Filled with the strangest feeling of contentment, Masako felt as though she was blessed with all the world’s compassion.
In terms of personality, he was nothing like her, but they both shared the same sharp eyes. That said, she didn’t actually have a twin brother at all—so why would she dream about one? Evidently it was something her subconscious needed.
Today, she would brew a pot of Nuwara Eliya to celebrate the fresh green of spring. Then, while they ate Mario’s favorite cookies, she would tell him a bit more about the older brother from her dream. And as she spoke, she would stroke his hair…just as her “brother” had done for her.
I lived in an old one-story house in a fairly safe part of Ogikubo. The most striking thing about it was its rusty metal siding; my uncle claimed he was thinking about replacing it, but that was years ago by this point. Besides, I enjoyed the sound of the rain pattering against it whenever there was a storm, so I wasn’t in any huge rush to have it renovated. It was unique, and it held up well, even after its protective coating was worn away.
My room was slightly cramped, with a small study desk and a wardrobe for my clothes. Next to the desk was an old bookshelf full of novels and manga, some of them mine, some of them my uncle’s. There were cushions on the floor, plus some stuffed animals, a CD player and a handful of CDs, yarn balls, buttons and ribbons, thimbles, spools of thread, and a pincushion of needles…oh, and my fashion magazines.
I put all my sewing equipment back into its little pink basket, then pulled off my navy blue uniform jacket. With one hand reaching for the buttons of my blouse, I opened the wardrobe.
My dinner was already on the stove; I just needed to give it a few minutes to simmer. “Now then,” I muttered as I returned to the kitchen and pulled my apron back on over my loungewear: a pale purple-checkered dress featuring a smocked chest panel, puffy sleeves, and a balloon skirt.
I peered into the pot.
“We mustn’t rush, my dear. At such a high temperature, why, you might get burned!” I said in a theatrical voice, cackling evilly. “Wicked girl. You brought this upon yourself, I’m afraid.”
Rolling up my long sleeves, I stirred the thickly bubbling curry with a ladle. Then I scooped some up for a taste test. This was the Oginome family recipe, taught to me by none other than Ringo-chan herself.
“Yes, it’s perfect!”
I set my ladle down on the cooktop and put the lid on the pot. Now I just needed to wait until Ringo-chan arrived. Then, as I was cleaning the coffee table, the phone rang.
“Hello? Uncle Ikebe? Oh, you’ll be home late? Both of you? Sure, that’s fine. I’m having a friend over for lunch, so I made curry. You guys can have some later tonight when you get back.” Next to the phone was a framed photograph of me with my aunt and uncle, taken on the first day of school. “Yeah, Ringo-chan, the girl from the hospital. Don’t worry, she’ll keep me company.”
As I set the receiver back down, I let out a sigh. After I finished cleaning the table, I was out of things to do.
In this house, the living room was brimming with things I collected: toys hanging from the light cords, stickers on the tissue box cover, embroidery on the red curtains that I periodically added to over the years, merch from my beloved Double H, and some awards I got as a child. My aunt and uncle weren’t actually biologically related to me, but I was living with them for as long as I could remember. They were a childless couple, and they treated me with as much love and care as their confectionery. Thus, I had never tried to track down my real parents. All I knew was that something serious had happened to them, but they weren’t bad people; I was their only child, and they loved me. That was everything there was to know about me.
Quietly, I decided to break out the confectionery once Ringo-chan arrived. Then the sound of the doorbell brought me back to my senses, and I rose to my feet.
“Coming!”
Ringo-chan took a big whiff of the rising steam and smiled brightly. The table was decked out with two plates of curry, two simple side salads, and two cups of tea.
“Mmmm, looks good!” she exclaimed. She stopped by on her way home from school, so she was wearing her uniform.
We pressed our hands together to say grace. Then I watched carefully as she took her first bite.
“How is it?”
“It’s good! Your cooking skills have really leveled up, Himari-chan!”
Today was the 20th of the month, which Ringo-chan traditionally designated “Curry Day.” I didn’t know why. Maybe she would tell me someday, or maybe she wouldn’t; I didn’t mind either way.
It felt like fate had brought the two of us together. First we passed out at the same subway station, then we were taken to the same hospital, and then we made friends so quickly, you’d think we’d met before. If anything had the right to be called fate, it was this.
“All thanks to your awesome recipe, Ringo-chan.” Relieved, I took a bite myself.
“Isn’t it great?! The grated apple really adds something!” she exclaimed, thrusting her chest out proudly.
“Oh, I just remembered—Double H is on TV today!” With a grin, I switched on the television.
“Right, yeah. Gosh, they’re so cute!”
We watched as the duo in question popped onscreen and started to sing. The two of us were both Double H superfans, and we liked to collect all their albums and merch—cartoony key chains, little plushies, calendars, and pins.
“Ooh, it’s their new single,” Ringo-chan murmured. She was more of a Hikari-chan fan, if she had to choose.
“Wanna listen to their new album? I’ll go get it,” I told her as I rose to my feet. If I had to pick, I was more of a Hibari-chan gal.