I couldn't even if I wanted to.
"I'm seriously unsure what attitude I should take as her stepsibling," I
continued. "How should I treat her? I'm up to my neck with things to
worry about, so I don't have the time to be happy about living with a
beautiful girl."
"I think you'll be okay if you just act natural."
"But won't she dislike me?"
"Do you dislike me when I act natural?"
"…Not at all."
"See?"
"But you're beautiful… Someone beautiful acting natural and an
introvert like me acting natural are two totally different things."
"Your self-esteem is way too low. I like you just fine, Yuuta."
"But you're weird…"
"Oh-ho! Way to one-eighty. That's good. Artistic."
"See, that's exactly what I mean."
Yomiuri instantly takes on the persona of a professional critic when she
likes something I say. According to her, it's a special move just for bookloving girls. Apparently, she's always looking for beautiful rhetoric hidden
in our daily lives.
In effect, this was no different from middle-aged men thinking up
corny jokes every second of the day, but I decided to keep that cruel truth
locked away in my heart.
As I stood there, sadly contemplating the similarities between a
beautiful literature afficionado and a perverted old man, Yomiuri
remembered something and ran to the sales floor.
She returned a short while later, holding a book in her hands.
"Found it. Here, I suggest you read this," she said.
"The Chemistry of Men and Women?"
"It talks about ways to befriend others—particularly those of the
opposite sex—based on psychological studies. I use it as a reference, too."
"It looks interesting."
That was my honest reaction as I flipped through the pages. I glanced
at the table of contents and instantly felt I needed to read this book.
First, it said, you should get to know the other person.
Then you should get to know yourself.
And in order to do that, you should learn to see yourself objectively.
Other books I'd read said similar things. That's why I'd always striven to live my life while seeing myself objectively. This was nothing
particularly new.
But one line in the table of contents drew my attention:
"Keep a diary if you want to improve your ability to see objectively!"
This advice was specific and immediately achievable. That alone made
me interested in checking out the book.
Since reading was my hobby, I often came across works similar to
others I'd read in the past, and because they discussed the same topics, I
was able to enjoy the characteristics of each author and the different ways
they addressed things.
Perhaps Yomiuri could tell that the table of contents interested me. She
flashed me an evil grin like a succubus.
"I might already have proven how effective this book is on you," she
said.
"You've been using it on me?"
"Are you convinced yet? You and I get along just fine."
"There's nothing more credible than that."
A simple action is better than a hundred hypotheses.
An overweight person who quietly continues to put effort into losing
excess fat is far smarter than one who simply uses a bunch of fancy words
to talk about the joys of dieting.
So in the end, I decided to buy the book.
After finishing my shift and shedding my uniform in the changing
room, I purchased The Chemistry of Men and Women from Yomiuri, who
would be on the late shift until midnight. She was lamenting that, unlike
me, a kid who could work until only ten, she had a long night ahead of her.
I accepted the book, which was wrapped in a freshly folded cover, then
slipped it into my bag. I was about to leave when I turned around one last
time.
"Call me whenever another guy gives you trouble," I said. "I'll come
charging here on my bicycle."
Yomiuri looked stunned for a minute; then her face melted into a smile.
"A guy I can count on. Okay, I'll call you and then the police if that
happens."
"I'd rather you called the police first."
If she called the cops, then she'd have no need for me.
It was past ten PM when I reached the bicycle parking lot at our apartment.
It had taken me longer than usual to get home because I'd been
searching for a diary app Yomiuri had recommended. I'd downloaded it
while pushing my bicycle up the road.
I parked my beloved bike in an empty space and suddenly felt guilty as
I took the elevator up to the third floor.
I had come home at my own pace as usual, but I'd suddenly realized
that I hadn't told Akiko or Ayase when I would finish my shift.
If I was lucky, Dad would have filled them in, but it wasn't in his
nature to notice subtle things like that.
Figuring it was possible everyone was already asleep, I opened the
door quietly and tiptoed into the living room. Then I saw that the lights
were on beyond the frosted glass door. Someone was still awake.
I straightened my back a bit and stepped into the living room.
There she was: Ayase, seated alone on the sofa.
She was sipping from a cup of— Was it hot chocolate? A sweet scent
wafted over to me as she raised it to her mouth, smartphone in one hand,
her face devoid of expression. Was she texting a friend? A boyfriend?
Either seemed possible for a pretty, fashionable, outgoing girl like her.
"I'm home," I said.
"Huh? Oh, hi."
She raised her head and offered a half-hearted response.
She seemed more confused than like she was trying to brush me off,
and she glanced blankly in my direction as if some foreigner had asked her
directions in a language she didn't understand.
"…Ayase?"
"Sorry. It's rare for someone to greet me when they get home, so I
didn't know what to say."
"Oh…right, because you and your mom were on different schedules."
Come to think of it, I recalled Ayase saying she and her mom slept at
different hours.
I didn't dwell too much on it at the time, figuring that was just normal
for some families, but her confusion over a simple greeting like that
tugged at my heart.
"Ha-ha. You look so serious," Ayase said, smiling wryly.
Apparently, she saw right through me.
"It's okay," she continued. "It's not like I was being mistreated or
anything. Mom slept and did things around the house while I went to
school, and she was at work by the time I came home… That was our routine."
"The two of you look so close."
"We're mother and daughter. We went shopping together today for the
first time in a while, and it was pretty fun."
She said all this without emotion, and her face remained
expressionless.
Listening to her talk about her family, I was starting to understand why
she looked so calm and mature. She probably showed no hint of loneliness
because she was simply used to being alone.
She'd been raised in a single-parent family, but she was already in high
school. I was the same way. We were well past the age where we might
make a big deal about missing our parents.
But all that aside, though I still didn't know if she was texting a friend
or a boyfriend, I'd interrupted her while she was doing something on her
phone. I started feeling guilty and decided to hurry to my room.
"I'm going to take a bath and go to bed."
"Go ahead. I'll take a bath after you're finished. I like being the last to
bathe and go to bed."
"Oh, okay."
I obediently did as I was told and got ready for a soak in the tub, all the
while thinking over what she'd just said.
She liked being the last to bathe and the last to go to bed.
It was our first day living together, and I couldn't blame her. I was a
guy her age, and she'd only just met me. She probably didn't want me to
soak in a tub after she'd used it or take a chance of having me see her
asleep and unguarded.
I might have been keeping her up.
In that case…I'd try to finish up as quickly as I could.
With that decided, I finished bathing in ten minutes—much quicker
than the half hour I usually spent in the bathroom. The next twenty
minutes went to draining and washing the tub, after which I refilled it for
her.
I wasn't sure yet how best to handle Ayase, but I wanted to use my
head and be as considerate as possible.