Chapter Twenty-Seven - Christmas

“I got a reservation for us tomorrow at 5! Can you make it?”

I sent the text immediately after my reservation was accepted. I sat cross-legged on my bed, pens and pencils and paper strewn around me, and stared at my phone lying on the bed in front of me. It had been two hours since I sent it and my phone remained stubbornly dark and disinterested. I picked it up again and pressed the power button to bring it out of sleep mode. It could have gone to sleep and not registered the reply or shut itself off, I reasoned. The screen brightened cheerily and told me in no uncertain terms I had received no answer.

“Tch,” I sucked my teeth irritably, dropping the phone back onto the bed. I jumped slightly at the knock on my door. “Who is it?” I asked suspiciously.

“Mio.”

“Come in,” I raised my head as Mio entered, closing the door behind her, and proceeded to flop down face first onto the foot of the bed. “Feel free to crash,” I intoned sarcastically.

“When is Yui coming back?” Mio’s muffled voice whined into my bed.

“I have no idea who that is,” I admitted, glancing uselessly once more at my phone. Still nothing, dammit.

“Saki’s little sister. My best friend,” Mio turned her head and glared at me. “Have you forgotten about Saki already?”

“Of course not,” I snapped with a scowl. “It’s just that she has like 10 siblings, how am I expected to know each of their names? I can’t even remember your name half the time.”

“Your exaggerations are painful to me,” Mio regarded me coolly. “Maybe you would know my name better if you were ever home.”

“Maybe I’m not home by design,” I sighed, running my hands through my hair. It was getting long, I thought. I wonder if I should get it cut, I mused to myself.

“I hate that Jun’s back,” Mio scowled. “He’s such a twat cake.” I inhaled my spit in surprise and began to cough.

“You’re a potty mouth,” I finally chastised her after recovering. “You shouldn’t say that word. What happened to my sweet little sister?”

“It’s fine to say cake,” Mio grinned at me. “Besides, you know he is. Why should I lie?”

“I didn’t say you should lie, just…” I paused in thought. She wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s a twat cake. Though I’m almost positive that’s demeaning to cakes.”

“I’ll write a letter of apology,” Mio shrugged, rolling onto her back, and stretching her arms over her head. She ran her fingers idly along the wall. “Have you talked to Emi senpai recently?”

“I talked to her yesterday,” I returned to the drawing I’d been working on while waiting for a reply. Tomorrow was Christmas so I imagine she was most likely doing whatever her family did for Christmas Eve and was simply busy. Of course that’s what it was, and I was being paranoid for no decent reason. “Why?”

“She seems depressed,” Mio began to trace invisible letters on the wall with her index finger.

“How do you know she’s depressed?” I cocked my eyebrow at her curiously.

“Huh, let me think,” Mio put a finger to her lip in mock thought. “Could it be because she’s normally like a chipmunk after mainlining triple lattes all day?”

“What’s mainlining?” I scowled.

“You’re supposed to be the older sister,” Mio chastised me. “You should know these things.”

“Well, I can’t be expected to know everything,” I sniffed. “But, yeah, you’re not wrong. She’s kind of depressed. Her and Mizuki had an argument at the sleepover Saturday.”

“Really?” Mio turned onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “What about?”

“Oh, about nunya,” I sighed, shaking my head.

“Nunya? What’s that?”

“Nunya business,” I flicked her forehead with my finger.

“Ow! Jerk!” Mio growled, slapping her hand to her forehead.

“If you want to know so badly ask her yourself,” I returned to my drawing with a smirk.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Mio’s face appeared in my vision as she lay her head on my drawing pad. “If you tell me; I’ll tell you something you don’t know.”

“That sounds like a stupid deal,” I tried to pry her head from the pad without much luck. “Why would I be interested in anything you’d have to tell me?”

“Psychology,” Mio tapped the side of her head. “I’ve already planted the seed in your head and now that you know what you don’t know you can’t resist being curious about it.” I paused. Shit! She was right.

“You frighten me sometimes,” I admitted.

“I’m waiting for your answer,” Mio giggled in self-satisfaction.

“Fine, but if your info is stupid, I will thwack your head again,” I warned her.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” I frowned at her. “Mizuki was harsh about same sex relationships and said some rather insensitive things to Emi about how she acts, and Emi got pissed about it.”

“Wow!” Mio’s eyes opened in disbelief. “I had no idea Mizuki senpai was a bigot.” I winced, taken slightly aback by Mio’s blunt appraisal. I was a bit more surprised I couldn’t refute it, which only made me feel worse.

“Well, you probably shouldn’t be shocked,” I pointed out. “You’ve seen where we live.”

“Hmmm,” Mio frowned in concentration. “I should make Emi senpai feel better.”

“How are you going to do that?” I could nearly see the gears turning in her little head.

“Simple!” She straightened up and leapt off the bed.

“That’s not an answer,” I noted.

“With some Mio time!” Mio grinned at me, heading toward the door.

“That doesn’t sound like help at all.”

“It’s because you are sullen and unfriendly and don’t appreciate me,” Mio stuck her tongue out. “I’ll also bring a cake!”

“Certainly not a twat cake,” I smirked at her.

“You’re a potty mouth!” Mio gasped at me in mock horror. “A nice chocolate cake! With extra frosting and vanilla bunnies on it!”

“That…might actually work,” I admitted.

“Of course it will! The surest way to Emi’s heart is through her belly!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing! Bye-bye!” Mio waved jauntily before striding out of my room and closing the door behind her.

“Little bitch never told me what info she had,” I muttered in realization after a moment’s pause. “Well, I never told her she had pencil dust in her hair, so I guess it’s fair.” I grinned. My phone sprung to life with a loud “BING” sound, and I pounced on it immediately.

“That sounds good! I’ll see you at 5!”

“Perfect! See you then!”

I brushed the paper and drawing implements off my bed and hurried to the closet, replacing the papers on my bed with piles of clothes in moments. Now, I thought, looking down at the contents of my closet spread out before me on the bed, what should I wear?

I sat at the table behind the statue of Colonel Sanders the next day as the clock ticked over to 5 and stared out the window as lines of people waited in the bone-chilling cold to get inside. There weren’t many tables in the restaurant but each one was filled with people dressed in their very best to partake of greasy chicken. The ridiculousness of the notion was not lost on me as I stared at a particularly well-dressed couple seated at the table looking out across the road. She was dressed in a blue and white chiffon dress with an expensive looking shawl and white high heels trying desperately to eat her portion of a 10-piece meal without getting crumbs or juice on her dress while he had evidently given up on such worries and was face-deep into an obviously D cup chicken breast. His face was awash in grease while splatters of oil and biscuit crumbs had fallen onto his tie, shirt, and blazer.

I glanced at my own 10-piece bucket sitting like a waiting time bomb on the table in front of me, then down at the wine-red wrap dress I’d chosen. It would stain, I decided. There was no doubt it would stain. I shifted my feet nervously, not much caring for the way my pantyhose moved in the heels. It would stain my shoes, too, I decided.

I felt rather awkward sitting in a fast-food restaurant in front of a bucket of chicken wearing a dress with my hair pulled back in a royal braid, my lips dyed a soft pink with splashes of light purple eyeshadow. It had been years since I’d bothered dressing up for anything. My former pageant days had been good for one thing, at least, I noted. Though doing my hair and makeup myself had been awkward with the cast still on my hand I thought I looked rather pretty if I did say so myself.

I glanced back down at my phone and sighed. 5:15. I tapped my foot on the ground in time to the festive holiday music playing over the speakers and stared outside. The lights had already come on in the city around me, light snow swirled through the sky and drifted earthward. Not enough to coat the streets, really. Just enough to be an annoyance.

I watched as holiday couples strolled through the pale orange pools of the streetlights hand in hand and sighed. Would I ever get to do that? Would I ever see a world where I could walk through the streets with someone I loved and not have to pretend to be friends or let go of each other’s hands when someone we knew walked by?

The clock continued to tick on, the deep purple of sunset gradually darkening to night as light snow continued to drift from the glowering sky. I tapped the lip of the bucket of chicken and looked at my phone again. 5:36 and still no Aria. I sighed and did my best to straighten my dress. My butt was growing numb from sitting on the hard plastic seat and that numbness was beginning to spread down my legs in an irritating fashion.

What should I do? I wondered. Should I try to call her? Should I just wait some more? I let several more painful minutes drag by before lifting my phone and pressing Aria’s number. The phone rang once before clicking over immediately to her voicemail. I hated leaving voicemails and chose not to. But what did the immediate switch mean? Did she decline the call? Is her phone off? Is she on the other line? Maybe trying to call me? I set the phone down quickly on the table in the growing shadow of the now cold bucket of chicken and stared at it. Meanwhile the clock ticked onward relentlessly.

“Miss?” A voice said at my elbow, and I turned to find an employee standing apologetically next to me. “Your reservation’s only for an hour, I’m afraid, and others are waiting for the table.”

“Ah,” I mumbled. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll give you a few more minutes, ok?” The employee smiled at me with a sad look in her eyes.

“Thank you very much,” I bowed to her. I picked the phone up and checked the status of the texts I’d sent Aria several minutes earlier. Still unread. Of course. I dialed her number once again and once again the voicemail picked up. A shadow suddenly loomed over me, and I turned hopefully, the greeting dying on my lips.

“Are you waiting for someone or is this seat for me?” I glanced up at the boy standing above me, doing what I could only imagine was his best approximation of a suave look. His suit was plainly not his own as it was at least two sizes too large. Most likely his father’s I mused. Without waiting for an answer he slid into the chair opposite me.

“Actually, I was waiting for someone who is most definitely not you, and would prefer you moved along,” I scowled.

“Aw! Don’t be mean! I’m just trying to be friendly,” he grinned at me infuriatingly and I felt my foot begin to twitch with the suppressed desire to kick him through the plate glass window.

“I don’t need you to be friendly. I need to avoid any kind of confusion when the person I’m waiting for shows up,” I growled irritably. “To that end I need you to shove off.”

“It seems to me you’ve been waiting for that person to show up for quite some time and he stood you up,” the infuriating creature shook his head sadly. “Imagine leaving a pretty girl like you waiting. That’s something I’d never do. Christmas is for couples, right?”

“Look, I do not need your company and I do not need your attention and I certainly don’t need your pity,” I glowered at him. “What I need is for you to take the not-so-subtle hint I gave a moment ago and get lost.”

“My name’s Kaito,” he offered his hand. Plainly what Kaito lacked in nearly every other aspect as a human he more than made up for in blind tenacity. I glanced down at my phone. Nearly 6:15. I couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. I’d been stood up.

“You know what, Kaito?” I sighed in defeat. I gathered my jacket and scarf and put it on over my dress as I stood. “You’re absolutely right. Christmas is also a time for gifts. My gift to you is this bucket of cold fried chicken. If you can’t find another victim to your dubious charms at least, you’ll have had chicken. I’ve lost my appetite.”

I bowed in gratitude to the employee behind the counter and walked carefully into the snow. My heels were unsteady on the slick ground and the cold wind whipped my scarf mercilessly. My chest was tight and achy, and my ears were thrumming with the force of the headache I had, but I was determined not to cry.