In the dead of night, Homura-chan finally replied to my messages.
I had already fallen asleep by then and only discovered it when I awoke in the early morning.
With great excitement, I opened her text.
"Whenever you are free, do come over. I have something to pass you before I go."
There was nothing more.
Homura-chan had, evidently, decided to ignore everything I had to ask or tell her over the summer holidays. It was not all too unexpected an outcome given her personality, but I wished she would not so blatantly disregard me. I wanted to hear more about her hometown and whatever fulfilling experiences she had that summer. I had hoped she would promise to visit us for Obon and perhaps stay over for a few days after.
Indignant and unsatisfied, I put my phone down by the futon and got up to take a shower.
Looking back, however, I understand the position she was in. When she decided not to answer my texts and simply pushed forth what she needed to say, she must have thought that to be the kinder thing to do.
During breakfast, I shared what had happened with Nagisa's grandmother. She set her chopsticks down and frowned.
"Egoists are just like that, always thinking for themselves. You cannot expect too much from them," she said. "They are so shameless as to think they have the right to live idly. It's a sin not to make the most of one's life. They think the world owes them a favour for being born."
She seemed to think of Homura-chan as a worthless character. In my heart, I disagreed.
It should have mattered very little to me whether she understood Homura-chan or not. I was nevertheless angry and, forgetting my initial irritation at Homura-chan, began to think that Nagisa's grandmother truly was as backwards as the place she was living in.
I was tempted to ask her if she really knew what the word "egoist" really meant. But her cutting criticism resonated with me more than it should have. I felt like I was being attacked and humiliated. I could do no more than nurse my wounds and hide my outrage.
"Look at the girl who came by yesterday, remember? These types – really, I don't know what she's doing with her life. Her parents too, definitely… it is a shame."
She sighed and shook her head.
"Well, it's not our problem," she said. "Every day is difficult enough as it is."
The topic ended with that. I remained silent throughout it all.
I directed our conversation to our plans for the rest of the day, intent on forgetting the heaviness in my heart.
Given the number of people who had come throughout Obon week, beginning from Old Tanabata, we decided that it would be best to leave early before noon, to avoid peak period congestion.
The festival in town was inordinately large, and there was much to do both day and night. By that logic, Nagisa's grandmother insisted that we stay out the whole duration for all three days of Obon. I attempted to convince her to skip out on at least the second day and most of the bon odori.
"Mottainai, mottainai. There's no need to worry about me. Obon only comes once a year, and if you miss even this out, really, there's so little else to do here. No need to restrain yourselves because of me."
Though she claimed to be thinking for us, it was plain to see that she was the one who was most looking forward to the festival. I made no further protest and behaved as though I were delighted. At some point, I could no longer tell what my actual thoughts on the matter were.
We rested for an hour or so afterwards before getting ready.
"Will your parents be fine? Don't you want to go back?" she asked as she knelt before the shouryoudana, lighting incense. For each of the dead, she placed a stick before their tablets and muttered a prayer.
I was at the time, sitting on the tatami near the genkan, busy poking wooden chopsticks into an eggplant and cucumber for reasons unknown to me.
"They're alright."
"But they shouldn't be busy this period, isn't it so? It will be good to spend some time with them."
"Things are different for them. They won't be coming back this year."
"Your father is rather ambitious, isn't he? He's still young, but he thinks that he's at the start of a promising career. Who knows if it will be true?"
Finished, I placed the two fixtures by the entrance of the house according to Nagisa's grandmother's direction and returned to the shouryoudana. Calling Nagisa over, we offered our customary prayers.
Afterwards, Nagisa's grandmother took a lotus-shaped mochi from the offerings and bit off it. She offered one to each of us, saying that the dead would probably be happier if the living were to eat with them. I held her claims with suspicion, but nonetheless ate as well. Nagisa stuffed the whole cake into her mouth before flying off to the guest room, mumbling with her mouth still full that she was going to wear her summer kimono.
Then, Nagisa's grandmother moved to her room. I followed.
There, she retrieved her daughter's yellow yukata from a large cabinet by the corner of the room and placed it on her bedside table. Seated, I ran my fingers through the fabric, poring over its colours and woven patterns. For all the time it had been shelved away, it seemed to have aged little. It had been well cared for.
I wondered if it was really alright for me to wear something that held so much history and sentimental value.
I closed my eyes and stood up, clearing my head. After I undressed, I picked the yukata off the table and draped the juban over my shoulders.
"Here, let me," Nagisa's grandmother said, walking over to me from the cupboard. Scattered all over the floor where she had been were old photos of family and friends.
"Ah, there's no need; I know how to wear it."
"It's fine, it's fine."
Taking both ends of the eri in her hands, she began folding the garment over me. I let her do as she pleased, though not without slight discomfort. She was also strangely relenting at the time. If I had asked her to let go, she probably would have given me the space I needed. But because of this, I could not move freely. She seemed vulnerable then. I did not want to hurt her feelings.
In the end, Nagisa's grandmother dressed every layer of the yukata on me, down to tying the obi and combing my hair. As best as I could, I sat and stood at her instruction like a doll.
Nagisa, who was peeking in from the outside, made a face of minor triumph.
"Oyoyo! Mami can't wear a kimono? Kodomoppoi!"
Though she said that, her own was shabbily done. It was not that she did not know how to wear it properly, however. She was waiting for someone to assist her. Usually, I would be the one to indulge her. It must have been peculiar for her to see me being doted on.
"She can, of course," her grandmother said on my behalf. "But it is nice to have someone else help you from time to time. It is unnatural for people to be independent, you know. And when people help you, it is only right to be thankful."
Then, brushing the kimono with a hand, as if to dust it off, she made a few circles around me and nodded in satisfaction.
Looking in the body mirror, I checked if everything was in order.
I held my fingers at the ebi and traced the inner fabric. Everything was as it was supposed to be. But still, I could not but feel a lingering sense of incongruence, as though something was misplaced.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
"Nn."
She seemed to be referring more to the kimono than to me.
It crossed my mind that she was not so much looking at me as she was gazing far back into the past – when her daughter was still a young child and they had yet to grow apart.
Nonetheless, her remark made me happy. I truly thought it was beautiful.
Looking in the mirror, I thought, perhaps then this was what her daughter looked like many years ago. She must have been beautiful too.
Giving a slight twirl, I smiled to my reflection and promised not to dwell on unhappy thoughts for the duration of Obon.
Afterwards, we redid Nagisa's whole attire, which she had meticulously garbled up at every step to bring us the greatest inconvenience. Neither Nagisa's grandmother nor I saw this as cause for displeasure. When Nagisa offered a cheeky remark to her grandmother's remonstrations, her grandmother pinched her cheeks and, laughing happily, said, "Look at you, talking back like that."
