There Can Only be One

Bianca Lloyd stopped pacing and stared at her petite mother. The tapestry that was her life had a loose red thread. They were in her mother’s office based in Japan and dusk was slowly settling in for the evening. The room, with its plush carpets and super comfy leather chairs, had brought much comfort to her in years past. But now...She held back a groan and began pacing again. They were beginning to resemble something completely different.

The fact that this particular subject had come up in conversation made her realize one thing: Her mother was hurting. Not just for herself, but for Bianca as well. For some strange reason, her mother, who’d helped her throughout the years and supported her crazy and abnormal decisions, was now talking about doubts and second thoughts.

Bianca struggled to breathe, her heart beating a hundred miles an hour in her chest as she carved a path in the carpet. Attempting deep breaths, she cited the alphabet backwards-twice!- before she felt her heart rate calm down somewhat. She had to think about her mother’s words logically, she thought, brushing the back of her hand upward on her forehead.

“You think all my moving is getting me nowhere?” she asked, thankful her voice didn’t betray her inner turmoil at least.

Miyako, still in her work suit and low heeled shoes, sighed deeply. She took a sip from the whiskey in her cup. Bianca hated when she drank the stuff. Too much past in the amber liquid.

“I think,” her mother said calmly, “it might do you some good to…” she paused to find the words, “…settle down for a bit longer than a few weeks.”

Miyako was always blunt, always to the point, and seeing her wording things carefully made Bianca’s eyes narrow nervously. She’d obviously been thinking about this for a long time now. More of the red thread slowly unraveled.

In an angry whisper, she asked, “Why?” Felt torn in two. “Why are you, of all people, saying this?” She pointed to herself. “To me?”

Miyako’s cup clinked on the glass-top table by her knee as she set it down, lifting her face to look directly into Bianca’s golden gaze. “Because I believe it’s time for you to stop running away,” she responded.

The red thread wound its way back a bit. Though her mother was Japanese by birth, she’d lived in the United States long enough to have developed a sharp tongue and a lack of patience for certain things that were somewhat out of character for her culture. This suited Miyako just fine, as she can deal with practically anyone and still remain proper. Maybe.

Miyako stood up and walked over to her, still tilting her head up slightly to look at her. At five foot seven, Bianca towered over her by several inches. It was glaringly obvious they weren’t related by blood. Miyako had black as night, pin-straight hair, almond shaped dark eyes, and just looked like a normal Japanese woman in her mid-fifties except with a commanding presence the men usually presented. Bianca was a curly haired brunette with bronzed skin, yellow eyes, and scars too many to count.

Bianca looked away. Under what she felt was intense scrutiny, her ability to maintain eye contact was tenuous at best. Feeling a small hand touch her arm, she tried not to flinch, but wasn’t sure she succeeded. Her right arm tingled where Miyako’s hand lay and unease settled in the pit of her stomach. She so badly wanted her threads to remain intact, but her hold on them wasn’t tight enough.

“It’s time, Bianca-chan,” her mother murmured softly.

She swallowed. How did someone know if they were ready or not?

Miyako rubbed gently. “Time to see what you’re truly made of.”

Bianca was afraid of that in particular. That in the end, there was only an empty shell after all. That the threads she’d woven together out of desperation and survival would be devoid of color and effort. All her time spent everywhere had brightened up her life, taught her about people, let her hear and experience stories that weren’t hers. And she was fine with that. It was easier than remembering. And she so wanted to forget.

She raised her hand, placed it on Miyako’s, and gave voice to her fears. “What if I fail?” God she sounded on the verge of a breakdown. “What if I do this and nothing comes of it?” She turned to face the one person who’d yet to abandon her, the red thread a constant in her world. Tears pricked her eyes, so she shut them tight.

“What if you finally feel I’m not worth saving anymore?”

“The fact that you aren’t denying what I’m saying is a step in any direction,” Miyako stated with a small smile, “and that is a good thing.”

Taking the liberties as the only person in this world allowed to touch her, she hugged Bianca with all the gentle strength of that day so many years ago. “I’ll continue to save you no matter what.”

Bianca sniffed and hugged her back. “Promise?”

She didn’t see so much as feel Miyako’s resolve. “Always.”