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It’s not that Rei tries to make the others forget her birthday. It’s just that it’s much easier to refer to the day as another regular day, easier to redirect the conversation from her and birthdays to someone else, to any other holiday instead (she’s eleven when she grumbles to her grandfather that they should bring back the tradition of marking everyone’s new age along with the new year; she still frowns remembering how her grandfather had laughed and called her old-fashioned).
That Michiru’s birthday is the month before hers is both a blessing and a curse: A blessing because the celebration is always extravagant enough for the girls to talk about nothing else for the weeks to come (sometimes months, as in the case of one year when Usagi decided she too wanted to have a resort getaway for her birthday - as well as a mariachi band, an arcade, and a chocolate fondue tower); a curse because it always gets Minako thinking about Rei’s birthday and nothing else.
It starts small at first. Simple things like compliments and asking Rei’s preferences when they’re out shopping (“Oh those shoes look great on you,” “Didn’t you say you needed a new jacket?”); fishing for clues as they wander a food court (“Sushi would make a nice dinner for a special occasion, don’t you think?” “In general, curry over steak, am I right or am I right?”); whispers with Makoto from behind poorly hidden cake magazines during group meetings (“Six tiers is a bit much, don’t you think?” “The top tiers are so small they hardly count”).
Then it grows larger - though still subtle by Minako’s terms: mentioning how one of her labelmates has a cousin working at a certain 5-star sushi restaurant in Ginza; an all-too-casual suggestion for a getaway up north for a private ohanami (Minako doesn’t waggle her eyebrows but Rei can hear it in her voice); bumping into Haruka and Michiru on the weekend and the conversation of course turning to a cruise they’d taken recently. Throughout all of these gestures, large and small, Rei can feel Minako’s eyes on her, watching for any hints of preference - Rei is careful to keep her face clean of interest, clear of excitement (Rei swears to Minako she’s not trying to torture her, tries to explain how the day never feels like it’s truly for her, but the gleam in Minako’s eye only grows).
Rei’s learned from experience to be on guard the week leading up to her birthday. She warns her grandfather about unsolicited visits from both strangers and her friends (especially after that one year she’d stepped out of her bedroom to find the whole temple covered with what seemed like a party store’s entire stock of decorations - years later, she’s still finding glitter in random places); she makes sure to lock the doors and windows to her room each night (it’s not that she didn’t like that one year she had woken up with Minako in her bed but still). She knows grandfather thinks she’s being particularly paranoid this year but it’s the year of their coming of age, and although Minako is already planning the after-party for next January’s celebration, she wouldn’t put it past any of her friends to do something crazy for their individual birthdays, especially with hers being the first of their age group.
When she wakes up the morning of April seventeenth, however, the temple is perfectly, strangely quiet. She sees no one when she goes into the Great Hall for her morning meditation, is greeted with stillness when she steps into the kitchen. She’s in the middle of eating breakfast when she finally notices the video tape on the counter, a note affixed to the top that says “watch this today” in her grandfather’s writing.
She doesn’t know how she knows, but she knows what - who - she will see when she turns on the rarely used television and slides the tape into the dusty VCR (it’s her birthday after all; how could she not also remember her, the one who performed said birth?). Still, it’s startling to see that face, to look into eyes that look so much like her own. Her breath catches in her chest and she can feel tears already stinging at her eyes.
“This must be a surprise, huh? I bet your grandfather didn’t give you any warning at all.”
The voice is just as she remembers, warm and fond and here - Rei presses her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
“It’s okay to cry. I miss you too.”
It takes a few minutes for Rei to regain her composure. On the screen, her mother watches patiently; it’s almost as if she’s there with her.
“Well, first of all, happy birthday. Congratulations on becoming an adult.” Her mother’s lips quirk suddenly. “It sounds strange to say that. I’m sure you’ve been an adult far longer than most people your age.” Her eyes drop once and Rei catches a tremor in the hand that lifts to wipe at her face. But when her mother’s face raises, it’s with a calm smile once more. ‘So that’s where I get it from,’ Rei thinks idly.
“Be careful of your grandfather, though.” Rei raises an eyebrow at the warning, and her mother mirrors the expression. “He’ll try to convince you to drink something and pass it off as a tradition. Don’t trust it. I had a hangover for a week.”
A laugh puffs out of Rei - she’s not sure if she’s more surprised at the dark expression on her mother’s face or the idea of her mother getting drunk.
“Of course I drink,” her mother replies; it should be eerie but all Rei feels is a familiar comfort hearing her mother answer her silent question. “Your father always teases me that a woman should drink something more refined than beer. Men sometimes.” Twin pairs of violet eyes roll simultaneously; the pair in the screen softens. “He’s not that much different than you, you know. He wants to change the world… he just doesn’t understand that you’re one of the people who will save it.”
Rei takes in a sharp breath. Her mother shakes her head slightly. “To be honest, I don’t know any details. It’s just a feeling I get sometimes.” She looks straight into the camera, at Rei, and gives a small smile. “You know the one.” Rei’s chest tightens; she does.
They talk about all sorts of things - visions her mother’s had (“And that’s why I don’t drive”), clubs she was involved with in college (“That archery range in the back wasn’t just for you - ask your grandfather about the time that Olympic representative visited”), recipes she’s been trying (“I’ve been trying to make curry from scratch but it just doesn’t taste the same”). In some ways it feels as if Rei’s meeting up with an old friend.
Then there’s a cry from off-screen. Her mother’s attention instantly turns towards it and Rei realizes that the infant’s cry is her own self as a baby - that her mother had known, since then. Rei watches her mother’s shoulders straighten under the weight of their shared gift, her own heart aching at just how heavy knowing must have been.
Her mother’s eyes meet her own, a helpless sort of smile falling across her face. “I guess that’s my cue.” She breathes in carefully, deeply - Rei finds herself doing the same, a breath for grounding, to withstand an oncoming wave, a storm on the horizon. Her mother’s voice rises deep and determined from that moment of quiet. “I don’t know how much time I have left, but I intend to live it out to the fullest, with you.” Rei understands now just where her own fire comes from.
“These days with you have been some of the happiest in my life. Seeing you discover the world for the first time -” Her mother smiles but the tremor in her chin gives her away, as does the sudden shine in her eyes. “There’s so much to know, Rei, so much to experience. Even now, as an adult, things are just beginning for you. There’s so much more to come.”
Rei watches as her mother grips the pendant hanging from her neck. Rei touches her own - the same one - with her fingertips, imagines the warmth of their touch traveling through time, passing from mother to daughter and back again.
“Let it come to you, Rei. All of it. And let them in too - they mean well. They love you, after all. As do I.”
Rei mirrors her mother breath for breath, tear for tear; Rei’s smile however, falls whereas her mother’s is steady. “I love you, Rei. Happy birthday.” Her hand lifts in a small wave; the video ends.
The silence hangs for several stuttered breaths before a shudder runs through Rei. She curls into herself, the tears uncontrollable. She feels arms wrap around her and she lets herself fall into the embrace as she cries - for herself, for her mother, for all the birthdays missed between them.
It feels like hours when the tears finally stop. The words murmured against her temple are hazy, but she’s conscious enough to recognize Minako’s voice, Minako’s strength surrounding her. She begins to pull away, then remembers her mother’s words - ‘Let them in,’ she’d said; ‘I’ll try,’ Rei thinks as she closes her eyes and turns into Minako’s embrace.
She doesn’t stir when she hears her grandfather enter the room, lets their voices roll over her like waves overhead. “I’m sorry I ruined your plans,” she hears her grandfather say.
Hair brushes against Rei’s arm as Minako shakes her head. “I can always kidnap her some other time.”
The two share a small chuckle. Then there’s the gentle press of a palm atop her head, a low chant that she recognizes as a blessing. “They’re waiting, whenever you’re ready,” he says as he leaves.
Rei doesn’t have to guess who he means by ‘they.’ It takes a while but eventually she gets up and lets Minako help her make her face as presentable as possible (“You’re beautiful,” Minako says. Rei rolls her eyes, turning away from her swollen reflection, but Minako insists; the kiss calms Rei more than she’d ever admit outloud). They make their way down the hall to the room they always gather in: her own.
The conversation lulls when Rei enters, all of them watching, waiting as she looks around. There are no decorations, no mariachi band, no costumes, no glitter - just her friends and a simple cake on the low table, a pile of presents nestled underneath.
It’s not that Rei tries to forget her birthday. It’s just that she’s never really had a reason to celebrate. But as she kneels at the table, surrounded by her friends in the warm glow of candlelight and the soft singing of “happy birthday,” this year, she finds that what she already has is more than reason enough.