Chapter Text
Mary was restless, pacing back and forth across her girlfriend’s room.
“Ririka, listen… I’m serious: tonight you have to be as normal as possible.”
Ririka, calmly sitting on the bed, tilted her head slightly as she looked at her.
“But I am normal, Mary.”
“You’re normal… in your world. But out here, no masks, no childhood stories involving snake venom, no ‘secret foot touching.’ Just a nice girl having dinner with her girlfriend’s parents, okay?”
“Okay… No mentioning the case of our butler who got arrested for scamming casinos using carrier pigeons.”
“Exactly!”
⸻
At the Saotome house, Mary’s mother was setting the table for the fourth time.
“Will she like lasagna? Or should I have made sushi? Maybe I should’ve lit more candles?”
“Woman, relax. She’s just our daughter’s girlfriend. Not the princess of Japan.”
⸻
Mary arrived with Ririka, who looked impeccable: loose hair, a light blue dress, and a bouquet of flowers in her hands.
“Good evening, Mrs. and Mr. Saotome. I’m Ririka Momobami. Thank you for having me.”
Mary’s mother let out an “Awww,” clearly charmed.
“You’re even prettier than in the pictures—my daughter was hiding treasure!”
“Mom…”
“And you have a twin sister, right?” asked Mr. Saotome.
“Yes, but she stayed home. I hope tonight will be peaceful…”
Ding-dong.
Mary froze.
“No way.”
She opened the door—and there stood Kirari Momobami, wearing a dazzling black party dress, and Sayaka Igarashi, holding a three-layer cake.
“Good evening! The family princess has arrived!” Kirari announced.
“H-Hi… sorry for the intrusion. I tried to stop her, but…,” Sayaka said.
“What the hell?!” Mary was already in full panic mode.
“I don’t trust diplomatic meetings with my sister without supervision.”
“This is a dinner, not an international summit, Kirari!” Mary shot back.
“Any interaction involving a Momobami is, by definition, an international summit.”
⸻
At the table, the four were seated. Ririka and Kirari side by side (of course), with Sayaka and Mary across from them. The atmosphere was… tense, yet lively.
“So, Ririka, what are you planning to study in college?” Mary’s mother asked.
“Political science, with a focus on strategies of social and psychological manipulation in authoritarian regimes.”
Silence.
“She means international relations,” Sayaka corrected quickly.
“By the way, did you know the sauce reveals a lot about the host’s emotional balance?”
Sayaka coughed discreetly.
“She means it tastes amazing!”
“And your sister?” Mary’s father asked.
“Oh, me? Nothing too serious. I just plan to dominate the stock market by the time I’m 25,” Kirari said with a smile.
Mary facepalmed.
“She’s joking, Dad…”
“I’m not. I already have two investors—one Chinese and one Swedish.”
“The food is great,” Sayaka interrupted, trying to change the subject.
“Is the lasagna sauce homemade?” Ririka asked.
“It is! Do you want the recipe?”
“Yes, I like analyzing the logic behind preparation. Cooking reveals a lot about human behavior.”
“…Was that a compliment?”
“It was, Mom! That’s just… her peculiar way of speaking,” Mary explained.
⸻
By dessert, things had finally calmed down… until Kirari casually said:
“Did you know Mary has a heart-shaped mole on her left shoulder?”
Mary nearly choked on her drink.
“KIRARI?! HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!”
“Ririka told me. And now everyone knows.”
“You told her that?!”
“It came up during a discussion about interesting anatomical shapes…”
“This family needs a filter,” Mrs. Saotome said, laughing.
“I am the filter,” Sayaka replied.
“And you, Sayaka, the voice of reason? You’re in the wrong relationship, young lady,” Mr. Saotome joked, amused.
“I hear that at least three times a week.”
⸻
By the end of the night, everyone was exhausted, and the cake had been completely annihilated by Kirari (who ate four slices by herself). Mary’s mother smiled.
“It was… interesting meeting you. You’re all very different.”
“That’s our charm,” Kirari said.
“It was a pleasure,” Ririka added sincerely.
“Mary… you’ve found yourself a… unique family,” her father said.
Mary sighed as she watched the twins leave, exchanging perfectly synchronized glances.
“I think it went better than I expected…”
“Or less chaotic than it could have been…”
And so the dinner ended. Or, as Mary’s parents would later call it:
“The International Lasagna Incident.”