Archive of Our Own ^beta

Falling snow swirled in gentle winds outside, those spiraling snowflakes and a few barren trees the only view through the cabin window since this afternoon. The white haze beyond fell like a curtain, dividing this little cabin from the world.

It was exactly what she’d wanted—that realization cut through her, made every minute she'd waited all the more painful. Asuka let out a sharp breath and gave up her hunched gazing through the window, slumping defeated to the bed below. She reached for the phone again.

The excitement of Mom’s promised surprise dinner had long since given way to a pit in her stomach. Hunger was only part of it, and as the snow picked up she was too sick with worry to be sure she could eat. Laying down helped, if only a little—she should have been doing that all along. But while kneeling on the bed and staring outside in her sweatpants hadn't accomplished much, it at least felt like doing something.

The phone still indicated no reception, but that hadn’t stopped her last time: this was more prayer, or compulsion. Surprised to find the last attempt was only about fifteen minutes ago, she tapped Ayako in the call log.

All she’d wanted was some time away for the two of them, especially with the dreaded New Years’ holidays looming in her mind. A nice dinner together, a few days of privacy here, the onsen if they felt adventurous, or stir-crazy. That would make all that time with Akira ahead of them bearable, wouldn’t it?

She had the best intentions, and Mom had agreed, but …

In the end, it was still her idea.

And it was a really dumb idea.

She pressed the call button and waited. After a few seconds of silence she pulled it away from her ear with a frustrated huff, and studied the screen for any sign the call might go through. The timer ticked up, but that was all.

The sun would set soon: would Mom come back before dark? Was she lost? Should Asuka try to get help if she didn’t return soon?

She sat up, looked again through that side window. Could she, even? Asuka vaguely recalled where the main building sat, her joy to look through this same window and find it, as she’d hoped, just a little dot in the distance. Now she pondered what it’d take to reach it in this weather. It wasn’t some terrible hike, but this was only their first day here, and it would be so easy to get lost, and as she gazed out she could feel the window's chill on her face, and above all her stomach churned—

Suddenly she thought she heard a noise, some shuffling. Heart racing, she swept the phone to her ear. “Are you there?”

Silence.

“Mom? Can you hear me?”

Nothing. She looked again at the phone. “Call failed,” it claimed—but there it was, the same noise from before.

Which meant …

The phone slipped to the bed as she rushed to her feet. The thought of Ayako balancing an unmanageable and probably fantastical number of grocery bags dancing in Asuka’s imagination, she called out as she barreled to the entryway.

“Mom—!“

She threw open the door, and instantly felt more than a little embarrassed.

In place of the expected Ayako was a tall woman in shimmering white kimono, the ends of her zephyr sleeves flittering with the breeze as she casually tucked a white parasol over her shoulder. The cold air stung Asuka’s face and bare feet, but despite this stranger’s light dress she seemed unbothered. She let out a little laugh, and Asuka felt her cheeks flush further.

“I suppose,” the woman said, voice more playful than demure, “that means Ayako isn’t home?”

Asuka held the door open, staring blankly, trying to place her. Her face was vaguely familiar: maybe a staff member, checking on them? Desperate for a hint, Asuka looked down, and found the woman wearing snow-dusted geta.

I knew this place was pretty traditional, but …

The freezing air was already beginning to creep into the entryway and around her ankles, but Asuka was unable to shake the feeling she knew, or should know, who this woman was. She looked no older than Asuka, and Asuka had noticed plenty of women about her age working here when they'd first checked in.

But she looked a lot like Asuka, too. Hair the same shade as hers, and if you looked past the boyish short cut, it was kind of like looking in the mirror—

Wait a minute.

She’d said Ayako.

The woman’s expression turned from amusement to a patient neutral, and Asuka realized where she’d seen her face.

In a picture frame.

A wave of vertigo hit her, and by reflex Asuka's hand searched for the door frame in an attempt to steady herself. She met the woman’s eyes, but weak from shock and nausea, her voice was little more than a whisper.

“M—mom?”

A dream? Maybe she’d fell asleep waiting for the food? More dizziness hit, and she felt herself sink, knees buckling. She tried to grasp the door frame more securely in response, but it was too narrow and her hand slipped; unsteady and now off-balance, she took a step back instead, trying to recover her footing. The step was too clumsy, and she fell hard to the floor, her side taking much of the impact.

It hurt.

Maybe, in dreams, falling still hurt; she’d never really managed to hit the ground before.

The woman gasped and rushed to Asuka in a crouch, hand outstretched as if it still might catch her, and dropped her parasol in the entryway. Unable to think, Asuka froze, wide-eyed, one trembling arm propping her up from the floor.

“Are you okay?!”

Asuka wasn’t sure. She gave a weak nod anyway, out of instinct.

“I’m glad.” Apparently relieved, the woman sank to a full kneel and raised her hand to Asuka’s face; Asuka felt far too detached from reality to flinch away.

It was cold as it stroked across her cheek affectionately. ”I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you, Asuka.”

Asuka was not a stupid girl, and she treated this woman with the proper suspicion, pacing the room at a distance and desperately trying to pull some relevant local legend from the depths of her memory. That nervous energy made it easier to ignore all the little miseries: her roiling stomach; the ache in her hip from falling so awkwardly; the scrape on her elbow, flecked with blood.

Nothing she remembered filled her with confidence. In many, the threat was immediate: make one wrong move, even open the door, and you’d perish on the spot. Clearly she’d done something right, or she wouldn’t be around thinking about it. What really troubled her, what made her second-guess every course of action—even more than normal—was how often one tale would advise doing something that yet another claimed led to certain doom.

It left Asuka with the feeling that she was doomed, too. Then she’d look over at the young woman sitting at the little wood table, watching Asuka patiently with a tilt of her head and a kind smile, and she’d feel even more conflicted than before. Whether old myth or horror movie, it was one thing to laugh at someone sleepwalking into what seemed like obvious danger—another to experience it.

A common refrain in all those stories was the false apparition: not just of the kind of mysterious, beautiful woman that would appeal to bored, lonely woodcutters, but family, or long-departed friends. Putting aside those categories’ lack of mutual exclusivity, it could be anyone—as long as your guard was lowered, it was that much easier for the terrifying, hidden thing within to strike.

Appearing as a mother she’d never known, whose memorial photo Asuka would glare at, thinking nothing but serves you right for pushing poor Mom around? That would be a misstep, a clear sign it knew little about them.

So maybe she could rule out some obvious trickery.

Asuka stopped pacing and crossed her arms. “Tell me something about … Ayako.”

“She wanted to be an entemologist.” The reply was practically instantaneous. “When she was little, I mean.”

It was the kind of casual response she’d expect from someone telling the truth, and not the one she’d anticipated. In fact, it felt a little like she’d been parried, outsmarted, and now the question itself seemed naive. Was this kind of knowledge really outside the domain of something that knew exactly what her mother looked like? Or maybe it really was her mother, and she’d returned as some sort of vengeful spirit, bent on punishing Asuka for her transgressions. There were plenty of those, after all.

But Atsumi—she’d call her by her mother’s name, at least, for lack of anything better—didn’t seem to be acting particularly … vengeful. Silent, Asuka continued pacing circles, unable to come up with a question more discerning.

Maybe a minute of that passed before Atsumi, perhaps sensing her trepidation, propped her chin on a hand, told Asuka she wasn’t here to lure her into a blizzard, or steal her liver, or turn her into a block of ice.

Asuka responded flatly that while she was worried, bringing these possibilities up out of the blue didn’t make her feel much better, especially because she hadn’t even thought of some of them.

Before Asuka had even finished speaking, Atsumi’s face was in her hands. When she’d finally looked up, she apologized profusely, explaining that for those like her, the border between life and death felt too fluid to be particularly serious, and so it was only a bad attempt at breaking the tension.

Maybe it would be better, she said, to tell Asuka why she was here, though she wasn’t quite sure Asuka would believe her.

She sensed Mom had been here—and that was all.

“With Ayako, you can just tell,” she’d elaborated simply, as if it were explanation enough. It was true: one could tell, or at least Asuka always could, though only when Mom was in distress. She'd never really understood why, and Atsumi treating it as simple, plain, obvious fact was … strangely reassuring.

“And it was such a nice day,” she’d continued—then the wind howled outside, followed by the unmistakable sound of a branch snapping. Atsumi hummed. “Maybe not by your standards.”

From then on, it had felt a little safer to sit in this little cabin, at this small rectangular table, across from this woman. It still felt strange to say “mother”—there were plenty of reasons for that, of course, but the most jarring for Asuka was that the word to her meant Mom. She watched Atsumi’s legs kick idly as she sat sideways in the chair, hardly cutting an elegant figure despite her dress. That restlessness felt very youkai-like, but it was not at all Mom-like.

No, this woman was maybe the least Mom-like being in the universe.

Maybe all that “opposites attract” stuff was true. Or maybe she wasn’t really like this when she was alive? It didn’t really matter, but thinking about it was better than fruitlessly racking her brain over mythology. She was thankful for the break, especially since all those anxious steps had begun to catch up with her, aggravating the ache in her side.

But Asuka wasn’t entirely convinced she was out of mortal danger quite yet, and she braced herself to steer the conversation to topics other than Mom, concerned those questions might lead down dangerous roads, that something about their relationship might leak out. Thankfully it was hardly necessary, and in response to Atsumi’s gentle but near-endless questions she happily spoke about what kind of foods she liked (most of them), how she was doing at school (quite well, though she tried to stay modest), and plenty more benign subjects, Atsumi treating even the minutiae with the greatest interest.

It seemed logical enough, Asuka reasoned, to wonder more about the daughter you didn’t realize you had than the woman you sort of knew, even though Akira had always said Mom had changed a lot in those years. But on the receiving end of that many questions, trying to shut Mom out of her answers, it was easy to lose track of time.

Then her stomach rumbled, and she was reminded of what mattered. Asuka stood, eyes on the kitchen. “Mom was supposed to be back a while ago.” She winced, a little ashamed she’d managed to put it out of her mind. “I know I said I believed you, but … “

She set a hand on the chair back as she turned back to Atsumi. “You … you promise nothing happened to her?”

Atsumi blinked. “You’d be able to tell, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Asuka took a couple steps toward the kitchen. “Yeah, I would.” She half-turned back toward Atsumi again. “But, still.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” She trusted her own intuition, but there probably wasn’t much more she could ask for than reassurance from the spiritual realm. “Mind if I have a snack, then?”

“Not at all.” There was a faint giggle from Atsumi. “You’ll ruin your appetite.”

Asuka just groaned and shuffled into the adjacent kitchen. It was really just a counter set against the wall between the table and bed, equipped with a sink and a few small appliances. The storage was probably empty, as Mom had planned to stock it when she returned, but Asuka was struck with an idea.

There was always a mountain of cheap snacks around Christmas—Mom thought it was fun, though she hardly ate any—and Asuka had heard some suspect crinkling when they’d packed. The question was if and where she’d unpacked them, but this little cabin was far too cramped to hide any stash for long. She yanked open a drawer. “Don’t worry about that. I have a separate stomach for Kentucky."

“No way!” Atsumi laughed. “Out here?”

“I figured she’d cook, actually, since she said it’d be a big surprise.” Asuka mentally noted she’d managed to amuse a ghost. “It’s getting kinda late, though."

As she rifled through the rest of the drawers she spotted a few utensils, and some nagging remnant of her anxiety told her that she'd might as well check for a knife, just in case. There were more kitchen tools in the last drawer, but the only metal belonged to a hot-pot strainer and a few impossibly tiny spoons. Asuka looked back over her shoulder to the beaming Atsumi, then stared down at the open drawer; unnerved, she decided to pretend she’d swept the whole idea aside before she’d finished looking.

It wasn’t until she sank to her knees to scour the cabinets that she found what she was looking for: a pile in brightly colored cellophane, tucked away in the back. Snatching a corn stick and tearing open the wrapper on impulse, Asuka took a bite. It felt like heaven, but she was too self-conscious to let out some embarrassing noise she’d probably have made if alone—

Oh, it was the salad flavor. Whatever. She scooped up more to take with her, hoping for better luck, and stood, heading back to the table. “I don’t think Mom expected a guest, so …”

Atsumi waved her off. “I’m a light eater.”

Energized by her find, Asuka was finally prepared enough to address the last problem on her mind. She walked back to Atsumi. “Okay. I guess you are who you say you are.”

Leaning forward, she dropped all the snacks onto the tabletop. Though she’d been careful not to do it from too great a height, it still felt dramatic. “Which means, as nice as you’re being, we have something to discuss.” She sat down across from Atsumi and tilted the rest of her corn stick out toward the other woman like a brandished sword. “Before she gets here.”

Atsumi just laughed. “The interrogation isn’t over?”

“It’s just one more thing.” Asuka twirled the corn stick in little circles, determined. “So, Mom always said Mom was …” She paused. This had never really been an issue before. “Uhh, you were …”

Fragile confidence evaporating by the second, Asuka set her elbows on the table. “Mom said you kinda pushed her into …“ She took a bite in lieu of finishing the sentence, not wanting to say something dumb again. “I want to know why.”

She fought the near-irresistible urge to add “and how?”. Even with Mom’s temperament, Asuka never really understood why she’d accepted, with a whole future at stake. She was old enough now to realize a little of that disbelief had probably been jealousy, with Atsumi apparently achieving in a single moment what Asuka had desired, and suppressed, for years. Still, Atsumi had long loomed in her mind as some manipulative, calculating villain. It was difficult to think of her as …

Kind of an airhead?

“I was stupid.” Atsumi’s shoulders slumped. “She still attracts all that attention, right? Does it still bother her?”

“She handles it okay, I guess.” Asuka tried to hide her frustration at what felt like a deflection. “She comes home late a lot, because of all the consults. I guess it’s the job, and she doesn’t seem to mind, but I don’t know.” The wrapper crinkled as she pushed the stick up to take another bite. “if you ask me, it’s kinda creepy.”

“Back then it bothered her more than she let on, and she didn’t know how to make it stop. She was good at pretending everything was fine, but I think that’s why she said yes.” Atsumi shrugged. “Maybe part of it was morning sickness, but after I was gone I could always tell exactly when she woke up. That day-to-day stress.”

“That’s just a justification. And from what I hear, you didn’t just ask.” Asuka noticed Atsumi wilt at the criticism, no longer meeting her eyes. “Nobody who does something like that has pure motives, and nobody does it out of the blue without thinking they had a chance. You’d have looked like a huge idiot.”

“I was a huge idiot, though.” Atsumi continued staring down at the table. “Yeah, part of me, stupid high school me, thought she might fall for me, or something.“ She met Asuka’s eyes again. ”She was beautiful. But I didn’t even know if she liked women, and it just made sense. My parents would shut up, and it would solve her problem, so … I went for it.”

“Hmmph.” Asuka crossed her arms. “It still wasn’t the right thing to do.”

“It was irresponsible, I know. At least the way I went about it. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” Atsumi let out a long sigh. “I’m just glad she’s happy now.”

Asuka had been tempted to press harder, but with Atsumi's continuation it felt like tempting fate. She idly fiddled with the wrapper instead. “Everyone treats her like a pretty vase, or something. It just weirds me out.”

“I don’t blame you for being worried about her. I have a lot of regrets.” Atsumi ran her fingers through her hair. “Ah, I really hope she’ll even talk to me.”

“She never seemed that upset with you. And even if she was, I’m sure she still …” Asuka felt herself tense. “I mean, doesn’t she … love you?”

“The Ayako I knew … “ Atsumi gave a noncommittal hum, apparently searching for the words. “She'd refuse to believe I exist. So I’m a little worried she’ll just talk right past me.”

“I don’t think that’ll happen.” Reclining a bit, Asuka set her arms back on her lap. “She’s not that serious.”

“That doesn’t sound like her.” Atsumi’s words came out slowly. “I guess it’s been a long time, but like, Ayako … “ A little laugh. “She’d never call anyone by their nicknames, like some ex-student council president that hadn’t lost the habit. But she was worried everyone thought of her as cold, so nee-chan and I told her to try it, and when she did, she’d use the same completely flat tone. We both thought it was cute, but …”

For a moment Atsumi looked a little wistful, but she let out a harsh breath. “Sorry.” She hung her head. “I don’t want to embarrass you with ancient stories. I sound like an old lady, huh?”

“Actually, when I first saw you, I thought you had to be, like, my clone, or something. Or my twin sister.”

There was a giggle from Atsumi, but it was cut short, and she straightened in her chair. “Wait, you don’t have a sister, do you?”

“No, no, I meant, like the whole ‘long-lost twin’ thing.” Asuka paused. “Wait, you knew my name. And that I existed at all, I guess.” She leaned forward, suspicious. “How wouldn’t you know something like that?”

“Ayako talks a lot about you.”

Asuka swallowed. “Are you … saying you can actually hear …”

“Just bits and pieces.” Atsumi picked up one of the candies on the table and turned it over in her hand, inspecting it casually. “I thought if there had been an accident or something, maybe she wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it."

Maybe she didn't know everything after all, then. Asuka’s posture relaxed. As sensitive as the topic was, she’d probably admit anything to someone who she’d thought was gone, though she wasn’t sure Mom would. “Does Mom talk about herself much?”

“Not at all, but I feel like she’s been really preoccupied with someone for a while.” Atsumi shrugged; Asuka felt her heart skip a beat. ”Beyond that, I really don’t have a clue, so when I found out, I was really surprised. I was happy for Ayako, but …”

Atsumi’s smile was affectionate, but there was a tinge of sadness in her eyes. “I never expected a daughter. I feel like we would have had a lot of fun together.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever meet you, either.” Finally, a safer topic. “Maybe we could play a game or something until she gets here.”

Atsumi brightened. “Is Ayako still … “ She tore a wrapper open, and to Asuka’s surprise popped a candy into her mouth as she leaned forward. “The queen of board games?”

“Yeah. Sometimes Akira-chan gets lucky and wipes us out, but Mom’s completely unstoppable.” Asuka scanned the cabin—she’d already checked all the possible hiding places. “I think she might have left the box in the car, though.” Noticing her backpack, still sitting next to Atsumi’s parasol in the entryway, Asuka thought for a second.

You don’t get a chance like this every day.

She looked back at Atsumi. “I have an idea.”

A message finally came.

She wasn’t relieved at all.

Asuka watched the little cursor flash in the reply box for a few seconds, tried typing a few words out, deleted them, wrote them again, let them sit there this time. Nothing she could say felt right, especially juxtaposed against the cheerful emoji-dotted notice from Mom that she was almost there with dinner, with apologies for being late.

“I’m sure you’ve been bored,” it ended, and Asuka wanted to laugh.

If she could get in contact with Mom, it felt like she had some obligation to explain all of this before she arrived, but … how?

Glancing back at Atsumi in search of inspiration or at least distraction, Asuka found her fiddling with the game console. Asuka had just pulled it from her backpack when the phone buzzed from the bed, and she’d run off to check. Since then, whenever she’d looked up, she’d found Atsumi inspecting it with what seemed like a sense of awe, though she seemingly hadn’t yet worked out how to turn it on.

Mom never minded directness, right? Maybe she could just summarize the situation?

Asuka rubbed her forehead. Even for Mom, that would be too much.

There was a faint pop and a much louder clatter, and Asuka glanced up again. Atsumi’s hand was over her mouth. One of the controllers sat on the floor next to her chair, and visibly trembling, Atsumi leaned down and gently picked it up, handling it like it were a baby bird. Holding both sections over the table, she stared down at her hands, then looked back at Asuka, distressed.

“I think I broke it?”

Asuka held the phone’s delete key, and one by one the few words she’d managed to type disappeared. She let herself skim Mom’s message one last time before setting the phone down on the nightstand. Even if she’d found the words for a reply, it wasn’t guaranteed Mom would get it; that’s what she’d tell herself, at least.

She walked over to the table. Taking everything from a terrified Atsumi, she snapped them back together again and clicked on the power button. Atsumi let out an embarrassed giggle upon seeing it light up unharmed.

Taking it back from Asuka with both hands, she stared down, mesmerized. “I never thought people would still be playing this!” The screen’s glow flickered across her face in the dim light. “Do they still have Meowth? He’s my favorite.”

“Um, I think so.” Whatever conception of death Asuka had previously held, it had not included this. She surveyed the wrapper-littered table and frowned. At least they had one thing in common. “Mom texted me. She’ll be here soon."

“Oh, I’m glad!” Lowering her attention from the screen, Atsumi brought her hand to her chest in apparent relief. She looked up at Asuka as her daughter fussily collected wrappers from the table. “Nee-chan’s coming too, right?”

“Nope.” Asuka shuddered reflexively, struck with the mental image of being trapped with Akira in some tiny cabin like this, too snowed in to escape. One of them would probably leave on a stretcher. “It’s just Mom and me."

Atsumi blinked. “Oh? Is she okay?”

“Yeah. We’re seeing her in a few days.” Asuka searched in vain for the wastebasket. It was too dark in here. She found the floor lamp between the table and the kitchen and clicked it on.

Warm illumination flooded the cabin; her target now sitting obvious in the kitchen corner, Asuka tossed the trash in. ”She’s got some fancy place in Shinagawa, by her work, I guess. It’s kinda far on the train, but not, like, the afterlife.”

Atsumi looked pensive, and set the console down. “They’re not together, then?”

Still facing the wastebasket, Asuka froze, unsure exactly how to answer.

Atsumi seemed unconcerned with a reply, though, and when Asuka turned she found the curious prodding at Asuka’s possessions had apparently ended, too. Instead Atsumi rested her cheek on her palm, flashes from the looping cinematic on the screen intermittently casting light on her preoccupied expression. It was the first time she'd been this quiet since she'd arrived, and too jarring a shift for Asuka to feel relieved, even if she'd avoided elaborating on Ayako’s private life.

“I mean, I think they were,” Asuka finally offered, trying to placate her. “For a little while. A long time ago.”

Atsumi set her head down on the table over crossed arms.

Silence hung over the two, and Asuka, more out of a nervous desire to continue looking busy than anything else, moved to tidy up the kitchen. She’d only managed to turn on the faucet when Atsumi spoke again.

“Asuka, do you have any tea?”

“Sure. As long as you won’t melt, or anything.” There was a response from Atsumi this time, but only a polite hum, and Asuka instantly regretted the attempt at cutting the tension. A small kettle sat on the counter, and as she mentally berated herself Asuka filled it from the sink and seated it.

When she flicked the switch a memory struck, but she waited to speak until the roar from the boiling water subsided, and until she’d decided it was a good idea to bring it up at all. “Akira-chan said something strange about that once. Something like how a whole lifetime wasn't enough for her to deserve Mom."

“Ah. I think I understand.”

“It was weird.” Asuka fetched a mug from the cabinet overhead. “Akira doesn’t get all serious like that very often.”

“No, she doesn’t, does she?” Atsumi paused. “I guess that makes things … simpler?”

Asuka delicately scooped tea into the strainer and set it in the mug. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t know how to talk about what happened, if it came up. I was just drawn here. Then it was like, ‘Ah, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Making things difficult for Ayako.’”

The frustrated whine prompted Asuka to glance up. Atsumi was now slumped back in her chair, staring at the ceiling with her arms splayed at her sides. She casually rolled her head to the side along the chair back to meet Asuka’s gaze. “I really didn’t want to trouble her again, you know? But it’d be nice to tell nee-chan I’m not mad at her, or anything.”

“For what?”

The only sound in the room was water being poured into the mug, and when it was full Asuka turned back to find a look of confusion on Atsumi’s face.

“Wait.” Asuka thought for a second, still holding the kettle aloft. “Was Akira-chan interested in Mom back then, too?”

Slowly Atsumi sat up in her chair and set her hands in her lap. There was a long pause before she spoke, each word hesitant. “Asuka, do you know why they became friends so quickly?”

Asuka set the kettle down and lifted the strainer to the sink, then carefully walked the cup back to the table, contemplative. “They went to school together, and were both pretty popular. That’s all I know."

She set the mug in front of Atsumi and sat across from her again. “I always figured Akira would’ve messed around all the time in school. Mom said she was like her, though, really diligent. So they had that in common, maybe.”

“Something like that.” Atsumi picked up the mug and sipped her tea, a weary smile crossing her lips. “My sister was super tall, and cool, and all the rest. We went to an all-girls’ school, so you can imagine what she was used to."

Illuminated by the lamp, steam rose from the cup and drifted across Atsumi’s face. “Then in college, she hears this girl Kisaragi’s the center of attention, has to meet her, and Ayako’s completely … unimpressed? Not some groupie.“ She laughed softly. “They’re polar opposites, but my sister’s totally fascinated, keeps telling me how cool it would be to join some big company together someday.“

“Well, Akira did. She works in HR now.”

“She always thought she knew how people worked. I mean, she was good at it. But she stood out, so maybe it seemed easy.” She gestured out toward Asuka with her mug. “Ayako was a little more complicated, and pretty lukewarm about all of nee-chan’s wild ideas.”

“Akira-chan got Mom her job, though. Just a little pharmacy."

“Maybe because of you? My sister got kinda pissed off when she thought someone was wasting their talent. She thought Ayako was just being humble.” Atsumi shook her head. “One time when Ayako was helping me study for exams, I was telling her our parents were freaking out about grandchildren, and how sick of it my sister was. She just gave this tiny shrug, said the idea didn’t bother her, but that it felt ‘unreasonable’. For Ayako, that was a strong statement.“

Atsumi’s eyes seemed to brighten, and she tapped a finger on her mug. “And so I realized, maybe Ayako wasn’t just this super stoic person or anything, this ‘never-smiling goddess’. Maybe she was just … sad.” She closed her eyes and took a long sip. “Like the whole world, even her best friend, had these expectations of her, of some life she didn’t want, and she was trying to hold out all by herself.”

“Trying to drag her into some big career is one thing.“ Asuka set her elbows on the table. “Pushing her into a snap decision is way worse. Even if it’s just for show.”

“It was an impulse, a stupid impulse, I know.“ She averted her gaze. “I knew nee-chan would tell me that too, but we were so close, and suddenly she’d barely speak to me, and then … “ She shook her head slightly. “Maybe it’s silly, but I’ve always wondered if she realized there was something she missed, that I had figured out about her best friend that she never did.

“I miss her a lot, but I just wanted to give Ayako a choice, or try.” Atsumi set down her tea. “Because I thought, even if it’s only for a little while, maybe that would protect us from the world."

Atsumi’s right hand fell to her obi, and as Asuka’s eyes followed she noticed beside her mother’s fingertips a faint blemish in the cloth. She hadn't noticed it in the diffuse sunlight streaming through the windows earlier, but the ragged, darker border now seemed difficult to miss against the gleaming white fabric in the lamp’s sharper light.

Wordlessly Atsumi lifted the obi’s edge as far as the tight binding would allow, pressing it aside until a sliver of the garment below was visible. Her face held a pained, forlorn smile as she met her daughter’s eyes, the cloth she’d revealed stained a deep, fatal crimson.

“But … “

Then Mom’s voice from outside, calling Asuka’s name in cheerful sing-song—

“… my own family …”

And the door swung open——