She tucked the hairs that swished down behind her ear, then stuck her red pen back there, too, while her highlighter squeaked across the paper. Then she smooshed the marker against her cheek and cocked her head, apparently checking her work.
She must have sensed my gaze then, as she glanced over at me. Then with a mildly disgruntled look, she opened her mouth. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head ever so slightly. No, really, it’s nothing. I did want to say Close your blouse button, but if I carp at her about that, she’ll hate me…
Komachi huffed out her nose in dissatisfaction, and then she dropped her eyes to her textbook once more.
The conversation ended there, replaced by the squeak of her highlighter, the skritching of her red pen drawing circles, and then some bored groaning from me.
Now that I was actually watching Komachi study in uniform, I really couldn’t help but worry about how she was doing. Is my dear girl like this in her classes, too, I wonder?
Once I was struck with the urge to visit her class, a fatherly mood rose inside me. I cleared my throat and opened a reference book with a rustle of pages. “…How’s school?”
Despite creating a weighty atmosphere of importance, the words came out too curt. You couldn’t even tell who I was muttering at, and our eyes didn’t meet, either.
That line and that gesture were the image of the mid-century dad at the breakfast table, first spreading out a newspaper to speak to his adolescent son… Those dads are way too socially awkward, aren’t they?
Komachi could only stare back at me. Then she cracked an exasperated smile. “Who’s that supposed to be? Dad? And we’re at the same school.”
“Oh, well, I mean, we do see each other in the clubroom, but I don’t know how things are in your class.” I was a little unhappy about being put in the same category as our father, but I had been just about to ask slightly more intrusive things, like Have you made friends? or Think you can get a boyfriend? Can’t blame her for calling me Dad!
Whenever my parents asked me questions like that, I always wished earnestly for them to leave me alone, so I’d like to give myself credit for not picking those ones.
My feelings must have gotten across, because Komachi folded her arms with a hmm as she tried to give me a real answer. “Hmm… Well, true.” Tilting her head, she groaned again, but eventually, her head popped up again, and she replied with a super-serious expression, “Normal.”
“I see…” Well, that was the only answer to give. I would answer the same if our parents asked that, too.
It’s too much of a hassle to explain any friendships in detail, especially school friends. I don’t want to make them worry, but also, talking about stuff like that directly with them is embarrassing.
So that limits you to the use of three remarks: “Okay,” “Nothing much,” and “Normal.”
Yeah, yeah. I get that, I get that.
But I was still worried anyway, so I couldn’t not ask. I’ve recently come to learn how a parent feels, wavering between helicoptering and nonintervention.
When Komachi was little, she’d come to me to report all sorts of things. Listen, listen! she’d say, or Hey, so Komachi did… But then she’s grown up so fast. She’s fully in puberty now, I thought, a single tear forming in my eye.
But Komachi waved her hands, expression serious. “No, no, not a rebellious phase. It really is just normal. Komachi does have friends like normal, and I’m keeping up with my classes like normal, and I’m enjoying myself like normal. So, well, normal?” she said. Her expression was very flat—indeed normal. From her face and the way she talked, I didn’t get the sense that she was trying to cover or avoid anything.
She had to be having a peaceful time at school, without any major complaints, grievances, or anxieties. Maybe it was so peaceful, she had to use the world normal to explain it. If that’s what she was going to say, then I had no choice but to accept it.
“Oh, I see… All right, then,” I said.
Komachi nodded. “Yeah. Or, like, you’re the only one who’s in a rebellious phase, Bro. Komachi normally talks about school with Mom, too.”
“Huhhh…… What about Dad?” I asked.
“Eh-heh-heh. Dad’s busy, so…” Komachi laughed cutely, avoiding the question.
But that wasn’t necessarily a complete lie. Our father was actually busy at work every day, so it was true enough there wasn’t much overlap in our lifestyle time slots. On weekends, Dad and I would both be sleeping hard, so we ultimately only saw each other around mealtimes. Well, Mom’s also busy, too. Since both our parents have the inheritance factors “Corporate slave ,” at this rate, I’ll wind up inheriting that, too.
As I was trembling with such thoughts, Komachi cleared her throat and stabbed a finger at me. “And hey, you don’t talk with Dad, either.”
“That’s not true. I’m always talking with him about how he should give me money,” I said proudly.
“Whaa…? That’s even meaner than Komachi…” She drew away in horror.
But I can’t help that—I’m too busy studying for entrance exams, so I can’t get a part-time job. Being in this position is costly in various ways, what with buying reference books and taking mock tests and such. Making the fullest use of this to come up with suitable reasons to extort money from him is my main source of income.
“But that’s the only common topic of conversation I have with Dad. There’s nothing for it, right?”
“That’s a sad father-son relationship… Your own flesh and blood can’t come up with a topic of conversation…,” Komachi muttered sorrowfully as she gave me a pitying look.