21. They never talked about it but sometimes, late at night when the fighting grew louder, Hiroki slipped silently between her sheets and she hummed old Japanese lullabies until he fell back to sleep.
There were three things she knew about her parents, without a doubt:
1. They loved her and Hiroki unconditionally.
2. They loved each other as much as they were able to.
3. The fact that they still got angry meant that they still cared about each other.
. . … . .
Hiroki cries and cries through his first year of life. It makes her mother more frazzled, already at loose ends from lack of sleep. Her father is tired from work and the baby gives him a headache. He retreats to the back patio to unwind while her mother yells after him. Hiroki cries harder, louder, to be heard over the yelling.
Yumi hums a lullaby her grandmother taught her, dangles a plush toy bear over the side of his crib. The baby isn't the doll she was promised, but he's getting more interesting the more he grows. Hiroki stares up at the plush toy, reaches out clumsily and knocks tiny fists against the toy.
"I'll give it to you," she tells him, "but you have to stop crying." Her baby brother reaches for the toy again and she gives it to him. "There, see?" she asks. "You don't have to cry all the time."
. . … . .
Yumi is nine when she learns about Morse Code in history class. She and Hina take to it immediately, memorizing the chart, adding their own modifications and shorthands, and tapping out coded messages across the classroom or while at each other's houses.
"Yumi, can you stop that tapping? I just got Hiroki down for a nap," her mother snaps. Yumi rolls her eyes, taps out a message that has Hina ducking her head to hide her smile behind her long hair. "I'm serious, Yumi, I have a deadline coming up and don't need to deal with him being fussy."
Right on cue, Hiroki stumbles out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and pouting. Yumi groans and ignores her mother's glare. Hiroki has always been a fussy child, especially if he's woken up before he's ready.
"Take your brother into the garden to play."
"What? Why?" Yumi protests.
"I have work and you woke him. Go on."
Yumi rolls her eyes but grabs her little brother's hand. "Come on," she says, tugging him along. Hiroki whines and pouts until Hina and Yumi share a look. "If you behave, we'll teach you something cool," Yumi tells him.
"Really?" he asks, eyes them suspiciously.
"Really," Hina promises. "Only big kids know it. But it's a secret, you can't tell anyone."
"Especially Mom or Dad," Yumi adds. She holds out a hand, pinky extended. "Promise?"
Hiroki bites his lip and studies both of them before he grins and wraps his own pinky around Yumi's. "Promise!"
Hina smiles back, picks up a stick, and begins tapping lightly against the side of the small garden shed.
/
Yumi isn't sure what sets off the fight two days later. It's a rainy day, Hiroki pouts about being stuck indoors and her mother is glued to the computer, working on editing an article. Yumi spends the day curled up in her room reading Peter Pan and organizing her closet.
Her father comes home later than usual, face lined and tired. Hiroki bounces around his ankles like an excited terrier. Yumi can hear the commotion from her room. She peeks her head out into the hallway and ducks back in. Her parents have that look about them again.
Dinner is stilted, tense. Her father asks her about school, comments on the toughness of the noodles, chastises Hiroki for spilling his cup again. Her mother's mouth tightens and Yumi shovels more food into her mouth. "Yumi, do not stuff yourself," her mother instructs. Yumi nods, chews slowly.
"She's hungry, it's late," her father responds.
"And who's fault is that?" her mother questions.
Yumi clears the dishes quickly while her parents sit in stony silence. She kisses them each on the cheek before retreating to her room for the night. Hiroki trails her and she doesn't say anything when he climbs into the bed next to her.
He is too big for lullabies, but she runs her fingers through his hair and hums softly. She switches to words when the arguing starts, and lets the melody trail off as Hiroki snores softly. She listens to the thunder rumbling outside and the storm crashing inside, and doesn't fall asleep for a long while.
. . … . .
France is an adjustment.
Yumi still hasn't forgiven her mother for the lies she told. It is not better. She misses Hina, she misses Kaito. She misses visiting her aunt on Sundays, she misses the sweet, crisp taste of melonpan. Whatever truce her parents had agreed to lasts for three glorious weeks – long enough for her to begin to relax.
It ends in a crash of broken dishes and angry voices. Her father slams the door shut and does not come back. Yumi sits in her bed, knees drawn up and textbook discarded. Faintly, she hears a tap, tap, tap on the wall behind her head. She taps back quietly.
When her door opens a few minutes later, she isn't surprised to see Hiroki. His hair is tousled, and he still has that air of sleepiness around him. Wordlessly, she lifts the corner of her quilt. Hiroki pads quietly across her room and crawls into bed next to her.
She wraps an arm around him, rests her chin atop his head. "I thought they were done fighting," Hiroki protests.
"So did I," she agrees.
"If they hate each other so much, why do they stay?"
"Don't say that, they love each other. You'll see, tomorrow will be back to normal. If they didn't argue, then you'd know they hated each other. Arguing shows that they still want what's best."
"They could do it quieter," Hiroki protests. He burrows closer and Yumi hums an old lullaby her mother used to sing, listens to her mother's muffled voice and clanking china.
/
In the morning Yumi is filling a bowl with cereal while her mother wrestles Hiroki into his school clothes upstairs. She looks up as the front door clicks open and sees her father, still in last night's rumpled suit, enter the house. He is holding a white pastry box in his hands. He looks tired when he faces her.
"Yumi," he greets.
"Good morning," she replies.
Her mother comes down the stairs then, eyes shadowed dark from a sleepless night. She pauses on the stairs when she sees Yumi's father. "Akiko," her father says.
"Takeyo," her mother replies. And then her mother hurries down the rest of the stairs, slaps her father's shoulder, and then wraps him in a hug. "Do not do that again! I was worried all night!"
"I am sorry," her father states. He hugs her mother, holding the pastries out of harm's way.
Yumi meets Hiroki's eyes from where he's paused on the stairs. Told you, she mouths at him.
. . … . .
"Alright, so since we're all going to be working together, we should get to know each other," Odd announces. He flops onto the ground and twists so that he's still watching them. Yumi and Jeremie exchange a look as Odd waits expectantly. "No volunteers? I'll go first."
"Is this really necessary?" Ulrich questions. He's sitting cross-legged on the ground, tossing a small hacky sack ball back and forth.
"Yes, Ulrich-dear. If I'm leaving my life in your hands then I want to know who's hands those are."
Ulrich rolls his eyes and Jeremie shakes his head. Yumi scuffs her foot against the late summer grass. They'd convened in her backyard after school in order to discuss the next steps.
"So, as we know, my name's Odd, I'm a Cancer and enjoy long walks- Ow!" he yelps as Ulrich throws the hacky sack at his head.
"Be serious," Ulrich admonishes.
Odd sticks his tongue out, throwing bits of ripped up grass at Ulrich. Jeremie gives a long-suffering sigh and adjusts his glasses. "I like robots," he states.
"Yeah?" Odd asks, looking up. "Like mecha?"
Jeremie shrugs, ducks his head to hide the faint pink tinge coloring his cheeks. "I think they're interesting, all types. You're essentially creating something that has the potential to be alive, especially if you look into AI technology. I'm in the robotics club."
"That's really cool," Odd replies. "Do you think you could create a robot that does homework?" Jeremie rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "What about you, football star? Typical jock or do you have other interests?"
Ulrich frowns and retrieves the hacky sack from where it had rolled away from Odd. "I'm an open book," he replies with a shrug.
Odd frowns at him. "Somehow I doubt that. No one is an open book."
Ulrich shrugs again and then three pairs of eyes are suddenly focused on her. Yumi flushes and rests her chin on her raised knees. "I used to live in Japan," she replies.
"That explains the accent," Odd nods.
"As if you're one to talk," Jeremie retorts. Odd just grins and ignores him.
"That's about it," Yumi adds.
"There's gotta be more," Odd presses. "How did you learn to do that thing with the fans?"
Yumi shrugs and picks at a loose thread. "I don't know, I just did it. How about you and the flips?"
Odd's grin widens. "Ah, well, I, my dear Yumers, am full of surprises."
"Don't call me that," she snaps. That's her mistake, she realizes as she watches Odd grin. The best way to get Odd to do what you want is to not react. Before she can protest further she hears the raised voices coming from the kitchen. The boys all look over toward the kitchen door curiously. "It's just my parents," she states. "You should probably go."
"You sure?" Ulrich asks, staring over her shoulder at the house.
"I'm sure, it's fine. I'll see you tomorrow for practice."
Odd is frowning as they get to their feet. She leads them to the garden gate, to spare them the explosion going on indoors, and smiles brightly at them. "You sure you're okay?" he asks, voice more subdued than she's heard before.
"I'm sure, they get like this sometimes. No big deal."
/
Ulrich is still watching her when they pause for a water break. Yumi raises her eyebrows at him before setting her water bottle aside. "Do I have something on my face?" she asks.
Ulrich flushes and shakes his head. "No, no. You look good, fine. Normal, I mean." Her eyebrows climb higher and he shrugs and sits on the mat next to her. "How did the fight go?"
"The fight?"
"Between your parents."
"Oh," she shrugs and ties her hair back. "It was nothing, you should hear it when they're really upset," she replies with a laugh.
Ulrich nods and fiddles with the clasp on his bottle. "If you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen," he says finally.
Yumi tilts her head, studies him for a moment. She reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. "Thanks, but it's fine, Ulrich. Sometimes they yell at each other, they've done it as far back as I can remember." She shrugs. "Sometimes it's the only way they can communicate with each other."
Ulrich is quiet, watching her with an expression she can't decipher. After a moment he shakes his head and rolls his shoulders. "Come on, we should have time for another round," he states. He gets to his feet and offers her his hand.
She takes his hand, allows him to pull her up to her feet. She feels off that last match though, too slow with muddled thoughts. Ulrich's movements are careful like he can tell, his expression guarded. Yumi isn't surprised when she loses in the end.
. . … . .
"You're too old for this," Yumi groans. She rolls over as Hiroki crawls into her bed.
"They're fighting again," Hiroki mumbles. "Couldn't sleep."
Yumi rolls her eyes and checks her phone. "It's two in the morning, how are they fighting?"
Hiroki's shoulders hitch briefly and he curls up with his back to her. "You can't hear them from here. They're in the kitchen arguing. I think it's money problems this time."
"Dad's working overtime, it'll be fine," Yumi murmurs. She reaches out, runs her fingers lightly through Hiroki's shaggy hair. He's thirteen now, he really is too old to crawl into her bed because of an argument.
"Do you think Dad's company will do lay-offs?" he asks.
"I think you shouldn't worry about it. Whatever happens, happens. We'll get through it." Hiroki shifts and Yumi lets her fingers tug lightly at his hair. "Go to sleep, Hiroki. I have a math test in the morning."
"Yumi," Hiroki murmurs as she's drifting back to sleep.
"What?"
"Can you…do you mind…?"
She sighs and finger-combs his hair, hums the lullaby she should have forgotten ages ago. Hiroki relaxes next to her, breathing evening out. Yumi lies awake, listening to raised voices and long silences, and doesn't sleep.