, she thought, as Ryoma scratched behind the fuzzy ears, this was definitely what her son needed.
"A cat." Nanjiroh yawned ostentatiously, then shoved himself to his feet and ambled off in the direction of the kitchen. "I want a beer."
"Mom, is�" Ryoma trailed off, and when Rinko looked back she saw that he had the kitten cradled carefully in both hands, as though he was afraid he'd break it.
"He's yours," she confirmed quietly, shifting over to open the bigger box and start pulling out all the paraphernalia of pet ownership � food and water dishes, litter tray, cat toys. "He's a Himalayan cross, so he'll have to be neutered in another few months, and you'll need to brush him every day to keep his fur tidy."
"Aa." Ryoma rubbed the little cat's belly, a tiny helpless smile flitting across his face as the kitten purred. "What's his name?"
"He doesn't have one yet." That was an out and out lie, but the silly names that breeders used weren't at all suitable for house cats. Rinko pulled out a package of the cat food that had been recommended, setting it aside. "What do you want to call him?"
The kitten draped itself across Ryoma's lap, purring happily and turning its head into his hesitant petting. Momentarily, Rinko wished for a camera, but the look on Ryoma's face was something she knew she'd remember for a long time.
"Karupin," Ryoma decided eventually, stroking under the kitten's jaw and smiling, just a little, as it yawned up at him, sleepily content. "His name is Karupin."