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Ririka already knew who was calling her without even needing to look at her phone.
The timing was impressive, albeit unsettling. Ririka had just started unpacking toiletries onto the surface of the bedroom’s vanity — she hadn’t been alone for more than a few brief minutes.
She swiped to answer the call and held the screen’s glass, still warm from her pocket, against her ear. Her tongue stuck uncomfortably to the roof of her mouth as she inhaled sharply, attempting to muster the strength to say hello.
“How was your flight?”
Ririka winced. Kirari’s greeting was upbeat, perfectly cordial. Too cordial.
She finally wrenched her mouth open to speak.
“It was fine–“
“Oh, good! Even with that odd bit of turbulence when passing over the lake? I know you’ve never liked that part.”
Ririka felt her heartbeat against her sternum and inside her ears. Hard. Heavy.
“…Yes, it was fi–“
“Excellent. And I assume you’ve made it to the room for the night?”
Ririka glanced up at the bedroom vanity’s mirror and froze when her reflection’s gaze met hers. She studied the face captured there. The pale skin. The bright blue eyes. The snowy eyelashes.
Silence sizzled through the phone’s receiver before she heard Kirari take a breath.
“Y-Yes,” Ririka blurted.
Ririka pressed her palm to the mirror’s cold glass, and blue-lacquered fingernails entered her field of vision. She caught the sight of a bottom lip, painted in a velvety light blue, trembling in the mirror’s reflection. She bit it to make it stop.
“Good, so you’re alone, then.”
It wasn’t a question. Ririka knew what this call was about. She released her bottom lip and willed her features into cool indifference. The reflection adjusted itself accordingly, although slowly, in starts and fits. The glass around her palm was beginning to fog.
“Because, you see, you said something to Sayaka before you left and–“ Kirari breathed a soft chuckle that held no mirth. “–Goodness, the helicopter blades were so loud , and frankly, I’m sure I must’ve heard you incorrectly, because–“ Ririka heard Kirari’s jaw grow more and more tense in each word’s inflection. “–What it sounded like was you calling Sayaka a nag.”
Ririka swallowed, watching her throat bob with the action in the mirror’s reflection.
“Kirari-“
“But I must be mistaken, because surely you wouldn’t say that, not when I have never spoken to Sayaka that way.”
Silence once again hung between them as Kirari’s breath brushed against the receiver in steady intervals.
Ririka could count on one hand the number of times she had been the subject of Kirari’s ire. Not for a long time. Not since they were kids. That evening marked the rare occasion of another finger unfurling to keep the score.
The cool gaze in the mirror bore into Ririka’s. It wasn’t Ririka’s doe-eyed stare. It was her sister’s, burning into her, oblivious and uncaring of the fact that Ririka’s body was casting the reflection and not Kirari’s. Ririka might buckle and fold under such scrutiny. Kirari would stand steadfast and defiant.
“She was holding us up. I needed to leave. You know how the schedule is.”
Ririka’s voice was placid, to the point that it almost sounded bored. And besides, Kirari rarely bothered to explain herself to people. Ririka’s eyes roamed over the braided silver hair on the young woman in the mirror; each plaited loop secured with a pristine, black ribbon.
Kirari’s soft breaths whispered through the phone for a few more moments. Then she drew in a sharp intake of air followed by a beat of silence.
“Be that as it may, that was very uncalled for.” Kirari hissed through jarred teeth.
Ririka’s palm dropped from the glass and she watched as the moisture left behind by her hand quickly dissipated. She straightened to her full height and squared her shoulders. Kirari didn’t slouch.
“Oh? It worked though, didn’t it? She let me go, so…”
Ririka felt good standing there in the dark bedroom, its shadows painted in deep, inky shades of blue. Relaxed. Confident. The corners of her mouth tugged ever so slightly upward, the weak light of the antique lamp on the vanity casting strange shadows on her face. If she squinted, it almost looked like a mask.
“Sayaka will get over it,” Ririka blew out.
The corner of one of her upturned lips twitched ever so slightly. Igarashi’s given name never felt right on Ririka’s tongue, but that’s what Kirari called her, so she was making do. She drew in a calm breath and blew the strange feeling out.
Kirari barked an incredulous laugh.
“Is this really who you think I am?”
Kirari’s words might as well have been a full-force slap across Ririka’s face. Her smile fell and her lungs caved. She dropped her eyes to her feet to avoid the change in the reflection.
“Wh-What?”
Wind whipped the receiver of Kirari’s phone. She must be outside, but Ririka wasn’t sure where. The council room balcony? The courtyard? No, both locations were too open, too easy to overhear their conversation. Was Kirari still on the helipad somehow? Ririka didn’t know, but suddenly the fact that Kirari knew exactly where she was but Ririka didn’t know where Kirari was made her palms itch.
“What’re you-“ Ririka swallowed against the rapidly pooling saliva in her mouth. “-What do you mean?”
She didn’t dare look back up at the mirror. She stayed staring at her shoes on the hardwood floor. Her sister’s shoes.
“Oh, honestly!” Kirari sighed, harsh and aggrieved. “Are you just being willfully ignorant at this point?”
Ririka’s stomach lurched.
“I don’t…Kirari, what’s-“
She struggled against the nausea crawling up the back of her throat. Ririka wasn’t sure how long she could keep becoming ill at bay. Sweat was rapidly gathering under the collar of the shirt she borrowed from Kirari.
“It’s like you haven’t been paying attention at all this entire past year…”
Kirari’s tone had lost most of its heat, withering now into something that just sounded… tired. Maybe even a bit sad, if Ririka’s ears didn’t deceive her. Regardless, she was selfishly thankful for it; the overwhelming urge to vomit had subsided to something more manageable with the shift in her sister’s voice.
“Or…” Kirari’s tone was softer, suddenly. Curious. “Is that…how you really feel, Ririka?”
Convinced the contents of her stomach would stay put for the foreseeable future, Ririka chanced a glance up at the mirror. Kirari’s reflection wasn’t there anymore. In its place was a young woman, the skin above her upper lip shining with cold sweat, her shoulders sagging and hunched. No, Kirari wasn’t in the mirror anymore. Just a cheap imitation. Just Ririka.
Ririka closed her eyes against the reflection and said the first thing that came to mind.
“Does it matter?”
Only the wind replied in a whisper against Kirari’s phone. Before Ririka could gather the courage to ask where she was, Kirari broke the silence.
“Do you remember the first time we tried black sesame ice cream?”
What?
“I…guess? What does that have to do with-“
“Oh, come on-” Kirari giggled; for the first time that night her laughter didn’t hold anger or resentment. “-Grandmother got an ice cream maker for the kitchen the summer after we started kindergarten. She ran poor Hiroshi ragged-“
“-Because she had him make a bunch of different flavors. Yeah, sure, I remember.”
Ririka shifted her weight from one foot to another and back again.
“And do you remember the time he made black sesame ice cream? Do you remember how you reacted?”
Ririka grimaced and half-shrugged despite being alone in the bedroom.
“I hated it. The flavor was weird and I didn’t like that gross, zombie-skin color it had. I still don’t like it.”
“I remember your face after the first bite. You looked like you had swallowed a frog.”
Ririka could hear the smile in her sister’s voice. She opened her eyes again. The reflection looking back at her didn’t feel so abhorrent this time. She chanced a small grin at herself.
“You didn’t like it either, though. You asked Grandmother to please tell Hiroshi to never make it again,” she chuckled.
“I actually quite enjoyed it. Still do, in fact.”
Ririka’s nose wrinkled, and despite the hair and clothes and makeup, she knew the expression in the reflection could never, ever pass for Kirari.
“What!? So why’d you tell Grandmother you didn’t like it?”
“I never told her I didn’t like it. Only to tell Hiroshi not to make it for dessert anymore.”
“…Okay, but why?”
Kirari chuckled.
“Because I could tell you couldn’t stand it.”
At some point during Kirari’s confession, Ririka’s jaw had dropped open. Her reflection looked more and more like she was wearing an ill-fitting Halloween costume. She wanted to take it off.
“…Thank…you…?”
Ririka wasn’t sure what to say. For all of their family’s efforts to cater only to Kirari’s wants and needs, she knew Kirari found ways around that system; little moments and exchanges that allowed Ririka more opportunities to express herself without the elders knowing. But Ririka was suddenly dizzy from the idea that Kirari may have been quietly doing so much more for her than she ever previously thought.
“It’s always mattered to me,” Kirari stated matter-of-factly.
Ririka wasn’t entirely sure what they were even talking about anymore. One moment she was getting chewed out over an apparently misplaced comment to the student council secretary, and the next she was reminiscing with her little sister about ice cream. Another moment she was sure she was about to lose her dinner all over her sister’s shoes, and yet now she was slowly reaching up to untie the black, satin ribbons securing the braids in her hair. Ririka finally felt grounded enough to ask the question that had been bothering her all night.
“Where are you that’s so windy? Are you still on the helipad?”
“Ah,” Kirari gave a half-chuckle that, if Ririka wasn’t mistaken, almost sounded shy. “No, I’m out at the tower. Construction finished this past spring.”
Ririka shrugged off Kirari’s double-breasted blazer and let it drop to the floor. She started on the skirt’s zipper next.
“Huh. Why are you all the way out there?”
Kirari drew in a deep breath before she answered.
“…Just felt like checking in on it, I suppose.”
Wind continued to lap against the phone as Ririka carded the fingers of her free hand through her hair, finally shaking the braids fully loose. She eased off Kirari’s loafers and worked the buttons loose on the blouse next.
“Do you hate her, Ririka?”
It was so soft, Ririka wasn’t sure she heard her when her sister’s voice was competing with the wind in the background. She paused her undressing.
“Sorry, what’d you say? The wind is-“
“-Sayaka. Do you hate her?”
No. A little. Maybe. Yes. But also, not really. I don’t know…
“I don’t understand why she gets special treatment from you, to be honest.”
If Kirari could sidestep pointed questions, why not Ririka?
Ririka heard Kirari’s throat click after a swallow before she spoke again, her voice coming through the speaker much clearer this time.
“You don’t understand, or you refuse to understand?”
Ririka rolled her eyes, bit back a tired sigh. The exhaustion from this entire exchange was loosening her tongue more than she should perhaps let it.
“She makes me nervous,” Ririka confessed. “I feel like I’m walking on eggshells around her.”
“Why?”
Ririka could feel her shoulders tensing and bunching up. Her grip tightened around her phone so hard the plastic case creaked under the strain.
“Because she can tell us apart! Why aren’t you nervous about that?! Why have you never been nervous about that?!”
“Isn’t that nice, though? To actually be seen for who you are?”
Ririka scrubbed her hand over her face and tried to ignore the tight feeling in her throat and the way her stomach flipped.
“Surely you must get tired of wearing masks all the time.”
Not really. Always. Never. Sometimes. Every single day, especially when I’m alone with my thoughts at night in bed.
Saliva was pooling in Ririka’s mouth again, and with it, the queasiness. She suddenly felt cold and exposed. She considered pulling her sister’s clothes back on, or at the very least buttoning up the blouse that was hanging limply over her shoulders. She forced herself to respond despite her discomfort.
“No point in thinking about things like that.” Ririka swallowed thickly and her gag reflex itched. “W-we need to focus on the electio-“
“-Things like what?” Kirari interjected, voice probing and curious.
Not being you. Being me. But I don’t know who I am. Seems like I don’t know who you are either anymore.
Ririka’s vision spun. She was sure she was about to be sick this time. She frantically shrugged off Kirari’s blouse and clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head despite Kirari being unable to see her.
“-I c-can’t-“
She felt like she was drowning.
“It’s okay, Ririka,” soothed Kirari. “It’s okay.”
It’s not, though!
Ririka clamped her eyes shut and felt hot tears cut through the makeup on her cheeks. Her breaths were coming hard and fast through her nose.
Ririka tried to focus on the sound of the wind still rushing through the receiver, anything to help anchor her; she felt like she was in free fall. Kirari drew in a deep breath.
“Just…Promise me you’ll be respectful towards Sayaka from now on? Please?” Kirari spoke softly, like she was talking to a wounded animal.
That request was enough to set every remaining alarm off in Ririka’s head, let alone the fact that Kirari never begged. The axis of Ririka’s world was tilting too far, too fast.
“K-Kirar-“
“You don’t have to like her, but you need to be polite to her, okay?” Kirari sounded exhausted herself.
Imminent vomiting be damned, Ririka grit her teeth as her finger nails dug into her cheek. Her throat felt raw and hot. She needed to know.
“Wh-?!”
“Because I don’t know what I would do if she hated me,” Kirari replied in a near whisper.
The fine hair on Ririka’s arms and back bristled into goosebumps. Cold sweat was beading up through every pore. She had never heard her sister speak like this before. She couldn’t hold herself back anymore.
“I-I’m sorry, h-have to…I have to g-“
Ririka dropped the phone and sprinted to the attached bathroom, nearly tripping over the pile of her sister’s clothes that she had been accumulating around her ankles. She didn’t have enough time to reach the toilet let alone turn on the light. She retched into the bathroom sink in the dark over and over, until nothing was left, until she felt hollow and empty.
Ririka’s face was drenched in sweat and tears. The sound of her ragged, panting breaths echoed off the tile walls in the darkness until it was all she could hear. She splashed cold water on her face and tilted her head back to look up into the bathroom mirror.
And there, in the mirror, seen only by the nearly non-existent glow of the faraway vanity lamp in the bedroom behind her, was a face looking back at her.
And it was just Ririka.