Oyasumi/ if life gives you lemonade

— Why won’t you charge… — the girl muttered, bending the cable in different directions, hoping it would somehow magically make the faulty wire work. — Maybe… — she said with difficulty, making one last attempt. — This way you’ll finally remember why you were even invented. She unplugged the cable, flipped it over, and plugged it back in, as if that could magically convince physics to obey. The phone, however, remained dead. (Great. Even technology is hinting that she should stay home.) Amie plopped down on her suitcase, which was already sighing pitifully under the weight of her clothes. Half of them would definitely be unnecessary, but what if something happened in Tokyo that required four different black dresses? — Even your charger is hinting that it doesn’t want to fly, — her brother’s familiar drawn-out voice came from the doorway. — Forgot to ask its opinion, — Amie shot back without looking at him. Avril leaned against the doorframe with that smug smile that usually earned him a smack. — Listen, sis, — his lazy voice sounded again, followed by the familiar creak of her door. — Try not to fall in love with every second guy you meet, okay? — I’m leaving because of my excellent grades, not because of men, Avril, — she replied calmly. He sighed theatrically. Okay, maybe a little because of handsome men in elegant suits. But she hadn’t met a single one worth the trouble yet. While she was thinking about it, a loud voice came from the kitchen. — Mom, honestly, I’m afraid to let Amie go to Japan. What if she steals someone there? When did that idiot manage to dash to the kitchen so fast? Amie smiled, holding herself back from rolling her eyes. — Good thing you clarified, — she called out, knowing he could hear her anyway. — I almost thought you were worried someone might steal me. She finally walked into the kitchen, where her mom had already set the table. The boy was sitting there, sipping coffee, his legs lightly swinging and brushing the slightly worn tablecloth. It was clear that everyone was worried. A year apart was no small thing. — Oh, come on, who would steal you, — her brother said, fixing his very stylish hair. — And even if someone did, they’d bring you back the next day in tears, begging not to let you outside again. Amie rolled her eyes and deliberately ruffled his hair. As he indignantly pushed her hand away, covering his left eye after her bracelet lightly hit his eyelid, their mom interrupted. — Amie. — Her voice was too even, too careful. — You’re almost ready? Your father said he’ll come to Tokyo sometimes, so you won’t be completely alone. That makes me feel a little better. She seemed more worried than anyone. For the past week, she had been spending more time with Amie, carefully hinting that she could still change her mind and stay home. — Mhm, — was all Amie said. She chose not to mention that her father would probably call once from his hotel, wish her luck, and cheerfully remind her that she was independent now. By his standards, support meant a light pat on the shoulder. Besides, his business mattered more to him. He had been dealing with tourism coordination for years, so relying on him was honestly pointless. — Mom, I’m not five, I’m almost twenty-one, — Amie said, trying to encourage her as she stared blankly at her cooling tea. — Almost? — Avril added. — You turned twenty just three months ago. Amie mentally imagined asking Max to secretly pour bleach into her brother’s shampoo if he kept stressing Mom out. — Shut up. After eighteen, life moves faster, — she replied. — Oh, sure. You’ll become Miss Twenty-Year-Old American Amie-chan, — he smirked, glancing toward the cabinet mirror. — And I’ll butcher your name into A-BU-RI-RU, — she replied, sticking out her tongue at his reflection. — Meaaaan, — Avril drawled. — I wonder if all older sisters are like this, or if I just got lucky. Their mother still sat quietly, her eyes fixed on her cup. — Mark my words, in a month there’ll be a photo in the mail. This is my Japanese husband, his name is Takumi or whatever, — he went on. — Ugh. I hate Takumi, — Amie grimaced. — Huh? But you said if you were in Hachi’s place, you’d fall for him too, — her brother teased. It was true. No matter how much she complained, the character from NANA fit her type perfectly. But the more she thought about his actions, the more disgust she felt. — That was an analytical observation, not a confession, — Amie said. — Besides, Dad would kill me if I dated someone without him knowing. Honestly, she wasn’t destined for a “Takumi” anyway. Her own father was practically his real-life prototype: just as confident, always in a suit (not always elegant, but still!), and with that same belief in his own eternal rightness. One like that at home was already more than enough. The anime one could stay fictional. Her mother nervously twisted the ring on her finger and seemed to check for the hundredth time that morning whether the zipper on Amie’s suitcase was properly closed. She sighed heavily again. — Enough childishness. Amie, — she said in a firmer tone. — Check once more if you’ve packed everything. It’s time to leave for the airport. If Max and Eva get back before you go, I’ll be stuck with hours of crying. Amie nodded and took her cup from the table. — Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Cassandra, — she joked, calling her mother by name, and went to finish packing. Avril never figured out whether his sister had washed the mug or simply hidden it under the sink. In any case, it no longer mattered. Twenty minutes later, a taxi was already waiting outside the house. When Amie hugged her mother one last time, her hands trembled. She clearly wanted to hold her daughter longer than time or propriety allowed. Amie and her brother got into a car that probably produced more smoke than some factories. Although Avril was three years younger, he sometimes acted like the older one. Even now, Amie did not need an escort to the New York airport, but he insisted on coming with her, “to annoy her for a year ahead,” as he put it. Amie could not decide whether it irritated her, because as the eldest child, she sometimes still wanted to feel protected. When they reached the terminal hall, Avril and his sister said goodbye. He had been silent the entire ride and only before leaving reminded her not to lose access to her email and under no circumstances break his laptop. — Go already, — Amie drawled. In truth, what she really wanted to say was, Come with me. He, who had only by the end of summer started wearing something that covered his knees, whose scars he had proudly shown off all season, ruffled his sister’s hair. Usually that annoyed her, but now a few extra minutes with him were worth even a ruined hairstyle. — Call me every day, — he said in an almost puppy-like voice. Puppy-like? What did that even mean? Good question. — No way, — Amie replied, pushing his hand away. — Do you even know how much international calls cost? — Then learn how to use email properly, old lady, — he winked. Old lady? Well, yes, sometimes she froze when the internet disappeared and waited for hours until Avril came back and “fixed” it by pressing a button. But at least now she knew how to enter passwords! The airport did not seem special to her. She had been there dozens of times. Their father worked in tourism, and from an early age Amie and Avril had memorized the smell of coffee in the departure hall, the hoarse announcements, and even which vending machine gave ice-cold water and which gave lukewarm. But today was different. Not an excursion. Not a short visit to Dad’s workplace. Today, the suitcase was hers. And the ticket was one-way. — Okay… bye, — Amie said more seriously. Her hands twitched forward. She wanted to hug him one last time. But she stopped herself. He might think she would miss him. No way. — And don’t break your charger in Tokyo, — Avril added half-jokingly. — I won’t be there to lend you mine. Amie smiled without meaning to. I’m really lucky to have them, she thought, waving at her departing brother. Of course, she never found out that he cried once he was outside the airport. Probably from happiness.