PART II. "Order Made."
"Surely before I was born, I was asked by someone, somewhere, "The past or the future—I'll let you see one of them, so which one would you prefer?"
I probably chose the past, so I could become someone kind instead of someone strong."
— Yojiro Noda.
Minamino.
"I'll get it, dear." My mother began to sit up on the couch at the sound of our doorbell, so I had to move faster and make it to the hallway before she could get up.
I had spent the past half hour in my room. I toyed with some seeds I'd found in my mother's garden out back so she and Hatanaka could have their alone time. She had to cancel her at-home date with him last night after he insisted she get her rest. She only pushed to let her make it up to him by having him over for lunch today.
Though Hatanaka and I got along well, I often felt the need to keep away during his visits. It was a sense of privacy and respect, in a way.
I forced the flower I'd made bloom out of boredom only seconds ago to wilt and threw it away before I making my way down the stairs.
"I'll get it, mother." I looked over to the living room upon reaching the front door, and found my mother lying down again.
I assumed it would be Hatanaka, who had just left a while ago, possibly having forgotten something.
But the smell of cigarettes and alcohol graced my nose as I stepped up to the door. Someone attempted to mask the stench with a cucumber perfume. My curiosity rose as I found Hojo standing on the front porch. And, like my satchel in school, she held up a plastic grocery bag of food in front of me. In her free hand was another large water bottle, and tucked under that arm was a stack of papers.
Surely she wouldn't have the audacity show up smelling like a bar, it was only my heightened sense of smell.
She was clearly hungover: She had sunglasses on. Her peculiar hair tied up into a bun on the crown of her head. A baggy sweatshirt that she'd probably dug out of a corner in her closet somewhere.
That wasn't my issue at the moment. I was more concerned about how she found my house.
And why she'd come so late, near dusk, was beyond me. She looked like she woke up only a while ago. I never took her for the partying type.
Tempted to close the door on her, not wanting to give her any reason to pry into my life for her personal amusement, I stopped myself.
She'd come to see my mother, who would enjoy her visit. I stepped aside, allowing her entrance. My mother peaked up from her position on the couch in the living room to see who arrived.
She handed me the grocery bag and eyed the living room through her sunglasses. I could faintly see the outline of her cheekbones and eyes from behind her large sunglasses. Her eyes scanned about subtly as if they were taking in the amount of space she had in this house.
"Oh, Aiko!" She smiled as she adjusted herself to sit up straight. "What a nice surprise!"
"I'd heard about your little dizzy spell so I brought some food over." She returned my mother's smile and then held up a stack of papers. "And Minamino's school work."
"Thank you. The food didn't cost much, did it?"
"Oh, no, don't worry." Hojo hadn't taken her sunglasses off yet, and began moving into the kitchen with a smile too sly. "I get a discount."
I followed the girl into the kitchen and set the bag of food on the counter.
Turning to Hojo, I already assumed her answer. "What kind of discount?"
"The five-finger discount." She set my school work and her bottle on the kitchen table and sat down. She made herself at home despite it being the first time she stepped foot in this house. She dug in her purse, pulling out q-tips and lotion. "Those ingredients are for miso soup."
I set the bag of food in front of her as she rubbed lotion on the q-tips. She took my hint, understanding she shouldn't have brought stolen goods into my mother's home.
"Oh, cheer up, Momma's boy," she scoffed and lifted her sunglasses up, perching them atop her head. She resembled a raccoon with all the smudge around her eyes. If we were in a more horrid lighting I could threaten to compare her to a corpse. "I get things free there anyways. Start cookin'."
I couldn't help but prod at the girl, preparing an insult as she held a compact mirror to her face. "You can't cook?"
"Never was good at it." The q-tip accumulated her make-up, turning black as her eyes became clear.
I began inspecting her ingredients. "Not surprising from an—"
My eyes flickered down to hers as she stood up. She slammed her items on the table and sending the chair a few feet away, skidding on the tiled kitchen floor to muffle my observation. I hit close to home without even finishing the sentence, and her face tensed as she walked by me, snatching food from my hand.
She hissed into my ear, words filled with a copious amount of virulence. "I'm recovering, you insensitive shit."
"Is everything alright in there?" My mother's concerned voice carried in from the living room.
Hojo beat me to the lie, speaking with false reassurance as she rolled up her sleeves and turned on the faucet. "I'm fine. I just tripped over the chair."
And my mother bought the lie, as I assumed every other adult she spoke to did. It raised my interest in how words came out her mouth with ease, it was hard to notice what was a lie or the truth.
"Are you alright?"
"She's fine, mother." I knew she was getting up from the couch and I wanted her to stay put as long as possible to rest.
She'd only laid down after Hatanaka and I had to corner her into the couch, so I was adamant in keeping her there.
But my answering for Hojo only prompted an uppity glare, one of hurt pride. I couldn't tell if I upset her by lying for her or if she was still upset over my comment. I ignored her glare and watched as she turned away to begin dicing vegetables. She seemed fast and comfortable with the large knife just inches away from her hand so I figured she'd have some talent with food. I threw away her black q-tips and picked up the chair before stepping beside her to ready the soup, filling the pot with water.
Her sensitivity amused me, and we stood in an awkward silence for a few seconds. But to my surprise it was just me, because the insult seemed to have washed away like water off a duck's back for her just seconds later.
"No, you put wakame in there first." She held up the dried seaweed as I almost poured what she thought was the dashi in the large pot. The salt was in the spoon, and there was little of it to see from her distance, so I didn't bother correcting her. "Damn, you are a Momma's boy. She cook all your meals?" *
I was ready to dole out another hit on her disorder, but her playful grin halted my tongue. She had become upset over my insult, yet was still willing to prod. More so, it didn't bother me much as I was well aware of how to prepare more than many meals—especially one as simple as this. Yet she must have learned, or in her specific case, watched differently. She did certain tedious, simple things and was adamant they stayed as such.
"Dice the tofu and put rice in the steamer." She took the pot from me. "I'll handle the soup. It'll taste like shit though, with just the two of us cooking. We'll have to admit her to the hospital after we feed her this crap."
After Hojo let out a quiet, dark chuckle at her disturbing joke, I pushed it aside as her own way to cope with someone's sickness. The moment she turned her back after setting it down on the burner closer to hers, I threw a dash of salt in the boiling water. I then stepped next to her and helped prepare the meal.
In our silence, I remembered how surprising it was for her to find my address. She held true to her reputation.
"I know you've got everyone's business tucked away, but I didn't think you'd know my address." I kept my voice low, not wanting my voice to carry into the living room for my mother to hear.
Lips puckered in a strange smile, one of pride. "You underestimate how popular you are. All I had to do was ask a second year if she knew where you lived. Said your house was on her way to school."
I hadn't paid enough attention about my social status at Meiou. We had yet to finish our first month there. She looked up to me, noticing my curious stare.
"You're a 'regulation hottie' among the girls at Meiou, according to most of the girls that know who you are." My eyebrows rose at her words. "I think it's funny because I don't see you talk to anyone but the boys in the botany club."
"It's only the beginning of June in a few days." I ignored her comment, noting that school started in April. "And you seem to have worked your way up to the sharks."
"You mean assholes." Her voice lowered with each syllable as she heard my mother's footsteps, and she soon entered the kitchen.
"Do you cook at home, Aiko?" My mother turned to get the plating, but I hurried to the cupboards to beat her to it, forcing her to sit down.
"No, I'm not allowed to cook at home," her chuckle was strange, softer this time. "I'm a bad cook. Mom says I won't be able to find a husband. And if I do, I'll end up killing him with my food. She always tells me to watch her."
"I'm sure your cooking is fine, Aiko." My mother's laughed, but Aiko, with her back turned, widened her eyes and shook her head.
"We'll see about that," Hojo sang her disbelief in a whispered tune.
My mother sat at the table and watched the two of us work to make what I already knew would turn out to be a horrible soup. Though it would have come out fairly tasteful if I had taken charge, Hojo insisted on cooking the soup herself. Creating concoctions and viles from plants was different than creating a meal to eat. But to be honest, anyone else's cooking would have been better than this.
"Is it supposed to bubble?" She peered into the pot, steam rising up to her face, causing her mascara to clump together.
"No, that makes it bland," my mother laughed behind us, prompting Hojo to pick the pot up from the stove, waiting for the soup to still.
She laughed as my mother grimaced upon tasting her soup.
"Told you I can't cook." Hojo's serving remained untouched. "I told you, Minamino, you should have cooked it."
I couldn't help but deadpan at her words, but she only stifled a grin as she glanced over to me, happy to see my exasperation.
"Oh, it's fine," my mother laughed nervously.
"It's decent," I lied, gesturing the bowl to her and putting her in the spotlight. "Try it."
Light brown irises glowered over to me as she picked up her spoon. She avoided solid objects in the soup, allowing only liquid into her body.
"The tofu's great." My mother went out of her way to dig out vegetables and tofu from the pot, ignoring the liquid. "Whatever you did wrong, Aiko, it made the tofu delicious."
I watched the girl pick a small cut of tofu out and eat it, staring right at me, an attempt to prove her earlier words true. My mother turned her back for just a second and Hojo used the moment to give me the middle finger, petulantly sticking out her tongue.
It must have taken strength to eat a piece of tofu. I wondered if she made herself throw up or if she just restricted her intake.
"How are you feeling today, Shiori?" Hojo directed her attention to my mother as she sat down.
My mother had taken yesterday off after her fainting, though only due to the protests of myself and Hatanaka. She worked herself far too hard far too often, and her health was deteriorating. To her, though, her sick feelings must've been only a small hindrance.
"Oh, much better." My mother picked around the soup, targeting the diced tofu. "I was just a bit tired."
"My mom said warm tea or milk helps put you to sleep." Hojo dipped her spoon into the soup, stirring it. "Helps my little brother go to sleep when he's too hyper, or just can't sleep."
"I could try that sometime, any specific tea?"
"I think it's something like chamomile." She put her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hand. "I also heard miso soup helps you sleep too. Something about an acid that promotes melatonin."
"Shuichi." My mother turned to me, excited about having ingredients to make tea. "Don't we have some herbs in the back garden for me to make some tea?"
Hojo's brown brows raised in a teasing fashion and she grinned. She knew exactly where to take the next conversation.
"I'm sure we do, mother." I pushed the soup away, and though I knew what herbs to use, I wouldn't give Hojo the satisfaction. "I'll have to check tomorrow which ones we need."
The two females talked majority of the evening and their conversations followed well into the night. Hojo only ever addressed me in the conversation to throw minor, childish insults at me.
"Bet you fold his underwear into little squares to fit snug in his dresser."
"Do you sew his name in his underwear next to each day? Shuichi—Monday."
"I bet he cried on his first day of kindergarten when you dropped him off."
And my mother laughed all the while, entertained by Hojo's acknowledgement of my mother's love for me. But I kept my tongue in my mouth, keeping returning insults at bay. It was no concern of mine whether she needed to see proper counseling. I could have doled out some teasing on her family, but I had yet to meet anyone.
"I didn't realize it's so late." My mother looked up at the clock, seeing it had passed ten.
Hojo finished the last of her water bottle as she followed my mother's gaze, looking up at the clock.
"Yeah, I should get going." Hojo stood up from her chair, adjusting her sweatshirt to hide her stomach.
"Shuichi, will you walk her home?" Hojo looked down at my mother as she walked behind her, dreading my presence with her on her departure.
My mother turned to see her, and Hojo fixed her expression to a clean slate. "Where do you live?"
"It's not far at all."
My mother's eyes darted to me, a silent instruction to go with her regardless.
And though Hojo didn't want my company, I felt slightly inclined to do her this favor. She'd come to visit my mother when she wasn't feeling well, the least I could do was endure another half hour with her at my mother's request.
Aiko.
"You can just go somewhere you like." I looked up towards Minamino, who had obliged his mother's request. "I'm taking the long way home."
"My mother is a bit nosy," he replied, walking slightly ahead of me. "She'll ask me all about your home life."
"Tell her we live in a marvelous two story suburban home. We'll have two family, house trained dogs, and a beautiful greenhouse in the backyard."
I could only assume my lie interested him. He still tagged along, following me as I rounded corners and decided what detours to take to avoid my fuming parents. I hadn't told them I would be out late last night. In fact, I hadn't told them anything. I didn't even tell them I was visiting Minamino and his mother—I sneaked out when I got home earlier. I was in for an ass kicking when I got home. And with that thought, I realized it was a slight blessing for Minamino to have come along.
They wouldn't yell at me in front of a guest.
I pondered on the situation, whether I should bother with going home right away and getting everything over with. It wasn't appealing, to be honest. I dug in my purse for the fresh box of cigarettes I'd swiped from the grocery store. Unfortunately, the little box of laxatives I swiped along with it dropped out of my purse. The sound of cardboard on concrete drew Minamino's eyes to me as I picked up the little box, shoving it back inside my purse.
Now, I was open about many, many things—almost everything. So long as the person I talked to wouldn't drive me into more counselling appointments, I didn't mind sharing things. And I wouldn't mind telling anyone else that I had laxatives. But something felt off about telling this boy I was taking these to force out what everyone was forcing me to eat. I wanted to spare him the image of me blowing my brains out on the toilet, so I would happily lie if my mouth didn't work faster than my brain.
Thankfully, though, he didn't ask. It wasn't as if he saw the words on the box anyways.
My plan was fool proof. I would avoid the food as much as possible, eat only when forced or watched, and take the laxatives to rid that garbage from my body ASAP. That way, they'd see I was eating, and the counseling appointments would stop. I'd binge on weigh-in days and lax that garbage out after checking out.
"Do you mind?" I ripped the plastic wrapping off the box of cancer sticks and dug one out.
"You'll have a hole in your throat soon from those," his reply was all I needed. I inched away from him, giving us space as we walked together.
"It's just a psychological thing anyway." I lit the stick, turning away from him to exhale a cloud.
He turned towards me, trying to understand my words from the sentence that would only make sense if I'd finished it.
"They say they curb your appetite." His green eyes took on a strange polish under the street lampposts. No way was this boy full Japanese. Hell, sometimes I didn't even think he was a boy with how soft his features were. "Started them when my parents stopped letting me exercise. I think it's a psychological addiction."
Okay, so that was what I wanted to believe, we all knew it was physically addicting too... It started as a psychological addiction, even before I smoked one. I craved to get my hands on them because of the things all the kids said. The thought of having something that could make me not hungry was a god send.
"So what do you fear more?" God, paging Therapist Minamino. "Gaining weight or food?"
Taken by surprise, I stopped in my tracks. Nobody ever asked me that.
He stopped a few steps ahead of me, waiting for an answer, but I had no idea what to say. I had never thought about it before. I had never thought of one fear overpowering the other. It was as if they worked together to create a hatred and, dare I use the word, phobia. They worked together, I couldn't fear one without the other, I couldn't hate one without the other.
"I..." My jaw hung open, unsure of what to say. "I don't know."
Blank stare, green eyes, his facial expression would have said he didn't care about my answer. But he wouldn't have asked if he didn't want to know.
"I just want to be thirty-five kilograms..." I shrugged, feeling nervous. Thinking about my goal weight reminded me how fat I was at a whopping forty-three. **
Ashes from my cigarette fell to the ground, and he said nothing as he sized me up, taking in my height-weight ratio. I inhaled again, calming myself, and focused on the issue of going home. We began walking again, in silence, and I juggled the possibilities for going home. How long did I want to drag out the anticipation of my ass-whooping?
I could go home now, bring him with me to ward off the shitstorm that was brewing in my home, even if just for a few minutes. But my apartment was nothing like his home—much smaller, much cheaper. He wasn't the type to mouth off like Natsume, though. He'd keep his insults quiet, between the two of us, hitting hard where it counted. I'd rather that.
I turned on my heels, backtracking to a street we'd just passed that would lead us to the street that held my apartment. But as if he was one step ahead of me, he turned around with me. Surprised, I turned around to walk backwards, watching him curiously.
"Watch out for the light post." His warning was simple, but my reflexes were nothing compared to his.
I stepped out of the way too late. My heel hit the edge of the lamp, and I toppled backwards, smacking my head on the concrete. The stars in the sky grew, bright and colorful, as a sharp pain trickled up my skull. Minamino's silhouette leaned into my view, and I seemed to regain control of my vision as my eyes adjusted to the light from the lamp post.
I saw two of him hovering above me, twins, moving smoothly back and forth, a tad transparent.
"How are you feeling?" Him and his twin's hands remained in their pockets as they looked down at me, finding my fall the high light of his night.
"Like shit."
He extended his hand, offering to help me. But I lay on the concrete, dizzy and exhausted, staring past him and focusing on the lamppost.
He squatted next to me and his double followed, both holding out two fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
I stared for a moment, watching his twin steady himself in place with his original.
"Two." I rolled my head over, feeling the cold, rough concrete on my cheek, and stared up at the sole Minamino and his hair. It took on a darker tint from the back-lighting. "Are you full Japanese?"
"Technically, no." He rested his arms on knees, eyeing me curiously.
With him and his hair, he deserved to have the curious looks. People probably often thought he was a foreigner.
"That's cool." I stuck the cigarette in my mouth again, and he extended his hand once more, smiling with amusement.
Dizzy, I leaned against the wall along the street, collecting myself before continuing with him. Deep breaths helped, but I knew if I bothered to hurry home I'd probably collapse. Smacking your head on the ground when you're already light-headed from no food wasn't how you wanted to spend your time. Taking another drag, I eyed Minamino. I wondered why he actually took responsibility for walking me home.
I guess he was just a Momma's Boy.
"Where was your dad from?" He stood in front of me, feet away to avoid the smoke.
"He was three-quarters Japanese. Other than that, I don't know. I don't ask my mother about him because he died when I was young."
For some reason, I had a feeling he didn't care much about his father.
"How'd he die?" I exhaled smoke through my nostrils, becoming a dragon again.
"A car accident."
"That sucks."
God, Aiko, A-plus consoling. Give yourself a gold star for trying.
I stared at the ground around his feet, thinking of a way to make up for the inconsiderate reply.
"Sorry." I changed the subject and watched smoke snake through the air around me. "Why do you like plants? You're in the botany club."
Quick retort after a sly smile. "Why don't you like your friends? You hang out with the upperclassmen."
Was that some rhetorical question? Whatever it was, his evasion worked.
I shrugged, dropping the finished butt onto the concrete below before continuing home. "Because she pays for things."
So I was materialistic, sue me. I liked clothes, shoes, jewelry, and make-up and I looked damn good with all those on. I was milking Natsume's wealth because her family spoiled her and she had as good a personality as a horse's ass. Plus, we held this mutual distaste for each other and to be honest, I was still trying to pin point why she kept me around.
Our still long walk was silent as I maneuvered the two of us through back alleys and short cuts that I'd found after living in the area for so long. But as I applied lotion, I began to regret guiding him to my apartment complex. It was small, and the outside of the complex was a tad bit run down from being near the little riverfront.
I checked my watch, hoping my parents would be asleep. As we approached my apartment, I found the light in the living room on, illuminating through the window.
Compared to his large home, mine was small, crowded. One bedroom, one bathroom, and a living room where my parents slept. Our home wasn't messy, in fact it was quite tidy and clean (if you weren't going to count my messy room). It was still a downgrade for what Minamino was used to seeing.
"You can leave." I worked up the courage to open the door, knowing they were waiting for me.
It wasn't smart of me to come home reeking of alcohol and cigarettes like I had earlier. Especially after not contacting them that I was even staying out. To top that off, I sneaked out again to bring Minamino his school work and some food for Shiori.
But the door opened, almost dramatically, and my father's furious face was visible even in his silhouette. Through the yellow tinted lighting in our home, and the shadowing of his face, I could still see a red tint in his cheeks.
"Where have you—" He paused, noticing Minamino by my side.
"I was at his house." I gestured to Minamino. "This is Minamino, his mom was sick and I brought over some food for her as a 'get well' gesture."
"Did you cook?" My father raised a curious eyebrow, composing himself in front of Minamino, just as I expected he would.
"Yes."
Horror struck his face as he turned to Minamino. "Is she in the hospital?"
"Asshole!" I playfully punched my father in the arm as he laughed. He changed his demeanor to not create an uncomfortable atmosphere in front of our guest.
Minamino couldn't help but chuckle beside me. I was unsure if it was polite or if he found my father's insult funny.
"Her cooking was fine." Minamino smiled politely. We noticed my mother coming up beside my father, pushing herself into the doorway.
She hadn't noticed Minamino and began signing furiously. Her wrists and hands slapped together sometimes, emphasizing her anger. Minamino seemed surprise at my mother's actions, not having expected her to be deaf.
"This is Minamino." I emphasized my signing as I spoke to her, translating for my classmate. "His mother was sick and I was visit—"
She snatched my wrist and pulled me inside, shoving me into the living room. The jerking motion rattled my brain, causing the pain from my fall to flare again. She then returned to the doorway, bowing a bit to Minamino, no doubt with a polite smile on her face to thank him for walking me home.
Minoru peeked around the corner of the hallway, whispering loud enough for me to hear. "What's happening?"
"Go to your room, Minoru," I sighed. "They're mad."
My parents weren't mad often, but when they were, I didn't like Minoru seeing their wrath. My father loved yelling, it wasn't like my mother could ask him to tone it down for the neighbors or anything.
"Our room," he corrected me.
God, Minoru, don't remind me.
"Go!" I hissed at him, lurching towards him to scare him.
He cowered back, holding up his favorite blanket in front of his mouth. "But there's someone waiting to see you."
"Huh?"
"A big brother."
Big brother? Oh, god. Urameshi?
"Slicked back hair?"
Minoru nodded, I never would have guessed him to see ghosts. Maybe it was the fact he was a child. Children's sixth senses were always stronger when they were young, or maybe he had a gift (ha, more like curse) like me. I peered over to our room in the hallway and saw Urameshi leaning out of the doorway. He had a sheepish grin plastered on as if to apologize for getting caught by my little brother.
"What'll happen if you tell mom or dad about him?" I hissed.
Minoru's eyes widened as I clenched the air and gestured my hands upwards, mocking a wedgie.
"Okay, I promise I won't tell."
"Good, now go to your room."
"Our room."
"Go!" I stomped my foot towards him, feigning an attack, and he turned around and ran into our room.
Ugh, god, now he got me saying it.
My father thanked Minamino as he left and closed the door. The calm only lasted a few seconds before both of my parents turned around, anger spread across their faces.
It was times like this I wished I was deaf.
A/N: Yeah I don't remember ever seeing them say whether he was full Japanese, but I wanted to play that angle so.
* Wakame is edible seaweed. Dashi is a class of soup and cooking stock.
** 35kg is roughly 77lbs. 43kg is 94lbs.
