Yuri Worlds
[70] Festival
Returning to the Sasaki house genuinely felt like a trek back home, even though it was a place they’d only known for a week. The presence of the old hotel felt ever so slightly friendlier in the sharp wash of sunlight. The hallway was warm but not oppressive.
Lunch was promised for later as they dragged their bags into a corner of the living room and up to the second story. All the worst hints of travel discomfort popped free from Misaki as she stretched and rotated around her joints before plopping down on her bed. She could probably sleep a little more, but that would mean ceding even more of the precious time she had left.
Instead, Misaki puttered around, helping with whatever Kei or Fuyuki needed assistance with. Since they’d been away for several days, they were out of fresh ingredients, so Kei needed to head over to the market so she could make lunch. Shaking off lethargy, Misaki accompanied her future hopeful mother-in-law in this task. The route was comfortably familiar by this point, even though Misaki found herself astonished by how briskly the woman could pace her steps. She genuinely did her best to slow down for her "daughter". But even when they held hands at one point, Misaki could still feel herself slipping out of her "mother's" grasp.
Misaki admitted that too much city living slowed her down. And she wondered how fast Yuka could actually go without having to slow for her. Kei eventually found a speed that Misaki could keep up with and push herself comfortably on active feet that didn’t feel like they were about to burn off in the next few moments.
It was nice. The whole thing was nicer than any effort in Misaki‘s memory to find a mother figure who actually made her feel happy and comfortable. No words of sharpened criticism or even pointed concern. Kei just advised Misaki on different ingredients and how to tell a good one from a bad one when it came to produce along with honing in on the best values. Misaki absorbed all these lessons meticulously and politely covered an exhausting sneeze from the fragrant offerings with a careful hand. Not only did Kei pull out a gorgeous handkerchief to help her, but she took care of everything as though it were the most natural thing to do.
Misaki avoided reacting as though she were being babied, but she did narrow her eyes, which brought on a laugh from her future mother-in-law. They smartly split their load to carry back between the ungainly bags. Kei snuck in a little question about whether the women of her world ever made jokes about lengthy, girthy fruits and vegetables. Despite the most obvious analogies not existing for Kei and others, it sure seemed clear from this conversation and others… that physical interactions happened much the same. It was a bolder sentiment than she ever expected from the mouth of this mom, but she understood that such notions didn’t quite carry the same connotations. Kei genuinely made sure it wasn’t awkward.
Back home, Misaki felt comfortable and at ease with the quiet domestic events. She helped put everything away while watching Chika fashion a vague series of questions, attempting to deduce what meal or entrée the Sasakis might enjoy as the ultimate thank you for their keen hospitality while not stretching the slim confines of what she had any degree of confidence in creating. She’d cozied up to Fuyuki, although the motherly connection was still a fledgling one.
Namiko had settled more into the role of a quirky niece than anything else and managed to easily draw sincere, exuberant laughter from the other mom along with frantic efforts to take notes for phrases and concepts she hoped to squeeze into a theoretical book some unspecified time down the road. Truly, they felt like a family together. One that sadly couldn’t comprehend that being broken apart was inevitable. At least, they had this now.
Haruka showed up from time to time to help out. She had the same general attitude as usual, but Misaki noticed that her mechanical tightness was relaxed. As though a stick she sometimes had up her butt had finally been popped loose.
Acceptance? Misaki had no idea what to call it, but she couldn’t help but take it as a positive sign. Another was the way that Yuka and Haruka pestered one another about the organization of food stuffs, with one asking the other a back and forth variety of deadpan questions with obvious answers. Clearly, they were siblings, but Misaki rarely saw so much subtle teasing on display.
Kei was an easier parent for Misaki to grasp, even though she’d never had one quite like her. Fuyuki fell much closer to familiar shades, even though she didn’t quite fit the mold of parents that Misaki knew best. She had a precise and scrutinizing intellect that examined the dimensions of the pantry population and refrigerator folk and precisely calculated where the old and new things should be balanced so they wouldn’t be forgotten.
For Kei, it was more about getting the task done, and perhaps later she could optimize where everything truly belonged. Where each daughter took after her mother sure seemed obvious. Although Misaki warned herself about judging absolutely based on some key surface traits. She was sure there was more to Haruka than her obvious aspects. She was one of those people that Franklin and Misaki connected with because they each shared an interior life richer than they could show. And there was more to Haruka… There was more. She just couldn’t quite put her finger on it, as it was as elusive as trying to shape jelly into a tower, but she knew it was there. Haruka and all her silly little secrets.
Had she been writing with the same scrap style of paper as the strange warning note from the other day? Misaki couldn’t help but think that, even though it was a vague, floating notion without support or reason. Why would Haruka give her something like that? Well, give it to that Rei girl to give to them. Misaki found herself hit with another vicious spell of coughing that stole the depths of her thought and turned the talk of the Sasakis, Chika, and Nami toward her comfort and welfare. She was a delicate, ivory China doll gal. At least when she was in this world, the fragility fit the package.
Time slipped past like a gentle, curling breeze. One that made no effort to swipe and burn their energy, just the metronome of life ticking away and bringing forth brand new possibilities. Lunchtime arrived with a rapturous melody of fresh flavors and familiar spices, harnessed and presented by a pair of loving virtuosos. Chika didn’t stand a chance of approaching their level, although she doubted either of them would care so long as her meal of thanks was fashioned with love and sincerity.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Card games and snippets of family stories about silly encounters and hopeful moments filled much of the afternoon until it came time to tidy up, and the three of them promptly volunteered themselves. The Sasakis fretted about putting their guests to work with tasks like scrubbing the first floor and bagging green trash from the yard around the old hotel, but the three of them took up every task with cheer, Namiko especially.
Misaki expected to find herself exhausted and sore at the end. There was some of that, but the activity of cleaning seemed to dispel the intangible spirits clinging to her. The coughing went away, and the sore and prickly parts sloughed off. Sweat, irritation, and discomfort washed in the soap and spray, especially with a proper bath to follow. Yuka lingered in the bathroom but didn’t join her in washing up.
The moms made sure that everyone’s clothes for the festival were fresh and lightly steamed to smooth out the wrinkles. No ironing, though; they explained the fabric was too delicate. Kei helped Namiko with brushing her hair in order and gently tying it up into a long, sweeping candy-colored ponytail. They did their best to underplay the massive swell of Namiko’s lady lumps in her outfit, but the cloth could only work within reason. Namiko assured them it was fine and that she had actually gotten used to the presence of her girls. Fuyuki flashed a frown of concern and doubt, considering hers often gave her grief.
Namiko noted that it wasn’t the greatest physical relationship, and she had plenty of little aches to point at. But she also noted with a smirk that she was curious how things might be if they were even bigger. Just go full fertility goddess with extra thickness on top of it. That wasn’t an analogy that fully translated, but they got the gist. Chika sheepishly cradled her stomach and lightly emphasized her bust, as Misaki knew that her little sister had big daydreams in that same direction. Misaki still leaned in a slightly bigger direction, but not quite that overzealously. Small had a precious beauty; she didn’t need to remind herself as she took a random opportunity to unexpectedly cuddle Yuka.
The weather had trended towards a warm-up lately, but the forecast on television suggested a dipping chill and a persistent breeze this evening. What they had to wear still seemed like it would be fine. Misaki‘s primarily pink kimono didn’t have too many layers. She found herself even more concerned with her rounded shelf against the fabric than Namiko had ever fretted over hers.
They were neatly confined but also felt wildly unrestrained, with a vivid presence on the soft silk. And they were hers. Not a new notion to preoccupy her thoughts, but the simple certainty was digging deeper with every encounter and reminder. Was she going to be weirded out and off balance when returning to Franklin? Would she have to wear one of Gal’s fake sets to migrate back to normalcy, or would the other reality snap as comfortably into place as this one did? She didn’t want it to just return to the way things used to be. She was changed in so many ways that she never wanted to relinquish or forget.
Chika’s outfit, which was complementary to her big sisters, gained dainty jewelry along her ears, bracelets for her wrist, and bright kanzashi-inspired hair pins with joined fabric sakura. It made her look strikingly mature and very pretty, Misaki pronounced. Blushes exploded across her little sister‘s face as she lazily turned and showed off everything.
Kei opted for a deep blue yukata, which they had already seen her in the last couple of days, and Fuyuki settled on a deep purple one similar to the dress that Yuka wore on the train to the resort. Haruka picked out a very loose and somewhat nondescript fair gray outfit with extremely short sleeves and a lower half approaching summer shorts. Yuka went with the brightest tableau of colors in hers, a paneled blend of sharp red, shimmering white, and fringes of soft blue. Her moms held onto a round of skepticism about whether the color combination worked but ultimately had no complaints so long as their daughter was comfortable. Misaki wanted to make a playful reference to Yuka’s patriotic color scheme, even though she knew full well it wouldn’t make sense.
The walk to the shrine, fortunately, didn’t quite push a Kei pace, but it still felt like it went faster than their previous trek. Climbing the steps, Misaki took in the appearance of bright lanterns and lamps strung through the air and laced along the ground. The early evening didn’t need them yet, but she could tell that once darkness set in, they would provide a vivid and unforgettable mood.
At the summit, the framework of a festival was already emerging. Stages flanked the main shrine at a respectful distance from the spiritual center. Stands and booths were in various stages of placement and furnishing. The setup was beautiful, even half-finished. Misaki and her traveling friends didn’t need an explanation, as they pointed to and detailed all the anticipated games. Little balloons for fishing were being filled. A tank of tiny goldfish were already doing swimmingly. Other games of chance still had their clever tricks on display, waiting to be properly obscured.
A yakisoba vendor fluttered a column of smoky steam from their grill with a paper fan. The practically flaming takoyaki made Misaki pull her lips back protectively. She would have to wait a while on those. Savory, similar scents to the special omelets that the Sasaki moms made wafted through the grounds. The three of them could only hope that the flavors might approach the heights of their first meal here.
Little pastry fish were already spread out in neat, friendly rows, like a baker’s version of today’s catch. Familiar candy apples and chocolate bananas would’ve seemed out of place, but they each had a unique spin compared to a country fair. It wasn’t quite warm enough for flavored ice, but their eyes still lingered on its bright presentation, decorated with syrupy, simple cartoon characters.
None of them had the complete traditional ensemble of clog shoes and bags, but neither did most of the other early visitors. Some of them even came without traditional attire. They were able to acquire colorful paper fans though.
Misaki couldn’t help but marvel at the life she was living and at the scene slowly settling into its perfect iteration. A world she never could’ve imagined, pastel perfection drawn and re-drawn with every breath, a dream she didn’t want to wake from. With so many nightmares nipping at her heels and intruding on her hopes, she would have gladly thrown whatever coins she could spare at the donation box to assure a beautiful night, wrapped in precious possibilities.