{My 20-Year-Old Girlfriend and 19-Year-Old Me (2-1)}

Satou-san’s birthday fortunately fell on a Saturday.

That day, I woke up early and got ready to head out.

As I was eating breakfast at the dining table, I heard someone coming down the stairs.

I wondered who it was. When I looked up, it was my mom, yawning as she appeared.

“You’re up early, even though it’s a day off.”

“Good morning. I’m going out today,” I replied.

My mom, looking rather disheveled in her wrinkled suit with messy hair, sat down across from me. She seemed pretty sluggish, likely nursing a hangover, and leaned on her hand, looking exhausted.

“Get me some water, Atsushi.”

I paused my breakfast and filled a glass of water, handing it to her.

She gulped it down in one go, then let out a deep sigh.

“I drank too much last night…”

“Another drinking party? You’re not that young anymore; you should take it easy.”

“Shut up. There are some things you have to drink for,” she muttered, glaring at me as she lowered her voice.

“Let your dad sleep in, okay? He got knocked out last night.”

“Got it.”

It seems like being an adult comes with all kinds of difficulties. I nodded deeply.

Although, personally, I’d like to think that even if I came home drunk, I’d at least change clothes and get into bed properly.

“What did you eat last night, Atsushi?”

“Cold Chinese noodles.”

“Ah, lucky you. I want to eat something refreshing too.”

“You can make it quickly if you just boil the noodles. Want some?”

“I’ll have some!”

Hearing my mom’s reply, I started boiling water for the noodles.

As I pulled out the pre-made ingredients for the cold noodles, I heard my mom chuckle behind me.

“You’re really reliable, Atsushi. Seems like you’d make a fine husband.”

“Am I the one getting married here…?”

“Nowadays, it’s not just the women who get married, right? Don’t you talk about that kind of stuff with your girlfriend?”

“Not at all.”

We’d never had discussions about whose family registry to enter or whose last name to take. At most, we’d casually say things like, “I’d like to get married someday.”

Besides, I’m still a student, and Satou-san is still—

“…Hey, Mom.”

As the water began to boil in the pot, I spoke up.

“What would you think if I said I wanted to live on my own?”

“Do you want to?”

Mom immediately asked back.

After a moment of hesitation, I shook my head.

“It’s not about me. There’s someone around me who’s thinking about it.”

I deliberately avoided mentioning that it was Satou-san.

Although I had told my mom that I had a girlfriend, I hadn’t introduced her yet. Mom was always pestering me with, “Bring her over, let me meet her, introduce her,” so I’d grown reluctant to talk about her in front of my mom. Even if I did introduce them, I’m sure she’d keep nagging about it.

“That person says they want to live on their own to become independent. I think that’s a reasonable idea, but I’m a little worried. I want to support them, but—”

I tried to sound casual as I continued.

“From a parent’s perspective, how does it feel when your kid wants to live alone to be independent?”

Wanting to leave home to grow up.

I didn’t think Satou-san’s reasoning was wrong.

But not every adult has grown up in that way. In fact, I wonder how those who are already adults went through the process of becoming one. Or how do they realize when they’ve truly become adults?

I wanted to ask a nearby adult about it.

“That kind of thing probably depends on the family.”

My mom’s answer was surprisingly straightforward.

“Every household is different. I can only answer from my own perspective.”

“That’s fine.”

“From my point of view, I think it’s a valid idea.”

I dropped the cold Chinese noodles into the boiling water. The yellowish, curly noodles began dancing in the hot water.

“Because living alone means taking responsibility for everything yourself.”

My mom continued her explanation.

“If you don’t clean up, your place will just keep getting messier, and if you don’t do laundry, you’ll run out of clothes. If you don’t make your own meals, you’ll end up collapsing, and if you don’t sleep properly, you’ll feel sick. You’re responsible for all of that by yourself.”

It was a strangely convincing argument. I wonder if it’s based on personal experience.

“Living at home is different, right? Even if you don’t say anything, someone will clean and do the laundry, and meals will appear. Well, not in our house, though.”

“That’s true,” I agreed.

“We’d at least take care of you if you got sick,” my mom added defensively, and then continued her point.

“But living alone? No one’s going to be there for that. You could collapse from being sick, and no one might notice. Even if it doesn’t get that bad, managing your own health is still your responsibility. That’s something only adults can really do.”

Hearing that, I suddenly felt a wave of anxiety.