Previous|
Part 1|Next Chapter
_______________________________________________________________
“Hello to you too,” she says with a laugh, reaching up to adjust her oval-framed glasses.
Throwing up a nervous hand in a stilted wave, I shift on my feet and clear my throat. “Er, hi, Mom,” I say in a more subdued fashion, trying to hide my joy, “where's Midori?”
It's probably too late to play it cool...
“Around here somewhere—she ran off for the dorms to look for you... practically leaped out of the car before I could stop,” she explains, standing up on her toes to look toward the school yard, “I went to park the rental, and happened upon your little group here.”
“Uh, well, we were just seeing Kenta off,” I explain, nodding toward Yoko.
“Ah, I'm glad I missed him,” she jokes, smiling brightly, “and who is this lovely young vixen?”
The description makes Yoko blush, and probably ensures she won't be answering. Holding a hand out to the shy girl, I answer for her, “She's the one I mentioned a few weeks ago—this is Yoko... Yoko Guidot.”
“Charmed,” Mom says, stepping forward to hold out a hand. Yoko takes it shyly, but doesn't quite manage a reply. “Not much of a talker, I gather?” she adds, laughing lightly and taking a step back, “French name, but... Irish? Scottish?”
“Canadian,” Amaya corrects, saving Yoko from the inquiry, “her parents are anyway... but we don't hold it against her.”
“And you know Amaya...” I add, rolling my eyes to indicate my irreverent friend.
“How could I forget my third daughter,” she says, stepping forward to wrap Amaya in a hug.
The giddy smile on Amaya's face makes me laugh, and Yoko finally manages to squeak out a greeting, “Hello, Misses Ku-”
“Ina, dear,” Mom interjects, offering a bright grin from over Amaya's shoulder, “Misses Kurai is what it says on my letterhead.”
“Ina-Sama, then?” Yoko asks innocently.
“Just Ina,” Mom corrects, leaning back to look over Amaya's smiling face.
“I'll call you Mom, if you don't mind,” Amaya remarks, making her laugh.
“Not at all, dear,” she replies, turning a smirk at me, “you get my daughter in enough trouble, so you might as well be family.”
Tadao steps up beside Amaya and holds up a hand to wave. “Hello, Ina,” he says, dispensing with the formality, “You look well. The country air out there seems to agree with you.”
“Why thank you, Tadao, I've been trying to lose a few pounds—does it show?” she asks rhetorically.
She can't possibly get any thinner...
Mom walks back with us toward the dorms in search of Midori, and explains that they were both too excited to go to the hotel first. The thought occurs to me that I should probably feel apprehensive about her early arrival, but I'm too overjoyed to care. Deciding not to call me was my devilish little sister's idea, and she's probably beating on my dorm room door by now, annoying everyone in the building. While that thought makes us walk faster, Mom goes on to explain that she heard our conversation, and wasn't kidding about helping with transportation, which Amaya eagerly accepts—I can't get a word in edgewise with them chattering.
Taking a moment to look Mom over, the first obvious difference from our last meeting is that her long, wavy, black hair is tied up in a bun, leaving just her bangs hanging down near her eyes. The restyling is probably because of the air travel, but it's a little weird seeing her without the plume of hair cascading down to frame her triangular face. There's a white cardigan tied around her neck in case she feels cold, she's dressed casually in gray slacks with a red blouse, and the ever-present, over-sized purse, which she keeps filled with with all manner of necessities, hangs across her shoulder.
At thirty-nine, her slender figure still exudes youthful radiance, she wears a big, bright smile wherever she goes, and she walks with a gentle sway in her step. She draws looks from guys half her age and younger, which I should probably find embarrassing, but to her it's just about upkeep, staying healthy, and being ready for anything. It may have been Dad teaching me to swim, but her gentle guidance pushed me to start doing it regularly, even after it started to become depressing.
I should thank her for that.
When we reach the dorm, I'm greeted with an embarrassing, though somewhat expected situation. Evidently Midori got distracted on her way past the common room, long enough that someone inside noticed she was a little bit out of place. As I'm nearing the door, I hear her high-pitched voice echoing into the hallway.
“Who are you to stop me~?” she inquires indignantly, making me sigh.
“Who are we...? Who are you!?” Misha's bellowing reply sounds as though she's relaying a heated question from Shizune. “You can't just barge in here like this~!”
Why they aren't in the Student Council room with Hisao is a question that will have to wait. “She's with me, Misha,” I call ahead before I reach the door, “meet my darling sister, Midori.”
Before Misha can reply, Midori's squeaks, “Aiko!” and I hear her footfalls stomping across the laminate floor.
“Aiko, Aiko, Aiko~!”
Bracing myself for impact, I hold out my arms as she comes barreling around the corner and nearly knocks me flat on the floor with an excited hug. “Got you!” she exclaims, as though I were trying to avoid her, “Now you're my prisoner~!”
Her giggling makes me laugh and hug her back tightly. “Heya, Midi, funny meeting you here~!”
A moment later, Shizune steps out into the hall with a bewildered frown on her face, which quickly turns into a warm smile. [So the little urchin really is with you,] she signs, and I start nodding.
Misha can't hold back her laugh, “Wahaha~!” and bounces a few times in place, sharing our exuberance. Shizune raises an eyebrow as Mom steps up behind me, and I have to turn with Midori to nod toward her.
“My mom, Ina Kurai—call her Ina,” I say, and Misha dutifully translates while my hands are occupied.
“Ooh! This is too much~!” Misha coos and starts giggling girlishly.
When Midori finally lets go, I take a step back to breathe for a moment before starting to shake my head. “As I said; this is Midori—my somewhat overzealous little sister.”
“Pleased to make your ac-quain-tance,” Midori greets them, sounding out the large word.
Mom chirps, “I remember these two, I think.”
“You met them over winter break, Mom,” I reply, then point them out and add, “Shizune Hakamichi, our Class President, and Shiina Mikado, though everyone calls her-”
“Misha~!” Midori yells, then leaps forward to wrap the pink-haired girl in an unexpected hug.
Surprised by the gesture, Misha quickly accepts the embrace, but turns a confused smirk at me.
Shrugging, I start to explain, “I may have told her about... well, most everyone... she's-”
“Ridiculously curious?” Mom finishes my thought, making me laugh.
After breaking the hug with Misha, Midori turns to Shizune and lifts her hands to sign something, sounding it out as she makes the gestures. [Hello, Hakamichi-Sama. Sorry for the intrusion. I like your glasses.]
She's learning a fourth language, I see...
Whether it's the sincerity in Midori's eyes, or the gesture itself, Shizune's terse expression softens and she nods to accept the apology. [Thank you, and don't worry about the intrusion,] she signs, turning toward me, [Family are exceptions,] she turns back to Midori, [just stay with your sister, okay?]
Midori looks a little overwhelmed by Shizune's fast signing, but starts nodding after a few seconds. Meanwhile, I notice Tadao having a brief whispered conversation with Amaya, after which he holds up a hand to wave. “I'll leave you ladies to your plans,” he says, starting to back out the door, “Good to see you Ina... and Midori.”
“Bye Tadao~!” Midori calls after him, waving hurriedly. Tadao smirks and spins on his heel, then disappears into the sunshine.
In the wake of his exit, I turn to ask Shizune, [Where's Hisao?]
[We left him in the Council room,] she replies, smiling at my eager expression, [I could let him take the day off if you'd like. We have a lot of work to finish up before Saturday, though.]
[No,] I reply, shaking my head for emphasis, [He can meet Mom later, I was just curious why you're here.]
[Misha insisted we change into something cooler for the afternoon,] she replies, and I start nodding.
“It gets hot in that cramped room,” Misha complains, looking somewhat puzzled by Midori's renewed, wondrous gaze. Turning to face her, she asks, “Is there something on my face?”
“I'm trying to figure out your hair,” Midori replies, tilting her head, “Mom, can I get my hair done like that?”
Groaning, Mom rebuts her question, “If you think you can wake up at five to see to it every morning, maybe.”
“Five in the morning!?” Midori inquires in disbelief.
Misha starts nodding. “Sometimes earlier... Some mornings I end up falling asleep against the mirror and have to start all over again~!” Pausing to run a hand against the dangling drills, she adds, “I've been thinking about cutting it short, actually. It's a big hassle!”
“No!” Midori balks, slumping her shoulders, “It's too cool to change it~!”
“Wahaha~!” Misha laughs, and starts shrugging with continued giggles, “They are kinda cool, aren't they?”
Midori just starts nodding emphatically, but she's not the only one. Looking around, most everyone else is nodding too, especially Shizune. As I consider her “Drill-Sergeant” moniker, even I start nodding, but Amaya says what I'm thinking.
“I'm not sure if you'd still be Misha without them.”
Her comment causes an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds while Misha considers the statement. Finally she just laughs, “Wahaha~!” and shrugs. Grinning at Midori, she says, “I'd still be Misha either way, but I don't think I can disappoint that face~!”
“Don't let her intimidate you,” I advise, reaching over to pull Midori back and wrap my arms around her shoulders. Ruffling her hair, I add, “Her bark is worse than her bite.”
[We should be going,] Shizune signs, and I nod in response. After a moment she squints and asks, [Should I tell Hisao your mom has arrived?]
The question makes me ponder for a moment, and I decide I'd rather have the information come straight from me. Shaking my head, I reply, [No, I'd rather he remain blissfully ignorant for now.]
With a quick nod of agreement, she taps Misha's shoulder to get her to follow, and leads them toward the stairs while I'm still hugging my sister from behind. As they're disappearing onto the stairwell, Midori's hands come up to cover mine, and she starts us swaying, which predicts her following question.
“Are you gonna start singing, Aiko?”
“Nah, I'm just happy to see you,” I reply as I back away, leaving my hands on her shoulders. “You've grown I think,” I remark absently, trying to compare her to our last meeting. “Or I shrunk...”
“That's my problem. You're a little young for that, Kitten,” Mom chides, placing a hand on my shoulder, “Midi's in the middle of a growth spurt—shot up another ten centimeters in the past six months.”
“I'll be bigger than you soon, sis~!” Midori says cheerily, turning to giggle at me.
“I'll still be your big sister, though,” I chide, which she concedes with a resigned nod.
Since we were little I've always been taller than her, and seeing her starting to sprout is a little unnerving, especially since she's probably right about outgrowing me if the trend continues. The thought of her growing up reminds me that I'm getting older too, and that makes me a little uneasy. Each birthday brings me closer to the inevitable, and little moments like this serve to keep that in perspective. Still, I'm too happy to let it get me down, especially now that I've got Mom and Midori here, safe and sound.
“I love ya, squirt,” I say pulling her close to plant a kiss on her cheek.
Giggling airily, she wipes her face and replies, “Love you too, sis.”
Our reunion is apparently making someone uncomfortable. From behind us, I hear Yoko clear her throat and start to say, “I'll leave you alone-”
“Oh, no ya don't,” Mom interrupts her, “After that boy left you behind, you need a pick-me-up!”
And the truth comes out...!
“How long were you standing around in the parking lot?” I ask, turning to regard her smirking face.
“Long enough,” she replies simply.
“What boy?” Midori asks, ducking around me to stand in front of Yoko, “I'm Midori, by the way.”
The tall, shy girl smirks at the question and nods at the introduction. “I know,” she says softly, “I'm Yoko—Yoko Guidot.”
“Parlez-vous francais?” Midori asks excitedly, apparently in French. My little sister is something of a savant with languages, but I've never heard her speak anything other then Japanese, Italian and English.
She's learning JSL, too, apparently...
“Oui, mais pas beaucoup ces derniers temps,” Yoko replies with a shrug, smiling shyly.
Um... what?
The following minute or so is dominated by a conversation in a fifth language Midori is apparently learning, and it's humbling seeing her speak it with such mastery, or at least it looks like she's holding her own. Some of it sounds similar to Italian, of which I have a modest understanding, but I can't quite follow it well enough. Kenta's name gets mentioned a few times, and Midori seems especially interested in asking about him, but I can't figure out what Yoko is saying. Amaya watches with a bemused expression, and Mom starts tapping her foot, evidently no less perplexed by the foreign language.
Sharing our ignorance eventually becomes too frustrating for Mom, who stomps her foot and barks, “Midi, parla in una lingua che possiamo capire tutti!”
“Yeah!” I agree, echoing Mom's fervor, “You're being rude speaking around the three of us!”
My fiery Italian tempter reemerges with Mom around...
Amaya starts giggling, but the demands make Midori turn a shocked look at Mom.
“Sorry, I-I-”
“My fault, sorry...” Yoko answers for her, “It's been a while since anyone spoke to me in French... I got carried away.” The admission is followed by a melancholy frown, but the far away look gives me the sense it has nothing to do with her apology—as though she's recalling a bad memory. It reminds me of the look she had on her face on the morning of Tanabata, before her hospital scare, and it leaves me with a worried gut feeling.
I definitely need to ask about it later...
Mom sets a stare on her for a few moments, but the stern expression quickly breaks into a smile, and Yoko's frown disappears. “Don't worry about it, I just can't keep up with the languages she's constantly learning—Italian, Japanese, and English I can work with, but she flies into French, Dutch, and German sometimes... it makes me crazy!”
Dutch and German, too...?
“Wow,” Amaya remarks, “I thought I was doing good with English, Mandarin, and some Spanish...”
Midori shrugs and smiles humbly, but that's just a smokescreen. The look in her eyes says nothing about accepting the praise without pride, but Mom's stern look keeps her quiet. For a few moments, everyone is silent, and I turn a look at Amaya. “We should get changed,” I say, turning a similar look at Yoko, “I don't wanna walk around the city in these uniforms.”
They both nod, and Mom eases into a warm smile. “I want to see your room while I'm here,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me, “I need to make sure you're not living in squalor.”
“Mo-om!” I protest, tensing my shoulders in frustration. Amaya knows the state of my dorm, but I was hoping to keep my mess out of Yoko's purview.
“Don't
Mom me, Kitten,” she grumbles in response.
“Fine!” I concede, turning to start walking toward the stairs.
Behind me, I hear Amaya asking, “Hey Midi, wanna see my room?”
“Sure!” comes her excited response.
As I'm passing through the door, I hear Yoko mention, “I'll go get changed and meet you down here.”
Might as well get this over with...
Mom follows me up the stairs, complaining the whole way that we could have taken the elevator. It's a little annoying that she still doesn't quite understand the conventions of etiquette concerning their operation, even three years after sending me to a school for the disabled. When we reach my room, I turn a curt expression at her, but the stern gaze she sets on me doesn't leave room for argument. So, like I'm twelve years old again, and she's coming in for a spot check on my room, I open the door and stomp over the threshold—playing up my frustration.
Thoroughly unhappy with her desire to invade my space, I flop down and sit cross-legged on my bed, rest my chin in my hands, and watch her with narrowed eyes. Her light footfalls barely make a sound on the carpet as she graces into my little corner of solitude. The analytical stare she sends around my room is accompanied by a flat expression; her look of concentration. It's a look I'm used to, but I still find it completely unnerving.
Somehow despite being bigger than her, I still shrink under her gaze, but I probably always will. Not that she's particularly intimidating, but I really do hang on her every word. She's more worldly than Dad ever was, and always had a lot of advice to offer, even when it did little more than make me smile for a little while. In a lot of ways, I try to emulate her poise, though I usually just feel clumsy for the attempts. Watching her leaf through some finished papers I haven't sorted through or thrown out yet, I remember being ten and watching her do the same exact thing with my incomplete homework assignments.
“I've been finishing all my schoolwork—on time,” I mention, noticing her raised eyebrow, “Still having trouble with English, but the rest are mostly cake—especially calculus.”
That last mention turns her eyes at me, and I see a faint smile form, but it washes away quickly. “So much like your father,” she remarks absently, looking back down to start scanning over my desk.
That's probably more true than I'd readily admit. For all his mathematical genius, bright personality, and unquenchable smiles, Dad was also absent-minded, something of a procrastinator, and a bit of a slob. Mom used to complain endlessly about his socks being left on the back of the couch, and he could never find his keys, or his wallet. Where Mom always kept her kitchen immaculate, Dad's office looked like a tornado touched down inside every day—they seemed to balance each other out, in that respect.
It's probably just more romanticism, but their personalities were obviously complementary. While Dad left a trail of discarded papers, clothes, and other more questionable objects, like his antique abacus, in his wake, Mom was always there to pick that stuff up, and put it back in its place—she still does that, except for Midori and myself. Also, she's an eternal extrovert, always smiling and talking to anyone and everyone, while Dad kept to himself, talked little, and usually looked a little uncomfortable in crowds.
Strangely, thinking about their differences makes me think about Hisao and I. While I was always an introvert before, since his arrival I've been more of an extrovert, and I'm starting to uncover a gregarious side to my personality. Conversely, Hisao was an extrovert at his old school, and used to have a lot of friends, but coming to Yamaku turned him into a bit of an introvert. That part of him is starting to crack and break away, but I think the near-death experience made him more introspective, and he'll probably internalize a lot of his feelings in the future.
Neither of us can cook, though...
While I'm musing to myself, Mom continues her inspection, and I look up to see a questioning look on her face. “Aiko?” she prompts, sending her eyes around the room. “Where's the picture of you and Dad I sent?”
The question makes me tense up, because I know she sent it so I'd put it on display as a reminder—I haven't had the heart to tell her seeing it bothers me. “Oh, I...” I start, but trail off quickly, not sure how to answer.
“You didn't lose it did you?” she asks suspiciously.
“No,” I reply, taking a breath to draw up some courage, “I just... I get sad seeing it out,” I admit ashamedly, “so I keep it in a drawer,” I explain, pointing toward my desk.
Frowning, she groans sympathetically, “Aww! You shouldn't remember him like that...” Shaking her head, she heads for my desk and adds, “He would want you to look at that picture and smile!”
There's a slight warning in my mind as I watch her reaching for the drawer, but I can't remember why. However, the wide-eyed look she sets on the contents therein serves as an immediate reminder, and I leap off the bed, practically stumbling forward to push it closed, nearly catching her fingers inside.
The other box of condoms...!
It's too late, but Mom laughs at my theatrics anyway. “Oh, Kitten, you don't have to blush that hard~!” she practically sings, taking a step back to lean against the wall and laugh.
“I can explain!” I blurt, trying to fight back the involuntary response. “Nurse sprung them on me when he found out I started dating, and they've been in there for a couple weeks—unopened, you can check!” I say, pointing at the drawer emphatically, “Hisao doesn't even know they're there!” I add, looking back at her and wincing, “There's no reason to be suspicious, really!”
It's all true, but my excited tone has gone and condemned me again. Her continued laughter makes me feel terrified and mortified, but it's the hand placed gently on my shoulder that ultimately causes me to cast my eyes down in shame. Had I not reacted so poorly, I could probably have sold that story as the whole tale, but my fit of panic has cost me that dignity. Surprisingly, instead of yelling, she continues laughing, lightly, almost sweetly, but I keep my head down in case she's just trying to lull me into a false sense of security.
“Kitten, it's okay, really,” she says, wrapping her arm over my shoulder, “I heard it in your voice Tuesday night; this is just confirmation.”
She could tell over the phone...?
The words sound like they're coming from my mother, but there's no piercing quality to her voice, or sneering, or fiery cursing and screaming, which all makes me suspicious. Snapping my eyes up, I see her smiling brightly, instead of looking angry, and I twist my face up in confusion.
“You're not mad?” I ask tentatively, still expecting her to start yelling.
“Kitten, I was sixteen when I had my first time,” she admits, making me raise an eyebrow, “You didn't think Dad was my first, did you?”
Well... yeah, kinda...
Ignoring that for now, I again ask, “You're really not mad?” while gawking in disbelief.
“Maybe I should be,” she says with a wink, “I'm not getting any, after all.”
“Mom!” I groan in shock.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says, wrapping her other arm around me and pulling me into a hug, “I'm really not mad; I know you wouldn't take steps like that with just anyone,” she leans back to look me in the eyes and smirk, “You've always been so responsible, and you held out longer than I did, at least.”
“Mom!” I yell again, fighting the urge to push her away.
Laughing heartily, she hugs me again in earnest, and I start to believe she's actually telling the truth. This is probably the last reaction I expected, and I'm still a little suspicious, but I'm happy to suspend my disbelief.
“So, how was it?” she asks, and that makes me finally shove her away.
“Mom!” I yell for the third time, though I'm starting to smile despite her invasive questioning, “Seriously!?”
“You don't have to answer,” she says, shrugging lightly, “from the giddiness in your voice the other night, I assume he's at least naturally talented.”
Is she actually making assumptions about Hisao's-
“How do you know that?” I blurt, trying to punch holes in her blanket of assumptions.
“Well, you just confirmed it, Kitten!” she exclaims with a hearty laugh. “Don't worry, though... I'll give you some pointers,” she adds, making me cringe, “you'll have him begging inside a week.”
Her lascivious tone leaves me stuttering wordlessly. Fumbling over my tongue, I barely manage to blurt out, “I- he- you- what?”
Who are you, and what did you do with my mom...?
“Did you talk to Nurse yet?” she asks, snapping me out of my stupor, “About birth control... beyond condoms, I mean; I already assumed you used one of those.”
This whole conversation feels like an out-of-body experience, but her line of questions leads me to believe she trusts my judgment, at least. Somehow this is a lot less scary than I expected, now that the initial shock has passed. Realizing that, I straighten my shoulders and look her in the eyes.
“I was gonna go today,” I explain with a slight shrug.
“Good, we can do that after you get changed,” she replies, opening up her purse to search for something.
After a few moments of waiting, I fold my arms and stare at her, but she makes no move to explain her search, or her continued presence. “What are you looking for?” I ask curtly, but she doesn't respond. Sighing in frustration, I add, “I'm not gonna change with you in here.”
“Oh, I suppose I'll wait in the hall—I can't seem to find my phone,” she says absently, reaching blindly for the doorknob. “I have a bet to settle with a colleague...” she says, turning a smirk at me as she's opening the door, “she lost, and owes me dinner.”
“Lost what?” I ask curiously.
“She didn't believe me when I told her I- well, I assumed what you were doing, and... Sorry, I may have made a bet based on your sex life,” she explains, wincing as she slips out into the hall, leaving me to roll my eyes and gawk at the ceiling. “Wear something easy to change in and out of,” she advises through the door, “we need to find you a sexy little dress for tomorrow night, and you'll wanna be able to slip in and out of things.”
“You're impossible,” I groan, shaking my head disdainfully as I head for my closet.
“Mind your manners, Kitten—and be glad your mom loves you enough to trust you,” she advises, which makes me crack a smile.
I should be thankful, I guess...
Her planning to help get me dressed up for our outing is embarrassing enough, but apparently she's also not above making bets on my sex life—before she was certain I had one, even. Despite how dubious that sounds, it helps me realize she really isn't disappointed in my decision—quite the opposite, it seems. Evidently she has expected it for a couple years now, even before Dad died, which means he probably heard about her suspicions, and I wonder what he thought. Whatever the case, through all that time, she left it entirely up to me. She always supported my decisions, even if she did grill the prospects with questions, and that makes me feel a little less mortified. Still, this whole situation feels surreal, and I almost expect to wake up tomorrow and find out her whole visit so far was all a dream.
I don't think I'd be that lucky...
Despite being embarrassed by the prospect of having my own mother critiquing how attractive I look, I decide to follow her advice. The expedition Amaya and I had planned was along the same lines, though I get the feeling we won't need to strive for a conservative balance in our selections, considering Mom's revelations. Although I'm used to wearing the uniform skirt, I'm not usually one to wear dresses, especially not casually, but wearing one will make changing easier. Hiding among my endless supply of colorful t-shirts and jeans, I have a small selection of bright, floral summer dresses Mom picked out for me last year, so I choose a white one with a blue floral pattern at random, and pair it with some white, flat-heeled shoes.
Mom gushes over my girlish appearance when I emerge a few minutes later, and I quickly head across the hall to fetch Amaya so she'll stop. Midori is equally happy to see me dressed less like a tomboy, and compares my gaudy ensemble to her white-flowered, light blue dress, nodding gleefully at the unintentional coordination. Unfortunately, Amaya was too busy giggling with my sister to change, so I'm stuck in the hall being poked and prodded for a few minutes. Apparently taking note of our choice of clothing, Amaya decides to wear a similar white dress, hers with puffy green fringe and yellow flowers—I have to bite my lip to hold back my sarcastic comments.
“Now I feel under-dressed,” Mom says with a frown.
“One of us needs to look like they have a head on their shoulders,” I droll sarcastically.
“Quiet, Swimderella,” Amaya balks, starting to walk toward the stairs, “I'm gonna enjoy looking pretty~!”
Following slowly, I roll my eyes and grumble under my breath. Mom hears me and slaps my shoulder. “Listen to your mother, Kitten; boys like seeing girls in pretty things. It makes them feel needed... like we need protecting, even if we don't.”
Not all of Mom's advice is very modern...
While we're in the stairwell, Mom brushes my arm to stop me for a moment and asks whether anyone else knows about my bedroom exploits. Despite my misgivings, I tell her the truth; as far as I know, Amaya, Hisao, and myself are the only three who know for certain.
“We can visit Nurse later, then—it seems like you didn't want your red-haired friend to know.”
Shrugging, I nod, but I decide to mention, “I'm not really comfortable telling anyone, but I'd be fine with Yoko knowing.”
“We'll play it by ear,” she replies, smiling jovially, “If you're alright telling her, by all means; I won't force you.”
As she said, Yoko is waiting for us downstairs in the common room, wearing a long-sleeve white shirt under a blue, denim, overall dress. Despite my indications to the contrary, I decide I don't want to unload that kind of information on heart-strained Yoko just after her boyfriend left for the foreseeable future. So, after a few moments of idle chatter, mostly about our unexpectedly girlish attire, which Yoko is just as surprised to see, we set out toward the car park in search of the minivan Mom rented; her plan for dinner inspired her to rent a vehicle with plenty of room.
“Shotgun!” Amaya yells, running the last few paces to the passenger door.
“Denied,” Mom retorts, nodding toward me, “Aiko sits up front with me—no complaints!”
“Alright fine, but I call dibs on the ride back~!” Amaya announces, making Mom laugh.
That said, Amaya sticks her tongue out at me and heads for the backseat behind Midori, and Yoko climbs in beside her, giggling airily. The childish display leaves me shaking my head, but it's all in good fun. As I'm hopping up into the front passenger seat, the hot, dry air hits me harshly, and I realize this is the first time I've been in a car since Dad's funeral procession. Since then I've walked around everywhere, or ridden on trains and buses. Not that it really bothers me, I just remember spending a lot of time on the road when I was younger, and the length of time since my last car ride strikes me as odd.
“Seat-belts!” Mom says cheerily, a subtle warning in her tone; she's a stickler for car safety.
“Yes, Mom!” Amaya replies, starting to giggle, “And turn on the AC... I'm dying back here~!”
As Mom backs us out of the lot, and starts down the road, I sit quietly and lean against the window. The continued giggling behind me keeps a smile on my face, but I feel a little detached from the situation. After seeing Mom's reaction to finding out about my exploits with Hisao, then hearing the subsequent laughter, and surprising confessions, I should feel relieved, but there's a little voice telling me not to get ahead of myself. She doesn't know how deeply I feel about Hisao, and while I can predict her approval, I'm suddenly not sure if it's deserved. Being reminded about my aversion for that picture of Dad is probably the root of the feeling, and it's just a faint warning, but it's there, and I can't deny it's making me uneasy.
Despite my misgivings, there's plenty of chatter to keep me distracted. Midori and Yoko are back there talking in French again, and Amaya is gushing to Mom about her plans with Tadao. Watching the greenery zipping past the window keeps me from eavesdropping too much, though I don't think any of them would mind my listening. Everyone else seems content to stay in a happy mood, and I think that's advice worth taking. There are things I need to discuss with Mom, but we can do that later. For now, I can't wait to get her impression of Mister Miyoto, and despite how unnecessary or embarrassing it seems, I'm eager to spend the day playing dress-up in a clothing shop.
I feel kind of bad for Hisao, though...
_______________________________________________________________
Previous|
Part 1|Next Chapter
Well, now isn't that just fine and dandy! Aiko is all happy, warm and fuzzy, her Mom is happy for her, in more ways than was expected, and her darling, devilish inquisitive, gregarious sister has managed to ingratiate herself, even with socially combative Shizune. Truth be told, I was afraid of Aiko seeming OOC with this chapter because her MO has been conservative to the point of being prudish, introspective to the point of being a narcissist, and prone to suppress her naturally dirty mind. Walking on air, though, can really change someone's outlook--especially if it takes a while to fall back to Earth.
Useless information dump: To date, this story contains 290,000+ words(I made a spreadsheet to keep track, finally). Averaging ~9000 words each, the longest chapter (31 - Best Laid Plans) tips the literary scale at 15,300+ words, while the shortest (8 - Rhythmic Breathing) contains just 5600, and there's probably a half-dozen more chapters left before it'll all be over. All this for a high school romance tale? Apparently...
