Chapter 02
SLOWLY, I OPENED MY EYES and breathed in the smell of the chilly tatami. It was now so cold, getting out of bed was a struggle every morning. I lay under my blanket in a daze for a while, then summoned my resolve and leapt out to confront the winter chill. In the process, I accidentally kicked Penguin No. 2 and sent him rolling across the floor, still sound asleep. Shivering, I switched on the TV to get the weather forecast: sunny all day, allegedly. While I was at it, I went ahead and shook Kanba’s shoulders while he lay in the futon next to mine, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough to actually wake him.
Alone, I stepped into the chilly kitchen. Then, before I started making breakfast, I reached into the cupboard under the gas range and pulled out our parents’ bowls and chopsticks, all wrapped up in newspaper like precious treasures…or revolting eyesores, take your pick. Careful not to make a sound, I lined them up beside the sink: two pairs of dark brown chopsticks of differing lengths, and two big, round bowls painted pale green on the outside and white on the inside, with a lotus flower sketched in gold at the bottom of each one. Frankly, it was terrifying just how nostalgic the sight of them made me feel.
As I crumpled up the old, yellowing newspaper, I took a deep breath. Then I grabbed the bowls and chopsticks and dropped them into the trash can. As the lid closed after them, I heard a dull thud as they hit the bottom—not quite enough for them to break.
Later, as the three of us set the table, I found myself glancing back at the trash can again and again. It felt like the bowls were quietly watching over us. But I didn’t regret a thing…or so I continued to tell myself.
“Breakfast time!”
We all pressed our hands together to say grace. Then Kanba and I reached out to take the slightly burnt rolled omelets for ourselves. Himari watched us intently.
“How does it taste?”
“Pretty good!” Kanba grinned. He was already wearing his uniform, which was a bit unusual, and he looked like he was feeling refreshed.
“Yeah, it’s good,” I chimed in.
“Really? What a relief!” Himari exclaimed. Then she took a piece for herself and popped it into her mouth.
For some reason the two of them woke up early this morning and invaded my kitchen to make rolled omelets and pickled veggies. On my left, Kanba chopped up all the lettuce and eggplants we left in the fridge, while on my right, a sleepy-looking Himari whisked her eggs, wearing a robe over her nightgown. Sandwiched between them, I suppressed my restlessness and tried to focus on making the miso soup. Something told me none of us got a full night’s sleep last night.
Yesterday, after we warmed Himari up in the bath, we put her to bed. Then, instead of stew, I made her favorite rice and veggie soup, lightly seasoned, with a beaten egg mixed in at the end. Back in the living room, the rain blew in onto the clean laundry. As for Kanba and myself, neither of us really knew what to say to each other, so we just talked about whatever immediately came to mind.
Stuff like, “Sucks about the laundry.”
Stuff like, “I forget—do we have homework due tomorrow?”
By the end, we started debating why exactly Yamashita failed to get a girlfriend. But it never stopped feeling uncomfortable, and we ended up going to bed a lot earlier than usual. Lying there under my blanket in the darkened living room, I sighed so hard, it made my throat sting. Everything will be back to normal in the morning, I told myself over and over as I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Himari, how’d you get so good at cooking all of a sudden?” Kanba asked, his appetite as voracious as ever.
“I practiced in my head while I was in the hospital,” Himari explained proudly.
“Your imagination helped you learn how to cook?!” Mine wasn’t especially creative, so I couldn’t picture myself having the same results.
“Dude, don’t get jealous just because hers are better than yours.”
“I’m not jealous!” I pouted. Then I shot Himari a look. She was smiling and sharing her rolled omelets with the penguins.
“Now try some of these pickled veggies. Made ’em myself.”
“All you did was put them in a Ziploc and squeeze them…”
That said, they certainly looked how they were supposed to, at the very least.
“There’s a trick to how you gotta squeeze ’em. It’s my special technique.” He wiggled his fingers suggestively.
“What are you pretending to squeeze? Because it sure doesn’t look like pickles! Quit being a perv first thing in the morning!” I shouted, leaning across the table to glare at him.
“What are you talking about? What’s perverted about it?” he shot back, unwavering.
Giggling, Himari took a sip of her soup. “Mmmm… Sho-chan, your miso soup tastes just like Mom’s.”
She didn’t mean any harm by it, but we both fell silent. Sensing that something was amiss, she slowly set her bowl back on the table and stared at the floor.
Despite everything Natsume Masako said, we were a family. But Himari was acting strangely last night—that much was undeniable. I could remember the feeling of her cold, wet fingers brushing my cheek…her damp eyes gazing at me with warm affection…and we all knew what meaning lay behind it. The bright red Reminder Bullet never struck her, and yet somehow she remembered that our familial bond was as fragile as a sweet French meringue.
Nevertheless, I decided that we were still a family in spite of that. I decided to stop pretending not to notice the anger and resentment I felt toward my parents.
“Stop it, Himari,” I told her in a small voice. “The Takakura family doesn’t have a mom.”
She looked up, seemingly with half a mind to say something, but no words left her faintly parted lips.
“He’s right,” Kanba muttered in a low voice.
Himari looked hurt for a moment, but regardless, I didn’t amend my statement. This was the one thing I couldn’t deny any longer. I couldn’t forgive my parents, and I couldn’t keep defending them, either.
“How are you feeling today, Himari? Any fever?” I asked calmly.
“No, I’m okay. I checked,” she answered in a tiny voice.