Twenty-One

In her casual short's pockets, she has: a small coin purse in the left one and a tiny memo book and pen in the right one. In the breast pocket of her polo, she has: a shard of tile she'd liked the look of because it resembles a cheesecake slice (why does she find certain things beautiful and others not?). At her feet are her harp case—"Perhaps you'll broaden Elfnein's musical education," Miku had said—and a large picnic basket.

She had fretted over whether Elfnein would like this or that, and if Miku hadn't stopped her, she would've still been agonizing over what to put on and take off the menu without rhyme or reason. She had gotten up extra early today to help Miku and Hibiki prepare sandwiches, fruits, salads, and lemonade. From sweet to sour, there's enough variety that even if Elfnein dislikes absolutely everything, Carol will at least have enough data to inform a better menu next time.

…Will there be a 'next time'? In the event of such catastrophic failure, will Elfnein grace her with a third chance?

Miku catches her eye in the rearview mirror as Hibiki calls out, "We're here!"

She takes a few deep breaths. The place is here, and the time is now.

[***]

She breathes in as deeply as her lungs allow: grass, wildflowers, sunlight. If she could make this scent into a candle, she'd call it 'reconciliation.'

She holds her breath for a long moment as she does her best to sear the sight before her into her memory: Elfnein, barely visible under her enormous sunhat, meticulously laying out glass containers from their oversized picnic basket onto their pale-yellow blanket.

Bees and dragonflies drone in the background. Honeydew cubes bring cool, sweet relief. She's holding her fork in such a tight grip that the warm metal of it leaves indents on her skin. Her lungs burn, and she exhales slowly.

They are in Elfnein's meadow. This is their second picnic. Right here, right now: they exist.

[***]

The third time, Elfnein and her parents come to the city. Miku picks them up from the train station; Hibiki, barred from driving, paces nervously along the sidewalk enough for all of them. Eventually, Elfnein and her guardians spill out of Hibiki's car.

Elfnein's Blue Kazanari carries an oversized picnic basket identical to the one Hibiki brought down from the attic. Elfnein's Pink Kazanari gracefully sweeps Hibiki into what looks like a bone-crushing hug, which Hibiki returns just as fervently. Kazanari, the awkward one, keeps one hand on Elfnein's back. Miku ushers them all inside—well, the adults inside, and the twins to the backyard.

She can't bring herself to say the words, but Elfnein understands. Between them, they lug the picnic basket through the house and beneath the branches of the big oak tree. They set up their blanket alongside the tree's single protruding root.

The place is Carol's home. The time is several hours before sunset.

"Does the nighttime sky look different here, to you?" she asks as the thought occurs to her. "It obviously is, of course, but…when I think back, it's just a blur. It's like the sky has always looked like it does, here, at night. The stars here are the same stars I've always seen. Is it like that, for you?" She looks up into the wide blue above them, even though the daylight masks the other celestial bodies out there.

"…I haven't looked at the stars. Not for a while. So, uh, I don't know if the sky looks much different here." Elfnein looks apologetic as she admits to this. Why? "Um. Sorry," says Elfnein, as if Carol hadn't deduced as much.

Counting stars is a coping mechanism. When the point was to sleep, they would count sheep. When the point was to rest, they would count stars. "You don't have to apologize for finally being able to sleep well."

Elfnein looks even more apologetic at that. "N-no, I mean… I mean, I usually stay with—with, um—" Elfnein gets steadily redder in the face as Carol stares. Elfnein does not finish her sentence.

"I already know that you think of them as your parents," she says finally. Elfnein shrugs, looks away. "I'm not going to—going to tease you for that." Elfnein winces, and something hot flares in her throat. Still? "I'm not."

Now, Elfnein stares as Carol turns red (as she suppresses irrational tears because, really, what did she expect?). "I apologize," says Elfnein. Elfnein goes as far as to grab Carol's sleeve. "I know you won't."

Elfnein does believe her, Carol decides, and that's that. As much as she wants to gloss over the incident, however, she knows Papa and Miku and Hibiki would prefer resolution. So, she solemnly answers, "I accept your apology," as all of her parents have taught her. Deciding that's enough resolution, and not wanting to linger in uncomfortable silence nor uncomfortable thoughts, she shoves a cookie into her mouth and says, "Maybe you can come with us when we go watch the Perseid meteor shower. Your parents, too."

"If you invite us, M-Mom will want to invite everyone else."

"Actually, so will Hibiki. Still, it wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

Elfnein gives a long-suffering look. "Aunt Kirika, Aunt Shirabe, and Aunt Chris stayed with us for a while during Christmas. It got…overwhelming, sometimes."

The spike of jealously isn't quite so sharp, this time. "I'll ask Miku about it; I'm sure she'll think of something."

[***]

The place is a public park. The time is one bright, summer day: their fourth picnic.

She looks at Elfnein's parents, and calls them "Aunt Maria," and "Aunt Tsubasa." They both cry, and so do Hibiki and Miku.

Carol keeps her eyes firmly on the big blue sky above them. She works her jaw. Forces down the lump in her throat. Steps out of reach of weepy adults. "I want to watch the Perseids with Elfnein. Just us—and you, because you're her parents. And Miku and Hibiki, because they're my parents. Please coordinate with Miku. That's it. We'll be over there, next to that fountain. Bye."

For some reason, Elfnein appears to be even more embarrassed and has already started hustling away. "You're even more awkward about feelings than Dad," Elfnein explains once Carol catches up and they settle on a bench with a good view of where they left their parents.

She can't help scrunching her face at Elfnein's strange life choices, but who is she to judge? So, she instead points out mildly, "You're not any better adjusted than I am."

"Yes, I am," Elfnein frowns at her.

"No, you're not."

"…What evidence do you have to back up your claim?"

As it so happens, she has a notebook dedicated to deciphering Elfnein. Each time she has an encounter with Elfnein, she writes down all her observations and compares them to what she remembers of the Elfnein she used to sort-of know. Best not mention any of that. "Let's agree to disagree."

Elfnein stares at her. She stares back. Elfnein subsides as expected.

The fountain burbles.

"Next year we can have a meteor watch party, if you want," she says so that they don't get stuck sitting in separate little bubbles.

"Mm… no. No, I'd rather not," Elfnein decides. "We should establish boundaries—we don't have to invite everyone to everything."

That's one well-adjusted quote to write down in her notebook; it's a good piece of evidence, but not enough to tip the scales in Elfnein's favor.

[***]

"Maybe you'll stop counting, one day," whispers Miku into the darkness of Carol's bedroom. Carol almost stops breathing. Miku's hand on her hair is firm, warm. "Not because each moment becomes less precious, but because each precious moment will build on the one before it and support the one after it. You'll build a ship of precious moments—or even just a lifejacket—to keep you going when bad things happen.

"Because it's not a question of balancing scales, of squaring debts, of keeping tallies. It's about building resilience.

"I don't think your father meant to burden you when he told you to live. I think he wanted you to let go of the counting.

"Even if you don't," Miku says, "I believe someday you'll overflow with precious moments."

[***]

The time is midmorning. The place is Elfnein's home. For their fifth picnic, they've decided that they do want to invite people to some things.

Leiur, Phara, Micha, and Garie visit a few weeks into the second semester.

"Who invited Garie?"

"Garie overheard those two talking," Phara points her new hand-held fan at Elfnein and Leiur, "and of course she could not resist insinuating herself in the private business of others."

"In-sin-uuuu-ate," Micha tests the presumably unfamiliar word in her mouth.

"You don't even go to our school anymore," Garie snaps back.

She makes eye-contact with Elfnein. They amend their prior arrangement: they only sometimes want to invite some people to some things.

[***]

Their seventh picnic is at the beach. Dawn broke just an hour ago, and the beach is still and tranquil and a gray that is somehow warm. She and Elfnein get sidetracked looking for seashells, but breakfast calls them back to the large rainbow umbrella that Hibiki has used to stake their spot.

Only Aunt Tsubasa and Hibiki are with them today, since Miku had a night shift and Aunt Maria decided to keep her company.

They're all quiet, and the waves come and go.

She knows that later, in the privacy of her bedroom, she'll write down everything she remembers. She'll count seashells. She'll analyze Elfnein's reactions, Hibiki's interactions with Aunt Tsubasa, and every single one of her own actions. She'll take inventory of the assorted stuff she puts into her assorted pockets.

She will take these building blocks and make something great.