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Sunshine flooded the lounge while the central air unit sputtered along to manage the heat. Leisurely, Momo applied the second coat of nail polish to Mai's finger, tilting it into the light. Satisfied with the coverage, she moved on to the other hand. Mai watched her with steely eyes, braced against the knowledge she'd miss her over summer break.
So she ripped the bandage off.
“They won't let me keep my phone,” Mai admitted.
Momo looked up, eyes bright and considering. “Mm. Do you have a P.O. Box?”
“No, but I can get one.” Mai shifted in her seat. “Why?”
“I'll give you my address so we can send letters. I'll say you're my pen pal.”
“Pen…pal.”
Mai granted herself a grin.
A week later, she slipped Momo a note with the P.O. Box number. Mai had cut off her travel mag subscriptions, using the last of her stipend on postage and envelopes. She stuffed them between the clothes in her suitcase and, with a handful of hope, said her goodbyes to Momo.
Since Maki refused to come back, this was the first time Mai had their old room to herself. The floorboards still creaked, but she hadn't forgotten how to step lightly. She hung up a calendar and counted the days until the next school year.
Sure enough, between her first and second night back, Mai's phone had been swiped from her nightstand.
Afterward, the clan didn't waste time sending Mai on errands. When one finally took her into town, she snuffed the excitement before it reached her face. On the way back, grocery bags digging into her wrists, she unlocked the mail slot and found a letter postmarked from the States.
Mai,
I'm glad I get to write to you once before I lose my mind. Every year I'm in America, my parents take me on a road trip. If you don't know what a road trip is, allow me to explain.
A road trip is when you spend days cramped in a car away from the people you want to be with, boxed in with the people you don't.
If you're lucky, you get to see or do or buy something cool. If you're me, you get dragged to the Grand Canyon. Honestly, they could've left me in Kyoto, but no one listens to me.
I'll take some photos for you. When it comes to stuff like this, they tell me to “make my own fun,” so this is how I'll do it. If you want to know how it went, you can send your questions to my house. We'll be back by the time they get here and it'll give me something to look forward to.
— Momo
That night, once it was late enough that she wouldn't be disturbed, Mai rooted around her suitcase. She pulled out the national monument edition of a magazine, flipping through it until she got to the Grand Canyon.
She squinted. It's just…a hole?
Mai took a sheet of paper and pen from the drawer—clicking the pen under her covers to muffle the sound—and balanced them against the mag on her lap. She tilted the lampshade toward the page and got to writing.
Momo,
What did you even do there? Just stare at it? If that was your only option, I see why you'd rather talk to me. Looks like the most interesting thing to happen there was millions of years ago.
Road trips sound dreadful. I'd shoot all the tires if someone tried to take me on one, but it's not like I have to worry about that.
Either way, I hope you snatched some fun from the jaws of boredom, even if it was at the gift shop.
— Mai
A week passed before Mai could deliver her letter. She waited two more for a response, marking each passing day on the calendar. On the last night, she snuck into the kitchen, reached into the cupboard, and took Naoya's favorite tea. She dumped it into the brook that rushed behind their estate, leaving just enough for a single cup.
When it came time for his daily brew, she told him that was the last of it. As expected, he ordered her to replace it. Seeing as it'd been imported, it was out of stock at every store but the one near the post office. Not that she'd checked.
This time, a thicker envelope greeted her. Mai ran a finger under the crease and pulled out a set of glossy photos. Each one was either of Momo posed against the canyon—designer sunglasses resting on her forehead—or a stunning aerial shot she could've only taken from her broom. Tucked between them and the letter was a laminated postcard.
Mai,
We went on a hike, which did end up being fun. Between that and our swanky lodge, it was a good time. The food wasn't great, but we were in nature's crater so expectations were low.
But enough about that. You made it sound like being with you is a last resort. For the record, I'd go on a road trip with you. Unless you shoot my tires. And even if you did, I'd buy new ones and drive you wherever you want to go.
We'll pack snacks and a ton of bug spray, park somewhere we can see the stars, and I'll win at I Spy even though I'm driving. There's all kinds of restaurants we'll stop at along the way. It'll be date night every night. We can put on scarves and sunglasses and have photo shoots. Never once will I let you doubt that you're the one I love to be with.
Just wait until I get my license.
— Momo
A lump formed in Mai's throat. She tried to bite back the smile, but it only grew wider. Pressing the letter to her chest, she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Other people milled about the office and she was delighted that no one paid her any mind. She replaced the letter and photos, tucking the envelope into her shirt.
All the way back, her mind swam with scenes from the letter. Once the estate was in sight, Mai turned around and composed herself. Her cheeks were sore from all the smiling, but this was not the place to keep doing it.
When night fell, she plucked a sheet of paper from the stack and penned her response.
Momo,
I take it you've thought a lot about this supposed trip of ours. Now you've got me thinking about it too. I'd say it's cruel to get a girl's hopes up like this, but I know you mean every word.
So, I’ll hold you to it. If you’re not afraid of bridges (which should be the least of your concerns, considering you fly all the time without a seatbelt), we can visit Tsunoshima. The lighthouse there has an observatory and I bet there aren’t too many ways to stargaze better than that.
After that, we can go to Chiba. In which case, I’ll definitely have to get my own license. I know you offered to drive, but that’s too many miles to put on you alone.
I'll finally get to know what it's like to be boxed in with someone I love being with too. You make it sound so nice.
— Mai
P.S. I'll ignore that I Spy comment for now, since you've yet to explain the rules.
And scarves and sunglasses must be an American thing. You’ll have to show me the movie you got that from.
Mai stashed the letter and wrapped herself with the covers, dreaming of her first road trip.