I told her that, and she shook her head.
“I don’t intend to go to prep school.”
“I guess it is pretty expensive.”
Considering Ayase’s natural reluctance to rely on others, it was no wonder she wanted to study on her own.
“I don’t have anything against attending a prep school…but I don’t want to cause trouble for other people. I know you said that learning how to rely on others is important, but…”
“Well, I was just repeating something I heard from Yomiuri.”
“I understand what you were saying, but I don’t feel like signing up for classes just yet.”
“I’ll help get you set up if you ever do.”
“Thanks.”
After that, Ayase fell silent and squeezed my hand slightly. I felt the pressure; it wasn’t strong enough to restrict my movement, but even more heat seemed to radiate from her fingers. White breath spilled out from my mouth, and I shivered as the winter wind crept in at my collar. And yet that one hand, clasped in hers, was filled with warmth.
“Besides, if we’re together…,” Ayase began, but she was speaking so quietly that I couldn’t hear the rest.
By the time I turned toward her, she was already facing forward again, looking up at the darkness ahead.
We left the main street and its crowds behind and made our way down the narrow path to our apartment. Once we passed the glowing yellow sign of the hourly paid parking lot, the lights of our home came into view—the home my stepsister and I lived in together.
When I got home, I glanced at the dining room table. There was a plastic bag containing a few cartons of premade food, along with a sticky note reading, “Dinner!”
I quickly checked my phone and saw I had a message from Dad. Apparently, he’d bought food on his way home from work. I opened the bag and checked the contents.
“Fried dumplings, huh?”
“And here’s some sweet-and-sour pork and shredded beef with green peppers.” Ayase pulled the food out and placed it on the table. “Looks like it’s ready to eat.”
Because our shifts at the bookstore had been adjusted, Ayase and I had to go straight to work after school without stopping by the apartment. That meant neither of us had time to start preparing dinner.
We’d let Dad know; he must have bought us food to help out. He’d already finished eating and was in his room, sleeping. Akiko, of course, was at work.
“Asamura, do you want some soup to go with your meal?”
“I think we have some that you can just heat up. Does that work for you?”
Ayase nodded, so I went to the cupboard and pulled out the dry corn soup—the kind you added hot water to. I placed two miso soup bowls on the table while I waited for the water in the electric kettle to boil. Meanwhile, Ayase transferred the food onto plates.
If it was just me, I would have eaten the food cold, straight out of the plastic containers it came in. But Ayase preferred to heat everything and dish it out onto plates. She felt that proper presentation improved a meal. Sure enough, once I saw the food arranged neatly on blue plates, steam rising up from each dish, I could feel the boost in my appetite.
Once everything was ready, we scooped hot rice into bowls and dug in.
After a while, Ayase looked at me and asked casually, “Is that what you use when you eat fried dumplings?”
“Huh? Is there something weird about it?”
She and I were dipping our dumplings in sauce poured into little dishes. At a glance, they looked exactly the same, but I soon noticed the difference.
“Is that just vinegar?” I asked.
“Yeah. Don’t tell me you’re only using soy sauce?”
“What?! Isn’t soy sauce the normal choice?”
“I’ve always had vinegar.”
“…Is it good?”
“I’d like to ask you the same question.”
I couldn’t imagine what dipping fried dumplings in vinegar would taste like. I said as much, and Ayase slid her dipping sauce in front of me, as if to say, “Then try some.”
Time seemed to freeze.
Was it okay for me to use Ayase’s sauce dish?
Some people aren’t comfortable sharing with others, even family members. Personally, I didn’t mind. That said, sharing with Ayase held special meaning for me. I hesitated a moment, then told myself that things like this were normal for siblings.
I dipped one of my dumplings in Ayase’s vinegar and took a bite. She’d heated them in the microwave, and when I bit through the skin, the warm, flavorful juice flowed out and blended with the tart, unfamiliar taste of vinegar. It was different but not too sour. In fact, it was pretty delicious. It was hard to put the difference into words.
“Ah, I think I understand now,” I said.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah, it’s good. The flavor isn’t quite as powerful, but it’s more refreshing.”
“See? It’s nice with some pepper, too.”
“What does Akiko put on hers?”
“She’s the same as me. She says the taste of soy sauce is too overpowering.”
“I see. Do you want to try mine?”
I slid my sauce dish toward her, and she dipped one of her dumplings in it. When she got it all the way to her mouth, she stopped for a moment, as if something had just occurred to her. But after a second, she went ahead and ate the whole thing.
“Hmm,” she said. “It tastes like soy sauce.”
“Well, yeah.”
We each took back our own sauce dishes and continued to eat in silence for a while. When we were almost finished, I brought up what I’d been thinking about on our way home.
“Hey, Ayase. About our birthdays…”
Ayase looked up. “Hmm? You mean how we agreed to celebrate on the day?”
“Yeah. I was thinking of what to get you. Is there anything you want?”
“Oh, I was going to ask you that, too.”
So she’d had the same thought.
I was once again reminded of how alike we were when it came to things like this. We’d both figured that the other wouldn’t be happy if we gave them something they didn’t want or need. So we agreed to go over what we wanted first instead of buying something at random and hoping the other person liked it.
“Let’s decide on the price, too,” said Ayase. “We should keep it relatively inexpensive.”
“Makes sense. You’re trying to save, after all.”
“So, Asamura. Is there anything you want?”
Now that she’d brought it up, I was blanking. But just like when Ayase asked me what I wanted to eat, anything wasn’t going to work here. I was about to request some more time to think, when she continued, “How about a neck warmer?”
“Oh, you’re thinking about our walk home.”
She’d mentioned then that my neck looked cold, and I’d said a scarf would be dangerous. Maybe she’d been considering giving me a scarf. A neck warmer wasn’t too expensive, and it was perfect when you thought about our criteria.
“What do you want, Ayase?” I asked.
She gave me an answer right away. “A nice soap to use when I take a bath.”
“A nice soap?”
Her answer surprised me. When I first started thinking about what to buy her, I’d done some research. The information I’d found suggested that you should give the person you like something they can keep.
“But if we give each other gifts like that year after year, we’ll be up to our necks in them. And if a gift broke and we had to get rid of it, we’d feel bad throwing it away, right? I think it’s better to have something that’s meant to be used up from the start.”
It was very typical of Ayase to think about throwing out a present before she even received it. It might sound cold, but something else about her reply stood out even more to me: Her opinion assumed we’d be exchanging gifts for a long, long time.
She wasn’t planning to make this a one-off event. She was concerned precisely because she intended to keep doing this with me for years to come.
“Okay, then. This year, I’ll get you a nice soap.”
Ayase smiled happily, understanding exactly what I meant.