Warnings: None
Speak
Chapter 4:
"Coincidences"
Mother started worrying about the dinner days before it actually took place, and she didn't stop worrying about it until she had to plaster a smile across her face a few minutes before our guests were scheduled to arrive. I took multiple trips to the market with her in the days prior, selecting everything she needed to make a delicious family meal (I was better at picking produce than she was, though she attributed this knack to coincidence and not any powers I may or may not have possessed). Even Kazuyu and Shuuichi went with us once, as a sort of family outing, and on that family outing I learned something new about my step-uncle's impending visit.
"I'd like for the two of you to be there," Kazuyu said, addressing both myself and my stepbrother. We were eating dinner out at a restaurant; the groceries were in Kazuyu's car in the parking lot.
"Even Shuichi-san?" my stepbrother said, surprised.
"He's your brother and a part of this family too, Shuuichi-kun," my mother said after a moment of silence. She had recovered from the shock of hearing me blatantly described as an outsider quickly enough, and with kindness that did not surprise me.
"It's fine, Mother," I told her, smiling at Shuuichi to tell him that I didn't mind him at all (even though one part of me, the jealous part, did). "I don't live at home and I'm not technically related. I see his point."
However, Shuuichi still seemed embarrassed by his outburst. He said: "Sorry, Shuichi-san. You know I think of you as a big brother."
Much as I didn't want to admit it, his admission pleased me.
"And I think of you as my son," said Kazuyu. I transferred my attentions to him; we stared at one another with ill-concealed emotion. Our conversation about his treachery was still an open and bleeding wound, apparently. I could see the wariness coiled in his eyes.
I want you to be there because I don't want you spilling anything to your mother in revenge, he seemed to be thinking. That suited me fine. Let him be afraid, then.
"Thank you both," I told them. Shuuichi relaxed. Kazuyu did not. "But may I ask why it's important we both attend?"
Kazuyu perked up at that. "Mamoru has a daughter!" he said, smiling at his biological son. "She's older than you, Shuuichi-kun, and younger than you, Shuichi-san, but together your ages might balance each other out. I think it would be best if she had people around her age to visit with while my brother and I...catch up." He struggled to find the term to describe his reunion with his brother, I noticed. "I want her to feel welcome and get to know her cousins, after all."
Shuuichi sighed. "Oh, great, a girl cousin."
"Did you want a boy?" my mother teased.
Shuuichi was not ashamed to vocalize his desires. "Yeah, I did! Someone I could throw a ball around with or something. It'd be cool." He sighed again, hand running through his dark hair. "Oh well. Maybe she'll like videogames."
"Oh, I don't know. I think it'll be nice to have a little more femininity in our house," said Mother, smiling. "I might finally have a shopping buddy. Boys are never interested in stuff like that."
She looked at me when she said that. I smiled an apology. Shuuichi suppressed a small giggle. I sensed a joke he would not speak (probably one about my long hair and wide eyes, if I had to take a guess).
"Maybe you will," said Kazuyu, taking her hand beneath the table.
"What's her name, dear?" Mother asked.
"We didn't get that far in our conversation," Kazuyu admitted, looking a bit embarrassed. "But she goes to your old high school's sister school, Shuichi—Fukuya High, all girls. Maybe you'll already know one another."
My heart sank like a stone. I smiled anyway. "Maybe we will," I said, thinking of all the girls I'd left behind, all of them pining for the only red-headed boy in the entire school—maybe the only one in the city. I had to suppress a shudder.
I had no way of knowing, of course, just how right my stepfather actually was.
"This has to be perfect," Mother said when I arrived at her home three hours ahead of time. I was to help her cook. "Kazuyu is going to try to make amends with Mamoru and everything needs to be perfect."
"Of course," I told her.
"The meal is crucial," she said, eyes glittering. "We can't botch a single thing."
"Of course, Mother."
Later, when dinner was nearing completion and Mother started setting the places at the dining room table, she said: "Your cousin will sit beside you while the fathers take the heads of the table. Shuuichi will sit next to me." Her smile conveyed apology. "Do you mind? I figure a girl will want to sit by the older son, and Shuuichi might not even talk to her. He seems pretty disappointed she's a girl."
"I don't mind at all, Mother," I told her. I was up to my elbows in flour, kneading dough for rolls. When I finished I put them in the oven. Mother cast me a glance, tutted, and tried to rub a smudge of white power off my cheek with her thumb.
"Oh dear, I made you into a mess," she fretted. "Go upstairs and wash. I can manage down here."
I glanced at the clock on the wall. We still had 45 minutes to go, just enough time to cook the bread and just enough time for Mother to give herself an ulcer from worrying.
"You're sure?" I asked a bit dubiously, and she pushed me out.
"I need to go over everything one last time, so yes!" she said, shutting the door behind me. Her voice was muffled when she spoke from the door's other side. "Now wash!"
Like an obedient son, I trekked upstairs and into the hall bathroom. Shuuichi's room was down the hall; from it I heard the sound of a videogame (one with guns, the type Mother hated the most) blazing away like thunder.
"He had better turn that off soon, or Mother will scold him," I said to myself. I turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face to clear the flour. Then I scrubbed my arms clean. When finished, I gave myself a thorough once-over. My white shirt was spotless, sleeves rolled up as I liked them, and my jeans were likewise clean. I retied the elastic holding back my hair just to make sure it looked presentable. Otherwise I had nothing to do but wait.
I went to Shuuichi's room, for lack of anything better to do. He sat on the floor with a controller in hand. His room was messier than mine, with clothes and books and balls scattered across the floor. It was a wonder I could walk inside.
"Hello," I said. He grunted a wordless reply. Shuuichi had the linguistic skills of a Neanderthal when there was a game in the room. I sat down on his bed to watch the gore splash across the screen. Bored with that (I'd seen worse carnage in person, naturally), I let my gaze wander over the room until I spotted the computer on his desk.
"Would you mind if I used your computer to check my email?" I asked him. Shuuichi grunted again. Taking that as a yes, I sat at the desk (had to move a stack of magazines off the chair, of course) and jiggled the mouse. The screen woke from sleep mode with a flash of light, and I opened an internet browser.
I checked my school email first; nothing needed doing. Then, on a whim, I checked my 'kurama' address. The contents made me smile. Momo had replied to my last message the day after I sent it.
I'm not free this weekend, she had said, but I'm free the weekend after. Will that do? I was thinking sushi since that seems easy and quick and pretty fun, too, though you should choose since I'm the one who's taking you out. :P
Weirdly enough, my mom's a surgeon herself. She works at N Hospital in the critical response ward, and she graduated from Sarayashiki U. back when I was a kid. Kind of a weird coincidence, ha ha, though there are probably a ton of Sarayashiki U. med students out there and all that.
What year of school are you in? It's my last year of high school at Fukuya All-Girls School; heard of it? I'll be graduating this spring, and not a minute too soon if you ask me. I hate high school, personally. I want to study the subjects I like, not the ones I have to take to fill an arbitrary requirement. College sounds like so much fun compared to high school.
Anyway, see you soon, and tell me where you'd like to go. Also, do you play any sports? Consider the question an icebreaker (and yes, 'Mathletes' counts, Mr. Sarayashiki U.!).
She didn't sign the message, and I didn't reply with a salutation.
I went to Meioh High, actually, I wrote. As I laid down the words I felt a sense of unease rise inside my stomach. Isn't Meioh affiliate with Fukuya? We must have been in school at the same time. I wonder if I ever saw you at the school festivals? Our schools held their festivals jointly, and our sports teams played against each other, if I recall correctly.
N Hospital? That's a very prestigious establishment. Do you know what professors your mother had at university? Many of the professors here are tenured, so we very well could share professors if she attended recently enough.
I understand what you mean, regarding high school curriculum. I didn't care for it. College is a freeing experience, for the reasons you described, but I'll save stories about that for our outing, if you don't mind.
As for sports—
I didn't know quite how to follow that. I was an athlete, if you could call fighting a sport, but I never played on any school teams. In the end, I felt like being honest would work the best.
As for sports, I continued, I do consider myself athletic, but I did not play team sports in high school. I played baseball in middle school, though, and I like running. I once participated in a science competition, to tell you the truth, and the experience was...well, I'll save my stories of nerds-in-crisis for our outing, as well.
Do you play any sports?
I sent her the email right then. The coincidence of our high schools was unsettling, but not unheard of or outright alarming. Sarayashiki wasn't an enormous city, after all. Still, I filed the information away for further study.
"Who you talking to?" Shuuichi said. He was powering off his game, finally, and regaining his ability to speak like a fully evolved human. Just in time, too.
"A friend," I told him. "We should probably go downstairs. Mother will be getting anxious."
"Right," he said, standing up. He was wearing an outfit similar to mine, though his was somewhat rumpled. "Let's go."
We got downstairs just as the front door opened. Shuuichi and I both started smiling the way Mother wanted, grins welcoming and overlarge, but it was only Kazuyu coming home from work. Our smiles deflated into bored expression so similar we finally looked like brothers.
"Sorry I'm late!" he said, handing his coat to Mother as he kissed her. "Traffic slowed me down."
"They're not here yet, either," she said, voice high. Her hands fluttered like hummingbirds. "Go freshen up and we'll wait for them." She saw my brother and me on the stairs. "Oh, good, you're here. You can wait in the living room, if you'd like!"
"Sweet!" said Shuuichi, and he bolted off. I, however, stayed with Mother. She wrung her hands and patted her hair, smoothing strands of her bun into rigid place ad infinitum. Clearly she needed my support.
"Oh, I hope they like us," she said. Her dark, liquid eyes shimmered with longing. "Kazuyu was telling me how much he regrets the missing years. We want them to come back and get to know us after tonight."
"I agree, Mother," I said, distracted by the sound of tires on the driveway. My demonic hearing was better than her human hearing, so I waited until headlights flashed in the front window before saying: "I think someone's here."
"Eep! Do I look presentable?" she said, franticly tugging at my sleeve—and then a car door slammed. She smoothed her skirt and patted her hair. I caught her wrists in my hands.
"You're beautiful," I told her, eye to eye and serious.
Mother sighed, shoulders slumping. "Thank you," she said with a small smile. "You always know how to calm me down."
Of course I knew. I had years of practice—and when she smiled, I couldn't help but smile in return. "We'll just be ourselves and they'll beg to come back," I told her. I cupped her cheek. "You'll see. Trust me."
Her smile turned into a grin. She finally looked calm, but then she jumped when someone knocked on the door. "I'll get it!" she sang. I stood behind her as the door swung open under her eager hand. Into the night she said: "Hello, and welcome to our home!"
The door and Mother blocked most of the outside world. I saw a man first—Mamoru, presumably—looking awkward and fidgety beneath Mother's cheer. His bright eyes scanned the doorway and the pair of us in turn, obviously feeling as apprehensive as Mother. Then he bowed, dove-gray suit rumpling with the motion.
"Thank you for having us," he said, black hair falling into his eyes. He was better looking than my stepfather, and taller, and more muscular. Frankly, he looked younger despite being the senior brother. Perhaps worry had aged Kazuyu unfairly. "My name is Mamoru." Then he added "Kazuyu's brother" almost as an afterthought. I could tell he wasn't used to saying it.
"My name is Shiori," said my mother, returning his bow. "I am Kazuyu's wife, and this is my son, Shuichi."
I stepped forward and bowed as well. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mamoru-san," I said.
A sharp intake of breath split the air behind him.
Mamoru glanced over his shoulder. "Don't stand back there, Momoko," he said, smirking with good humor. His arm snaked back and dragged the girl forward by her shoulders.
My jaw started to drop, but I managed to keep it closed.
"Hello, dear," my mother said, bowing at the same mute girl I had been emailing for the past week. "Oh, you look just like your father, don't you!" She did not wait for Momoko to reply and instead said: "But Kazuyu mentioned that there might be three of you."
I didn't look at Mamoru when he explained Momoko's mother would not be attending. I was far too busy staring at his daughter, who stared right back at me with a face that said "What the hell is this shit?" louder than any shouted words. But then my mother addressed her and Momo was forced to break our gaze.
"Well, Momoko-san, this is my son, Shuichi," she said, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me to her side. "I hope the two of you can become good friends. Isn't that right, Shuichi?"
Momoko nodded, brow furrowed. I could see the wheels turning behind her deep, expressive eyes. With a flash of dreadful certainty I knew that she had picked up on my seemingly-new name. Momo only knew me as Kurama, after all. I belatedly willed my mother to quit using my name in every sentence, but I knew by then the wish had come too late. Momo wouldn't forget so easily.
"That's right, Mother," I said, trying to keep my bland and pleasant mask from cracking. "Shall we show our guests inside?"
"Oh, of course!" she said, having forgotten about inviting them inside in her eagerness to greet them properly. "This way, please."
Mamoru, arm still wrapped around his daughter's shoulders, followed after Mother without any hesitation, but Momo dragged her feet as she took me in. Shock had given way to annoyed confusion, a deadly combination if there ever was one, but a quick scan of her hands let me breathe more easily. She had no dry erase board or pen with which to question either myself or my family members. Small favor…
We went into the living room. Three loveseats arranged around a coffee table afforded us ample room to sit. Momo and her father shared a couch while my mother and I did the same, and for a moment no one quite knew what to say. That was when Shuuichi walked in from the kitchen, mouth full and fingers wrapped around a biscuit.
"Oh," said Mother, standing. "This is my stepson!" She guided him over to the last loveseat and sat him down (with a forceful push to his shoulders; her nerves hadn't yet abated, it seemed). "This is your uncle Mamoru-san and you cousin Momoko-san. Say hello!"
"Hello," he said, a little shy after he noticed Momo. A blush rose in his cheeks; I wondered at it before realizing Momo did indeed look attractive this evening. Her hair was styled in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, revealing its slender lines. She wore a gold-colored dress that made her bronzed skin glimmer; the modest cut of it highlighted her trim, athletic figure and long legs. She wore just a touch of cosmetics on her lips and lashes, colors simple yet sophisticated. Even when she glanced at me, annoyance still clear on her features, her dark eyes glittered like polished onyx. No wonder Shuichi blushed.
"You're... Kazuyu's son?" said Mamoru, staring at Shuichi. I knew exactly what he saw: a mop of brown hair, narrow brown eyes, tan skin, and an uncanny likeness of Kazuyu if one ever existed.
"I'm Shuuichi," he said.
Momo's incredulous eyes flicker back to me. What, now there are two Shuuichis? I could see her thinking.
Before either of them could make a comment, Mother noticed and interpreted Momo and Mamoru's raised eyebrows (this father and daughter pair resembled one another quite a bit; even some of their gestures were the same).
"It's coincidence they have the same name, aside from a minor spelling difference," Mother said, "but we get along fine by using honorifics. This is Shuuichi-kun—" she pointed at my brother "—and Shuichi-san." She pointed at me.
My mouth went dry when Momo's eyes narrowed. She nudged her father in the arm. He looked at her, and with a start I remembered her offer over email to teach me sign language.
This bodes ill, I thought. She'll bring up my names to her father, won't she?
Luckily for me (and unluckily for Momo), I found a moment's reprieve in the form of my stepfather. He walked into the room just as Momo lifted her hands to sign, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves with a frown. When he realized he was not alone, he froze, eyes flying to his brother and stopping there. Mamoru, likewise, flinched and went still. Momo did the same, a shorter, feminine mirror of her father sitting next to him on the beige loveseat.
"Hello," Mamoru said, clipped voice finally finding words.
"Hello," said Kazuyu.
They stared at one another.
Momo looked up at her father, anxious, and squeezed his hand. He shot her a thankful glance and squeezed back. Then he stood.
Mother and I, sitting on the second loveseat, watched the two men approach one another with bated breath. We released those breaths when the brothers hesitantly—and then more firmly—took each other's hands in a western-style shake.
"Kazuyu," said Mamoru.
"Mamoru," said Kazuyu. He swallowed; I heard his dry throat click. "It's been too long."
"Yeah," said Mamoru. His lips twisted. "How... how have you been, since..."
"Oh, good," Kazuyu said. "Working a lot. You?"
"Started a business," Mamoru said. "Booming. Um."
Kazuyu's eyes wandered to the rest of us. He spotted Momo. "Your daughter?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well." He looked like he had no idea what to do, which he probably didn't. To Momo he said: "It's nice to meet you. I'm Kazuyu. Call me... Kazuyu."
She nodded, smiling a smile befitting a skittish rabbit, and then blinked up at the ceiling. She was holding back tears, oddly enough. I could smell the salt of them from my seat.
"You've met my sons, and wife?" Kazuyu went on, addressing both Momo and Mamoru.
"Yes."
"Good." He scanned the room again. "But, your wife, is she—?"
"We divorced," Mamoru said tightly. An awkward silence filled the room to the brim.
"I'm... sorry," said Kazuyu.
Mamoru grimaced. "It was a long time ago."
"I see." My stepfather looked at my mother. "Shiori, is dinner...?"
She hopped to her feet. "Of course! This way!"
And with that, we marched into the kitchen. Mother quickly and efficiently did her best impersonation of a sheepdog, herding everyone into their predetermined spots at the table—everyone, that is, besides me and Momo. Mother seemed to think that if she took care of everyone else, we would be able to figure out where to sit without her help—but I didn't want to sit next to Momo, not when so much tension charged the air between us. It took all the restraint I possessed not to excuse myself the minute we sat down and she commenced staring at me from the corner of one dark eye. I, in turn, looked at my stepfather, brother, mother, and uncle with a smile befitting a priest.
I did not—would not—allow Momo's obvious consternation affect me. Not tonight. Mother had requested a perfect night, and I would deliver upon my promise.
Shuuichi-kun stared at Momo unabashedly. His behavior made me smile; a human boy of his age was always swayed by a girl, no matter if she was a beauty or only as pleasing as Momo. I knew she was new enough not to feel like a relative, for what it was worth. Shuuichi's on-sight fascination would fade over the course of the next ten minutes.
Mother had made Italian food: spaghetti with meatballs, green salad, and freshly baked bread. Conversation picked up once we started eating, words stilted by subtext and bad memories. The talk between the fathers was so awkward, everyone else lapsed into silence and concentrated on their food. Momo ate faster than anyone else, which surprised me given she took great care to eat with small bites and thoroughly chew everything she put in her mouth. She ate with a ramrod straight, back, too, raising her head each time she swallowed, pausing between each bite, waiting for it to go down before loading her fork with more food. Her table manners were superb.
Well—some of her table manners were superb, anyway. When she emptied her plate aside from a smattering of leftover noodles, she began picking at their remnants with her fork. Metal tines clinked noisily against the porcelain dish, delicate swipes guided by her steady hand.
Her very steady hand. Her fingers twitched with controlled, deliberate movements, like she carved an image on her plate.
It hit me: she wasn't picking idly at her food. She was doing something specific.
What in the world…? I thought, surreptitiously watching her slide noodles around. Curiosity got the better of me when she turned her plate a few degrees in my direction. I glanced at it without seeming to.
The bottom fell out of my stomach.
Ku, ra, ma, she had written in hiragana with her leftover noodles. I met her eyes above the plate.
You've got some explaining to do, mister, her narrowed eyes said.
I quickly loaded another lump of pasta atop her handiwork. "Eat," I told her with a polite smile. Then I leaned over and hissed "Later!" in her ear, voice pitched so low only she could hear. She didn't look happy to be so dismissed, but she was not in any position to fight back. She began to slurp her new noodles as sullenly as a storm cloud.
The fathers rambled on. They avoided speaking of their parents or other siblings for fear of stepping on conversational landmines, so after a time they began to discuss their children. That topic probably seemed safe enough from their perspectives—even if it could put the secret of my names in jeopardy. I made sure to keep my expression neutral and my hands steady, even though my instincts screamed to stage a distraction.
"Shuuichi-kun here is quite the sportsman," Kazuyu was saying. "He plays on most of the school teams, and he's smart, too."
"Is that right?" Mamoru said, smiling at Shuuichi. "I'll have to come to your games sometime."
Shuuichi nodded, meek before his uncle's questing eyes.
"And Shuichi-san," Kazuyu went on, "was top of his class in high school. Now he's at Sarayashiki U.—"
(I would have laughed when Momo mouthed the name of the school right along with him had I not been so intent on ignoring her.)
"—studying to be a surgeon." Kazuyu looked fond of me for once. "We have high hopes for him, don't we, Shiori?"
She smiled like a benevolent religious icon. "Of course we do. Shuichi-san always had a knack for studying."
"Sounds like you're quite the young man," Mamoru said, grinning at me. Once the pressure was off I found he had an easy manner that tended toward smiles and quick wit.
I chuckled. "You flatter me. I worked hard, that's all."
"And you, Momo," Shiori said. "What do you do?"
Momo looked at her father.
"She's into sports," he said, "and—"
"Which ones?" Shuuichi burst out, eager. Perhaps a girl cousin wasn't such a tragedy, his expression read.
"Softball," said Mamoru on Momo's behalf.
"Cool!" said Shuuichi. "My favorite is baseball! Want to throw a ball around after dinner? What position do you play? How well do you bat? What's your—"
"She's the shortstop and center-fielder," Mamoru cut in.
Shuuichi shot him a rather dirty look. "I was asking her," he said with the boldness only teens are capable of. Mother gasped. Momo shrank down in her seat as she looked at her father, helpless to respond.
"Be nice!" Kazuyu said in a low voice, and that's when it dawned on me.
Kazuyu had never mentioned to any of us that Momo the Mute was, indeed, mute.
Can he really not know? I thought with a burgeoning sense of alarm. Did Ryuuji not tell him about Momo? This could get very ugly very quickly unless someone does something about it.
I dreaded the moment when I found that that "someone" needed to be me.
Mamoru, however, seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time I did, if the suspicious look on his face was any indication.
"Kazuyu," he said, "did our...father say anything to you about Momoko when she was born?" He stumbled over the word 'father' even more than when he called himself Kazuyu's brother.
Momoko, beside me, stiffened.
"No, nothing," said my stepfather. He frowned. "Should he have?"
"A part of me expected this," said Mamoru grimly. For a moment he seemed to be talking to himself. "He knew everything but he didn't say a word. My father just ignored her completely."
Momo twitched, swallowed—and I could smell the salt of her welling tears again. A rush of sympathy made me want to comfort her, say something positive and warm, but the words lodged in my throat.
For all my ability to calm Mother, I had no idea what to say to help Momo.
Mamoru mopped a hand over his face, tired. "You probably didn't think of her much in the years we've been apart. You barely even know her, after all, and Father never wanted to hear of her again. I should have expected this."
"Should have expected what?" Shuuichi-kun asked, confused and getting angrier by the second. "Momo-chan, what is he talking about?"
Momo looked to her father.
"Momo!" Shuuichi pressed. "Say something!"
"She can't."
I didn't mean to speak out of turn, but the words burst forth almost of their own volition. Everyone turned toward me. Mamoru seemed less shocked than my family by my outburst. Momo continued to bite her lip and stare down at her plate.
"She can't talk, Shuuichi-kun," I said slowly. "Isn't that right, Mamoru-san?"
He stared at me with uncertain gratitude. "Yes, that's right. But how did you...?"
"We're acquainted," I said, trying to appear calm. "We went to affiliated high schools—Meioh and Fukuya."
Momo jerked her head up and looked at me, eyes wide. She hadn't read my email yet, apparently. I smiled, promising with my eyes I'd explain when I could. She seemed to understand. Her head drooped, a loose strand of hair falling like spilled ink across her cheek.
Mamoru nodded, grateful someone else knew Momo's secret. Then he looked to my stepfather, mother, and stepbrother. "I'm afraid Momo was born with malformed vocal cords," he said, tone patient. "She's incapable of forming coherent verbal speech. You'll forgive her silence in light of this, I hope."
The table floundered, at a loss for words. Shuuichi stared at Momo unabashed, mouth dropped wide in shock. Kazuyu stared at his brother without speaking, but his jaw pulsed with tension.
Mother found her voice first. "Of course we'll accept that!" she protested. "I'm sorry for the confusion, but Kazuyu never mentioned—" She cut herself off, afraid of incriminating her husband, but he shook his head.
"I didn't know either," he said. "Father never said a word."
"He said plenty of words to me," Mamoru growled. "Words like 'I never want to hear about your little freak of a daughter agai—'"
A hand descended onto the tabletop with a crash. Everyone jumped as Momo rose, her fingers clenched tight in the tablecloth. Her eyes burned into her father's, shining wetly as tears rolled down her cheeks. She shook her head with finality. Her father pulled back, anger abating in the wake of her sadness.
"Momoko, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" he began, each syllable dripping with regret, but Momo squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head again. Her hands moved in front of her, a pair of dancing birds. Then she bowed to each of my family members before spinning on her heel and disappearing into the kitchen.
"What did she say?" Shuuichi said, timid. "In, in sign language, right?"
"She...said she didn't want me discussing her like she isn't here," her father said. He looked stricken, hands balled into fists on either side of his plate.
Shiori reached out and, in a gesture of connection, patted Mamoru's clenched fist. He looked at her in disbelief. So did Kazuyu. He hadn't yet recovered from the shock of the situation, obviously.
"She's a teenager like any other," Mother said, tone kind and gentle, "though I'm sure she's struggled more than most. It must have been hard for her to manage with her voice like it is."
"I'm gonna go talk to her," Shuuichi said suddenly, and he stood. "Cousins have to stick together."
My stepbrother left the room at a trot. "He's a good kid," Mamoru said as we watched him go.
"We know," Shiori said, smiling.
"She's always so cheerful," Mamoru said, voice thick. We didn't need to clarify who he was talking about. "I never meant for her to find out what her grandfather said about her, but when she was small she found the letter..." He shook his head, eyes closing at the memory. "I should have burned it. Momoko got into everything as a kid."
"What did he say about her?" Kazuyu asked. "He only told me that you'd had a baby girl, not her name or anything. I just assumed she was..."
"Normal?" Mamoru supplied. Kazuyu blushed. "It's a surprisingly ugly word in this context, isn't it?"
No one said anything. Mamoru propped his elbow on the table, fist pressing against his mouth as he fought back tears.
"She couldn't swallow when she was born. Food went down her windpipe, thanks to her condition," Mamoru said into his hand. He patted his belly with his other fist. "She had a feeding tube. At least a dozen surgeries just to get her to eat properly. But even that didn't help completely. That's why she eats the way she does—so cautiously. If she's not careful, she could choke." He dropped his fist and sighed, eyes ablaze as he stared at his brother. "People don't realize vocal cords affect how you eat. When Father learned about Momo's condition, and what it entailed, that she'd be unable to talk and have trouble eating for the rest of her life, he told me Momoko was nothing but a freak of nature and a bastard who would never be recognized or even acknowledged by the Hatanaka family." His voice rose, anger and hurt radiating through his words. "Didn't you ever wonder why I was so intent on staying away from him?!"
"I'm... sorry," Kazuyu said. "If I'd known, I..."
But Mamoru only laughed. "I hate to say it, but what could you have done? Gone against Father? No one goes against him and keeps the Hatanaka name. I know that firsthand."
"Ryuuji-san can be difficult," Mother said, trying to recharge the mood with more optimism. "I know that from experience. But if he only met Momo, I think he'd sing a different tune. She seems like a sweet girl. No one couldn't be proud of her."
Despite his melancholy, Mamoru's pride in his daughter was evident. His eyes softened when he spoke of her. "She's a softball player," he said. "One of the best on the team, you know. And her scores in mathematics are great." A tear tracked down his cheek; he blotted it away with his fingertips. "And she's a dancer, too, you know. She was on a team before softball took over. They went to nationals and everything. I'm so proud of her. She does so much despite..." He put a hand over his eyes and his shoulders shook, just once. The scent of saline rose heady in my nose.
"She's a completely normal girl, Mamoru-san," my mother said. She put a hand on his shoulder. "You have every right to be proud when she's overcome so much."
"Damn right I do," he said, hand dropping. Another single tear marred his cheek. "Who needs a father when you've got a daughter like her to be proud of? Not me. Ryuuji can go rot for all I care."
Neither of my parents agreed aloud with that sentiment, but they didn't contest it, either. They and I both knew that Ryuuji, however rich he might be, was not the father or grandfather a child needed to grow up knowing.
I stood, sensing the brothers were on the verge of a connecting moment. "Mother, will you help me clear the plates for dessert?"
"Of course!" she said, sharing my sentiments if her wink was any indication. We emptied the table and left. Low voices followed us out; the brothers sounded more relaxed than they had all evening.
Inside the kitchen things felt likewise relaxed. Mother and I found Shuuichi and Momo sitting atop one of the granite counters, feet dangling high over the tile floor. Shuuichi giggled as though at a joke. Momo laughed, too, shoulders shaking in silent bursts of humor. When we walked in they looked up, eyes wide as if they'd been caught doing something illegal. That's when I noticed the notepad sharing their close-together knees.
"You two having fun?" Mother asked.
To his credit, Shuuichi tried to stop giggling. He failed. "Momo...she was just...she was just telling me about her softball coach," he said, pausing periodically to regain control.
"Was she, now?" I asked. When I spoke, they both started to...what did teenagers call it? 'Crack up?'
"Oh, uh-huh," Shuuichi chortled. Momo nodded until I thought her head would fall off.
"I'm glad you're getting along," Mother said, smiling. "Oh, and do you prefer Momo or Momoko? I wouldn't want to get it wrong!"
"Oh, I already asked her. She likes Momo," Shuuichi said. "Just Momo. No 'san' or 'chan' or anything."
Momo smiled at him and scribbled something on the notepad. Shuuichi leaned over to read it and made a 'snurf' noise, which I recognized as a muffled laugh. Then he looked like a lightbulb had gone off somewhere in the vicinity of his head.
"Hey, do you want to throw a ball around?" he asked Momo. "I have an extra glove. It'll be fun!"
Momo shot him a thumbs-up sign, grinning, and they hopped off the counter. But then Momo looked to my mother and tilted her head to the side, eyes questioning, obviously asking if it was OK to leave the house. Her nonverbal communication skills were impressive, I had to admit.
"You go on ahead," she urged. Momo's grin resurfaced. She bowed twice, unable to stop smiling, before she and Shuuichi dashed out like a pair of racing dogs. Momo took the notepad with her, but she forgot the pen and left it lying on the counter.
Mom smiled after them. "Momo really does seem like a nice girl. She smiles a lot."
"She does, doesn't she?" I mused.
"Tell you what," Mother said as she took the dessert—chilled chocolate mousse—out of the refrigerator. "Why don't you go with them and see if you can get to know Momo. I'm going to dawdle over dessert so Kazuyu and Mamoru can talk in private. I'll fetch you later."
"Good plan. Thank you," I told her. As I walked out I spotted the small chalkboard hanging by the door. We used it to communicate phone numbers, dates, and times within the house, but right then I had a different use for it.
"Mind if I borrow this?" I asked Mother, pointing. When she saw it her eyes lit up.
"Good idea, Shuichi," she said. I grabbed my jacket off the peg by the door and shrugged into it. "Now go have some fun."
As soon as I stopped onto the porch,] Momo came flying out of nowhere at top speed, forcing me to jump back inside to avoid getting pummeled. A flying leap later she had a white ball clutched in her gloved hand. It would have smashed a window had she not caught it in time. She jogged off the porch and onto the grass, holding up the ball like it was a trophy.
"Sorry, the throw went wide!" Shuuichi called from across the yard. Momo grinned before launching it back at him. She had a powerful arm; the ball cleared the yard with ease, smacking loudly against Shuuichi's baseball mitt.
I stayed on the porch after that, watching them toss the ball and try to feint each other out; neither appeared to notice my presence. Momo's golden dress billowed around her legs when she moved like a cloud. Her feminine appearance didn't fit with her sporty nature. I frowned as I watched her dusky arms flex with obvious musculature. Wasn't she cold? Although there wasn't much wind this January night, the air calm and still, the cold made a jacket necessary to stay comfortable. It had rained the night before, too. Mud coated Momo's feet and ankles like a pair of socks.
When another of Shuuichi's throws veered toward the house, Momo leapt to keep the ball away from my mother's windows. She came very near the porch, then, and I managed to catch her eye for the first time since I'd ventured outdoors. She smiled, lips pressed tight and tense, before turning back to my stepbrother. She was still mad at me, it seemed.
Eventually I grew bored of watching them, eyes wandering idly across the backyard and porch. That's when I noticed the notepad lying on one of the deck chairs.
Now what were they laughing at? I thought. I walked over and picked it up so I could sit down. The pad only bore Momo's half of the conversation, so I had to fill in Shuuichi's lines myself, but given my talent at getting inside someone's head...well, the task wasn't difficult.
It seemed like Shuuichi had talked to Momo for a bit (probably about how he valued her as a cousin and to keep her chin up, if her reply was any indication) before Momo had penned her first response on the notepad. The aforementioned read: "Thanks, Shuuichi. You're sweet. Wanna start over?"
Sure, he had probably said.
"Great! I'm Momo—no chan/san. Just Momo."
I go by Shuuichi-kun so we can tell me and my brother apart, he seemed to have said. Maybe he'd even added He's Shuichi-san, which seemed likely considering the following change of subject.
"Speaking of which," wrote Momo, "does he have any nicknames?"
I knew she was talking about me; there was no one else she could have been asking after. My fingers tightened around the notepad, paper creasing against my palm.
Thankfully, Shuuichi seemed to have told her he didn't know of any of my alleged aliases, because next Momo wrote: "You're sure?" And then, beneath that: "I wouldn't blame you if you secretly called him MetroMan or something. His hair's longer than mine!"
A pause. Shuuichi had probably agreed. The back of my neck felt hot beneath my hair, which suddenly seemed quite heavy.
Then I spotted the drawing.
It was small, etched in the style Momo had used when we first met, so I knew it was hers. It looked to be a detailed drawing of a young man with cross-hatched long hair, pronounced eyelashes, and luminous eyes so enormous they took up most of his face. I knew it was supposed to be me; the hair was too distinctive.
I couldn't help but chuckle in a manner even Hiei would have found intimidating. "Oh, you are going to regret this," I said pleasantly. I'd been called worse things than MetroMan, of course, but still, the principle of the matter...
"Shuichi-san!"
I looked up. Shuuichi stared at me and the pad in my hands in horror.
"Interesting reading," I said, smiling at both him and the equally-horrified Momo. When I looked down again, the joke they'd shared when I walked in with my mother became apparent. Momo had scribbled another pastiche of myself, but this one had a cape, a mask, and a banner above its head that proclaimed: "Behold! MetroMan to the rescue! Enemies of good grooming beware!"
"I can explain," Shuuichi stuttered, but then my mother appeared at the door.
"Shuuichi-kun, telephone!"
He hesitated, looking at Momo out of the corner of his eye. It was obvious he didn't want to leave her to my mercy, but she, in contrast, leered happily at me through narrowed eyes.
Payback, she all but radiated. Got ya Shuichi, Kurama, or whatever your name is!
"Well, um," said Shuuichi, but when Momo nodded at him he stopped hesitating. "I'll be back as quick as I can," he said, and he marched out with head hanging.
"Your hair is sticking up in the back, little brother!" I called after him, keeping my voice as clear as a summer sky. He stopped in his tracks and grabbed at the offending hair—but found nothing out of place. Then he realized just what I was playing at and went crimson across the nose and cheeks before darting back indoors.
Momo sniggered, the dry sound mimicking the scream of a foot crushing a dead leaf. I turned to her. She stood in the middle of the yard, a smear of dirt across her nose, baseball glove wrapped around her fist. Her muddy legs blended with the dirt and grass of the shadowy yard, her body fading into the gloom like a ghost from some dark bedtime story.
"And you," I said, "are going to track mud inside. MetroMan finds this unacceptable."
I'd attempted a joke, but Momo didn't smile. She stared, her one ungloved fist clenched tight beside her thigh. I sighed, running a hand through my bangs. She wouldn't forgive me so easily, it seemed.
"There is a hose on the back of the garage," I said. "May I take you to it?"
She tilted her head to one side, smiling mischievously as she nodded, looking at me from beneath her lowered eyelashes. I stood up and walked past her, heading for the garage. When we neared one another I held up the chalkboard. She took it, eyes widening in shock at my silent consideration.
"Come with me," I told her.
I was bending over the spigot to the hose when I heard chalk scraping over slate. It was dark here behind the garage, barely lit by the floodlight hanging around the corner. I turned to find Momo brandishing the chalkboard like a shield. She'd written at least a paragraph.
I pointed at the spigot. "Clean up."
She shook the board once. I reached out to take it. She held on tight.
I sighed. "Wash while I read."
Her fingers slackened. She stepped past me with a glare.
I watched her brace her hands against the garage as she lifted a foot into the water's flow, breath hissing past her lips when she came in contact with the cold. A tremble racked her shoulders before subsiding; seems she was feeling the cold, after all. Her hair, escaping from its knot, drifted across her cheeks and throat and shoulders, black strands matching her sin-dark eyes. She noticed me watching after a few moments and stared straight back, almost as if to ask "What the hell do you want?" with the force of her scowl.
I looked down at the chalkboard. Then I transferred it to one hand, slipped out of half my coat, and repeated the process on the other side. Momo flinched and spun when I tried settling the coat across her shoulders, eyes confused and wary.
"You looked cold," I said. I proffered the coat. "Please."
She hesitated. Then she snatched the coat from me, shoved her arms through it, and afforded me a curt nod of thanks before turning away.
Sensing she wouldn't turn around again for some time, I looked at the chalkboard.
"Kurama/Shuichi," she had written. "Which is it? Did you know we were cousins when we met? We went to affiliated schools? I've never met you before in my life. None of this makes any sense & I want answers, NOW!"
She's underlined and capitalized the last word, punctuating it with liberal exclamation marks. I reread everything twice. I didn't realize she'd shut off the water until I heard her clear her throat. When I looked up and saw her, arms crossed over her chest, expectant—I found no words would come. When I did not reply right away, she grabbed the chalkboard and pointed at the name question. Her eyes burned in the twilight.
"My given name," I said at last, "is Minamino Shuichi. I went to Meioh High, which is affiliated with Fukuya All-Girls School, which you attend."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I included that information in my most recent email, which I sent a few minutes before you arrived," I explained. "And no, I had no idea we were step-cousins when we met that night. I didn't even know my stepfather had a brother at that point."
Momo's shoulders slumped. She was thinking about how her grandfather was ashamed of her, I was sure of it. The urge to comfort her made it hard to think.
"We aren't close," I said, and then I told her a complete lie. "He probably told Shuuichi-kun and my mother, though."
She bought the story, smiling, but then her face darkened. She used the heel of her hand to blot out much of what she'd written. All that remained were the words: Kurama/Shuichi?
Truth or lies, I thought. If she ever sees Yusuke again she'll hear the name Kurama. What do I do?
Momo, before me, waited.
"My given name," I repeated, "is Minamino Shuichi. But Kurama is a name that...reflects a darker part of my past, one which my family knows nothing about." I hoped she'd understand my secretive motives given her own history. "We all have our secrets. Please don't inform my loved ones of mine. The existence of that name is something I do not want made public."
I was afraid, when her searching eyes trained still and intent upon my face, that she would ask questions, delve into things I did not want her knowing. She did not, however, pry into my life at all. She simply lowered the chalkboard with a scowl, took a deep breath, and raised it again. Then she blotted out the two names and started scribbling anew.
"OK," she wrote. "But you're living w/ the 'darker part of your past' right now, so—not in the past at all."
"I'm afraid," I said with growing unease, "that I do not know what you mean."
"Yusuke knows you as Kurama," she wrote. "You're associating w/ people from your 'dark past'. Your past isn't over. It's your present."
I took a deep breath. "I am doing Yusuke a favor as an old friend. I have moved on as best I can."
"But not completely."
It took me a long time to formulate a response. "My reasons are mine," I said to Momo. "It's...complicated. But I promise you Kurama is merely a nickname, that I did not know who you were when we met, and that I will fill my role as your cousin—"
She held up a hand. I paused. She wrote.
"So formal? Quit! We're friends, right?"
I glanced up from the board in amazement. Was she really so quick to forgive? Momo had adopted a patient smirk, one that said I was off the hook (for now) but that I would have to tread lightly if I wanted things to stay that way. Good for her, I had every intention of doing so.
"You looked SO freaked out when you saw me tonight," she scribbled next. "This is a huge & hilarious coincidence. Small world!"
"Yes, of course," I said, smiling at her once I finished reading. "It gets smaller every day."
The storm behind her eyes had cleared, giving way to bright, contented sunlight. Night closed in around us, faucet on the wall dripping musically onto the ground. Eventually Momo dipped her head and pushed past me, walking in silence toward the house. My jacket hugged her frame, hiding her golden dress like the sun behind a cloud.
Halfway to the porch, she propped the chalkboard on her hip, erased its contents, and scribbled something else. When I followed her and drew close, she held it up so I could see. Her words, written in streaky white dust, seemed as surreal as a daydream.
"We still on for Sunday?" she asked.
Before I could weigh the wisdom of such a promise, I nodded. The action surprised even me.
It wasn't until later, after she'd left my mother's home with a wink and a wave, that the memory of her words penned in ephemeral white chalk gave me uncomfortable pause.
"This is all just a huge and hilarious coincidence," she had written.
In my world, there was no such thing.
NOTE 2016:
Edited! Not much changed. Some language cleaning and a few improved descriptions.
Since last time I updated, I made a Facebook page for my fanfiction. Search "Graphospasm Fiction" to find the page, or see the link on my profile. Been having a blast interacting with fellow YYH lovers! I post writing memes, updating announcements, YYH stuff, and the occasional cat video because, um, yes please.
And…yeah. Thanks to those who reviewed the previous, edited chapter! Akara Suzuki, AkaMizu-chan, j.d.y., jcampbellohten, Guest(s), Azile-san, AnglBunny, and Dipilidopa!
NOTE 2010:
I want to show Momo's various sides just as much as I want to show Kurama's. She is optimistic most of the time, but there's a darker part to her that I think she's afraid to look at in the light (as evidenced when she thought her uncle deserved the bad things that happened to him). She can be almost vicious when it comes to protecting herself (because she's afraid of being hurt after what happened with her family), but she's also forgiving (though it's a conscious effort, at times). I'll work on showing more of this in the near future. Her parents are also a bit deep. They see so much in her and kind of turn a blind eye on her faults, perhaps giving her too much credit where it isn't really due (though I think that's typical of any parent, really).
Momo and Shuuichi-kun are going to get to be buddies, although he won't take over the story or anything. They just get to be good friends over their love of sports. I've never had a sporty OC before (I'm used to dealing with Dani, the bum-legged). It's pretty cool!
Also, I hope you liked this! I had a ball writing it =] Thanks to my reviewers! I'm amazed at all this wonderful feedback; you guys are the greatest ever! Out-Of-Control-Authoress, BlackMoonWhiteSky, Naitza Kururugi, Koryu Elric, chocolateluvr13, dumbrat, Ekaki no Hikari, Foxgirl Ray, strawberry9506, Aisop, Reclun, Kaiya's Watergarden, heve-chan, and Talye Kendrin!