Sunday arrived… suspiciously calm.
Harumi noticed when she opened one eye and didn't feel the crushing weight of existence collapsing onto her chest.
Just the sun sneaking in sideways through the window and a suspicious silence.
The kind of silence that means something is wrong.
— …weird.
THWAP.
A pillow flew directly into her face.
— WAKE UP — Takeru's voice came with it, completely unapologetic.
— OW—! — Harumi shot up, hair in every direction. — That was domestic violence!!
— It's almost eight — he replied, already fixing his shirt. — You asked me to wake you up.
— I asked with words, not with physical aggression…
On the other side of the room, Mei hadn't moved a single centimeter. Wrapped up like a human cocoon, breathing deeply, completely disconnected from reality.
— She wouldn't wake up if a meteor hit the house — Takeru remarked.
Harumi sighed, stumbled out of bed and walked over to Mei's side.
— Good morning, sleepyhead…
Nothing.
She leaned down and carefully picked the girl up.
Mei mumbled something completely incomprehensible and buried her face in Harumi's shoulder.
— That's it. Keep sleeping. Life is way too hard for someone who's nine years old.
In the bathroom, the scene was pure slapstick comedy:
Harumi holding Mei's toothbrush while brushing her own teeth at the same time, both of them slightly crooked, one half asleep, the other half foaming.
— Open your mouth… there you go… — Harumi murmured. — If you spit on the mirror, I'm pretending I didn't see it.
Then came the hair.
Harumi opened the cabinet and stared for a second at the drawers full of clips, bows, and colorful hair ties.
That still felt slightly new to her.
A small "before and after" of her life.
— Pick one — she said.
Mei, eyes half open, pointed at two clips that had absolutely nothing to do with each other.
— Do they match? — Harumi asked.
— They match — Mei answered, with complete conviction.
And somehow, they did.
In the kitchen, Takeru was staring into the open fridge with a completely empty expression.
— …there's nothing left.
— What do you mean "nothing left"? — Harumi asked, walking in.
He pointed.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
One lonely egg.
Half a tub of butter.
Air.
— Looks like a swarm of locusts came through here — Harumi commented.
— I made eggs — he said, stirring a pan. — It's what we had.
— You're a national hero.
She leaned against the counter, already mentally planning the day.
"Grocery store. School calls. Maybe ice cream. Movie tonight. Perfect."
— Today's going to be calm — she said, with way too much confidence.
That's when the phone rang.
— Hello?
— HARUMI — the voice came loud and urgent, unmistakably her sister. — I NEED YOU TO COME HERE RIGHT NOW WITH THE CAR. I NEED TO GO DOWNTOWN.
— What? But—
She hung up.
Harumi stared at her phone.
— …what was that?
— Sounded like a polite request — Takeru commented, still eating.
Half an hour later, Harumi was already in the old car, praying internally while the engine made a sound that was definitely not healthy.
She pulled up to her sister's place and read the message on her phone:
Don't honk.
— …of course not.
Izumi appeared, slipping out almost sideways, looking both ways, carrying an enormous bag.
— What are you doing? — Harumi asked.
— Shhh — Izumi signaled. — I just need to go downtown to buy a few things.
— Okay. So why the mystery?
— Surprise gift.
— For who?
Izumi stopped.
— …you don't remember, do you.
— Remember what?
— Mom's birthday is coming up.
Silence.
— …oh.
And then, as if the universe wanted to finish the job, Harumi's eyes went wide.
— OH MY GOD. Mei's birthday.
Izumi turned toward her slowly.
— You're unbelievable.
— I SWEAR I WAS GOING TO REMEMBER — Harumi defended herself. — Life just… happens really faaast!
— It always happens with you, I'm used to it — Izumi replied, getting in the car. — Let's go.
Izumi put on a helmet.
— Why are you wearing a helmet?
— Safety.
— This is a car.
— With you driving, it's basically a motorcycle with no balance.
Harumi huffed, started the car and pulled out with a screech of the tires… more or less.
The music was loud.
They talked over it.
Laughed. Planned gifts. Talked about school, the kids, the full house.
— So now you're the mom of the entire neighborhood? — Izumi teased.
— I'm nobody's mom! — Harumi replied. — It just… happened.
— Sure it did.
The car gave a small tug.
— Did you feel that? — Izumi asked.
— Feel what?
— Nothing. — She shrugged. — Probably just the car being itself.
And so, calm, happy, completely distracted…
they parked downtown.
With absolutely no idea that one tire was completely dead.
Sunday was still beautiful.
For now.