“We’re getting together around nine tonight,” said my dad, “so when you get off work, drop by Royal Host. You know, the restaurant near the bookstore.”
“Isn’t this a little sudden…?”
“Ha-ha. I meant to tell you, and then a whole month went by in a flash. I guess I kind of let it slip until the day of.”
“A whole month?!”
“Ha-ha. Sorry about that.”
That’s my dad for you. I watched him scratch his temple, smiling sheepishly, and sighed. He might seem unreliable, but you could tell he was a good man underneath.
“Okay, I’ll be there,” I said. “Be grateful I’m not a delinquent who takes off in the middle of the night.”
“I’ve never been worried about something like that. I trust you.”
He really was a good guy, my dad.
A new mom. A new sister. A new family.
Letting those words drift around unsettled in my head, I somehow managed to finish my shift, though my senior colleague (a real babe) said she thought I was phoning it in.
As Devora Zack says, it’s the height of stupidity to multitask, and focusing on one thing at a time increases efficiency. I told my colleague that I believed concentrating on having a successful first meeting with my grade-school-age stepsister-to-be was more important, and that was why I was only going through the motions at work. She was not impressed.
I thought she was being unreasonable, since she was the one who told me about Zack’s book in the first place. But when I finished my shift and headed out, she slapped my back and said, “Go for it, Big Brother!” I always knew she was a good person deep down.
It was nighttime in Shibuya. I rode my bicycle from the bookstore where I worked up Dogenzaka Hill for a few minutes and arrived at the restaurant Dad had specified. It was a busy time of day, and the doorway was packed with groups of young women. I overheard them complaining about their boyfriends.
A woman with a deep tan and an avant-garde updo, wearing a flashy outfit, was saying her guy had bad taste in clothes and little experience with women, and he couldn’t understand a girl’s heart.
I felt like saying to her, “Uh, excuse me, are you sure you want to be making fun of someone else when you’re dressed like that? Maybe you should complain directly to your boyfriend if you aren’t happy with him.”
But of course, I could never say that, so I passed them by and started looking for my dad, who had already arrived. He’d texted me directions to where he was sitting, and I tried to follow them.
I hoped I never had to deal with flashy women like that who expected way too much from men. I was so glad the stepsister I was about to meet was a grade-schooler—though again, I’m not into that kind of thing. I didn’t get my hopes up, but I quietly prayed that she wouldn’t grow up to be like those women by the door.
“Hey, Yuuta. Over here.”
Dad must have noticed me looking around. He was seated by a window, waving to me.
I looked down, embarrassed that the other patrons were staring at us, and promptly went to his table.
I could already feel a seed of discomfort budding in my mind.
It got bigger with every step I took, planted its roots firmly, and sprouted when I saw our new family members sitting across from Dad. A flower of confusion bloomed when I reached his table.
Something wasn’t right. What was going on here?
“Hello! You must be Yuuta. I’m sorry we had you come out here right after work.”
“N-not at all. I’m Yuuta Asamura. You must be…”
“Akiko Ayase. Tee-hee. Taichi told me all about you. My, you look put together.”
I was standing there, completely bewildered. The woman who first spoke to me—the one who introduced herself as Akiko Ayase—smiled happily as she said my dad’s name with a touch of familiarity.
She had something of a baby face, but her gaze and expressions gave off a mature kind of sex appeal. Dad hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d described her as a beautiful lady with a big heart. She made me think of a dandelion that grew in the city at night.
But this gorgeous woman wasn’t what was confusing me.
It was the person sitting next to her who caught my attention—my eyes were glued to her. I recognized her face from the photo. This must be the girl who was about to become my stepsister. But she was nothing like I had expected.
“Come on, say hello!” her mother said to her.
“Okay,” she replied.
The girl straightened her back until she looked like a well-carved statuette. Then she ran her fingers through her brightly dyed hair as the earrings in her pierced ears sparkled a dull silver, and she shot me a mysterious smile.
“Hi. I’m Saki Ayase.”
“Oh, um, hi. I’m Yuuta Asamura.”
I matched her formal greeting, straightening my back without realizing it.
…She was in no way what I’d expected.
She clearly looked like the girl in the photo. If someone told me they were the same person, I’d be convinced immediately.
That is, if they said the photo was taken a decade ago.
Somewhat overwhelmed, I looked her over. This was no elementary schooler. This was a woman, through and through.
She had her long hair set neatly and not in some bizarre style, but the color was flashy, and she wore jewelry on her wrists and had pierced ears. Her top covered only one shoulder, though it wasn’t vulgar or indecent. The restaurant lighting made it hard to tell, but she was probably wearing full makeup.
She was trendy and modern, fully armed with the latest fashion. An outgoing high school girl of the kind I hadn’t ever expected to be involved with.
And yet she also seemed mature and sensible—perfectly comfortable meeting me for the first time. I felt uneasy, as if she had done up her buttons a little wrong.
I wasn’t sure what to say as I sat down in the booth.
“Hey, this isn’t what you told me,” I whispered to my dad.
“I was surprised when I met her today, too. She was in elementary school in that photo.”
“Seriously. She’s gotta be my age.”
“She is. She’s turning sixteen this year. She’s a second-year high school student.”
“Sounds like she’s not my younger sister at all.”