Cover High/Pekora
Penultimate Chapter: Your Mother Loves You, You Goddamn Rabbit.
Your gaze flits to your phone’s screen. The blue line on the map marks the route forward, leading a block further before making yet another of many sharp turns. You’re on the right path. Down narrow residential roads, across all-but-empty intersections, and past lush parks, that trusty zigzagging line leads you deftly through the suburban sprawl towards your destination. The hum of passing vehicles coalesces with the rustling of leaves in the wind and the thankfully-distant chirping of evening cicadas, a cozy ambiance only further enhanced by the soft glow of golden-hour sunlight. The tranquility of it all helps to soothe your nerves a little…but only a little. Your grip remains unnaturally tight on your phone, the fingers of your free hand nervously fidgeting with the parcel in its clutch as a cocktail of excitement and apprehension stirs around inside your head.
Today’s the day.
Two weeks you’ve been waiting for this. Two weeks that felt simultaneously like an eternity and not nearly long enough, full of running mental simulations, planning contingencies, researching from dubious sources on the internet, and envisioning best and worst-case scenarios alike. Now, ready or not, the fated hour is upon you: the night of the hanabi festival. Of your date with Pekora. The first date your socially-stunted ass has ever been on, with a girl you’re down absolutely horrendous for. How this evening pans out will almost undoubtedly decide the future of you and that little rabbit’s relationship. Your nascent romance could blossom into something more official…or it could wither and die. Your better judgment keeps assuring you that you would have to do something pretty egregious to fumble the bag that hard, but irrational fear is a tenacious beast, and your total lack of experience when it comes to love is not doing your confidence any favors. The pressure is on.
However, that isn’t the only reason you’re so wound up. Nor, astoundingly, is it the main one. With an upward swipe of your thumb, you switch from your GPS app over to LINE and begin rereading you and Pekora’s latest exchange for the two-dozenth or so time.
Sun, 6/27
You got the shrine’s address? 2:14 PM
Read 2:15 PM Yeah, I got it.
Good. Try not to get lost peko 😏 2:15 PM
Read 2:15 PM I have GPS, you goblin. I’m not gonna get lost.
Whatever you say~~~ 2:15 PM
Read 2:15 PM Meet up at the torii gate at 7?
That’s the plan! Don’t be late!!!!!! ☺️ 🥕 2:16 PM
Read 2:16 PM See you then.
Hey, can we change the meetup spot? 6:02 PM
Read 6:02 PM ?
I think I’d rather walk to the shrine with you than all by myself peko. 👉👈 6:03 PM
Would it be okay if you picked me up at my place? 6:03 PM
Read 6:03 PM Woah.
Read 6:03 PM Well when you put it like that, how can I say no?
Hahaha! 😆 6:03 PM
Here, lemme send you the address. 6:03 PM
https://www.goomba.com/maps/@36.2...5.54z 6:04 PM
Read 6:04 PM Got it. We still set for 7?
Yup! ☺️ 6:04 PM
Just knock when you get here and my mommy will let you in. 6:04 PM
Read 6:04 PM …Your mommy?
See you soon~~~~~ ❤️ 6:04 PM
6:04 PM Pekora
6:04 PM Pekora wait
6:09 PM Pekora??
The lump in your throat seems to grow larger with every word you read. Blinded by flattery, you had foolishly agreed to Pekora’s request without taking the time to think about the implications. Going to her house on a weekend, obviously her parents would be home. And obviously you would have to meet them. Now, you may not be an expert on courtship, but you’re pretty sure that in this day and age, that step’s supposed to come well after a relationship has started rather than before. But with Pekora refusing to pick up her phone, it’s far too late for you to back out. That little trickster of a rabbit once again has you caught in her trap. Not only are you flying blind on your first date, you’ve now additionally been tasked with making a good first impression with your crush’s guardians.
The development did not improve morale.
You pry your eyes away from your phone in an effort to avoid psyching yourself out further, instead focusing on the little package in your off hand. The abrupt change of plans had necessitated a bit of a last-second scramble to find a suitable greeting gift; such a faux pas as showing up empty-handed would almost definitely get you and Pekora’s parents off on the wrong foot. Thankfully your mother came in clutch when she heard of your predicament, procuring a can of your hometown’s signature tea that she had stashed away in the back of the kitchen cupboard. The cloth wrapping is a bit plain, shoddily tied together in a messy bow, but it was the best you could manage on such short notice. All you can do is hope that it will be good enough. Tucking the gift under your arm, you turn your attention back to the road ahead.
The sun makes its slow but steady descent towards the horizon as you traverse the winding maze of roads and houses in accordance with the directions of your faithful digital navigator. Until at last, you turn one final corner and find yourself at the conclusion of your trek, the destination dead ahead. At a glance, there’s nothing about the marked home that stands out from the others; the nondescript two-story house blends into the suburban environment like a tree in the forest. The only indication that you’ve even arrived at the right place is the name plate affixed outside the front gate, bearing the unmistakable surname ‘Usada.’ Looking upon the unremarkable abode, you can’t shake a certain sense of anticlimax that reminds you of your meeting with Headmaster Yagoo. You’re not sure what you were expecting to see, but everything just looks so…normal. Maybe you’ve become so conditioned to the extraordinary and fantastical during your tenure at Cover High, the ordinary and mundane is what gives you pause now.
At any rate, you’re here. The phone slips into your pocket as you pass through the gate and approach the front entrance. A deep, shaky breath flows in between your teeth, filling your lungs with warm early-evening air. Your trembling fist hovers tentatively before the door, just short of making contact with its varnished wooden surface. Come on. Don’t hesitate. The longer you hesitate, the harder it’s going to get. You’ve made it this far, and you can make it through this too. Just do it.
Your knuckles rap gently yet firmly against the door.
At first, the signal is met only with silence. You wait. A nervous gulp of saliva washes down your throat. You wait. The muffled sound of approaching footsteps seeps through the narrow gaps in the threshold. Still you wait. Your jaw tightens as the lock clicks. The door opens.
And all your mental preparations come crashing down in an instant.
Standing beyond the doorway…is a mom. A mom so indescribably momlike that she seems to embody the very essence of the word. From her standard-issue mom’s apron and side-plaited hair, to her ample, yet modestly-clothed figure, to the gentle look on her simultaneously mature and youthful face, everything about the woman before you exudes a warm, nurturing, fertile energy that only a mom could produce. Her eyes shine an instantly-recognizable amber hue, her neatly braided hair colored in silky blues and whites. And just in case those weren’t enough of a tell already, the two long bunny ears atop her head serve as the final clincher that leaves no room for doubt.
This is Pekora’s mother.
“Well hello there, dear,” she greets you in a soft and kindly voice.
“…Guh…” Frozen like a statue, you can manage nothing more than a tiny croak in response. Your brain has crashed to desktop; you may as well have had a flashbang thrown directly into your face. She’s…beautiful. No, more than beautiful. Gorgeous. Resplendent, even. A carbon copy of the rabbit girl you’ve come to adore, aged a couple decades like a fine vintage, and bestowed with ‘upgrades’ in all the right places. Tender and wholesome, yet at the same time endlessly alluring.
If this is what Pekora is going to grow up to look like, you need to put a ring on that finger.
“You must be Pekora’s little friend. I’ve been expecting you.” Given her emphasis on the word ‘friend,’ she clearly knows full well just what kind of relationship you have with her daughter. Resting her palm against her cheek, the mature woman takes in the sight of your paralyzed form with quaint amusement, as though admiring a precocious child. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Y-You too…”
“Hmmmm~?” A hint of mischief begins to creep into her motherly aura as she hides her widening grin behind her hand. “Are you alright, honey? Rabbit got your tongue?”
“Uh…!” Your inner volition grabs you by the figurative collar and slaps you across the figurative face. What the hell are you doing?! Aren’t you supposed to be putting your best foot forward?! This is an utter embarrassment! Pick your jaw up off the floor, stuff the spaghetti back in your pockets, quit standing around like a fucking moron, and say something! Blinking rapidly as your thought process undergoes a factory reset, you straighten your posture and clear your throat. “M-mm. Sorry. It’s nice to meet you too, um…Mrs. Usada.”
“My my~ Such a polite young man.”
…Did she just-
“Please, do come in.” Stepping out of the doorway, she motions with one hand to usher you into the foyer. “My daughter’s still getting herself ready, so feel free to wait inside. I made tea.”
“…Thanks for having me…” Your entire face feels like it’s about to spontaneously combust as you cross the threshold. The anxiety of potentially provoking the displeasure of Pekora’s parents has been supplanted by an entirely different and far more nefarious fear. This woman is dangerous. All it takes is a few choice words for her to soften you into putty and wrap you around her little finger…and you’re almost certain that she knows it. You’ll need to muster every ounce of willpower at your disposal to keep your shit together and not melt into a puddle on the floor. Hardening your resolve as best you can, you slip out of your shoes at the entryway and step onto the raised wooden floor. “Speaking of tea, I, um…brought this.” Your head bows respectfully as you hold the wrapped gift out to her. “This blend is from my hometown. I hope you enjoy it.”
“Why thank you, sweetie,” she answers as she accepts your tribute. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely.” The ritual is mostly just a formality, something done more out of social obligation than anything else. Yet as Pekora’s mother loosens the cloth wrapping and politely examines the can of tea within, you catch her smile faintly but unmistakably growing, a sign of what you can only hope is genuine glee. An encouraging sign. The woman’s attention returns to you as she tucks the can into the front pocket of her standard-issue mom’s apron. “I really should apologize for the short notice. It must have been harrowing trying to find a gift so quickly.”
She’s of course right on the money, but there’s no need to say that out loud. “You don’t have to apologize. Pekora asked for a change of plans, and I said yes. This is just the bed I made.”
For a second time, you catch that faint, devious glimmer in the woman’s eyes. “Well, so long as you have to lie in it, you may as well make yourself comfortable, hm?” she jests as she beckons you onward. “Come along now, this way.”
As you follow obediently at the woman’s heels, your eyes are drawn like a magnet toward the fluffy cotton-ball tail poking out of her lower back. Just like the ears, it’s a perfect match for Pekora’s. And as your gaze wanders further still to what lies just below, you begin to dearly hope that the tail isn’t all that her daughter inherited…
Leaving the foyer behind and passing the stairway to the second floor, Pekora’s mother leads you into the house proper. The place was clearly designed with space efficiency in mind; the dining and living areas occupy a single large room, with a small but serviceable kitchen tucked behind a countertop off to the side. Through the sliding glass door at the far end of the house, a humble backyard is visible containing a porch and a flourishing garden. Overall, everything is just as normal on the inside as it had been on the outside. A modestly-sized, but cozy suburban home, not too different from your own. The furnishings seem to be in a western style with high tables and chairs as opposed to the more traditional kneeling variants, but that’s a pretty common sight nowadays. In the end, the only thing truly remarkable about this house is its rabbit-eared inhabitants…and also the cat. Sprawled out atop the dining room table like it owns the place, the fluffy orange-haired creature is lazily lounging about without a care in the world, flaunting that typical feline cavalier attitude. It lifts its head up off the tabletop, ears twitching at the sound of your footsteps, and zeroes its scrutinizing yellow eyes in on you, the strange intruder to its domain.
“Oh hey, you prepared a feast too,” you state dryly as you stare back.
“Goro.” Pekora’s mother speaks in a playful scolding tone as she plucks the prone animal up off the table, eliciting a tiny ‘meow’ of protest. “Behave yourself. We have company.”
Goro’s little legs stretch out as if attempting to reach for any solid surface they can find, finally finding purchase as the woman sets him(?) down on the floor. Tail swishing in annoyance, the cat peers up at the two of you and emits another high-pitched, whiny mewl before trotting off at a brisk pace to claim new territory on the sofa at the other end of the room.
“Cute cat,” you remark, watching the fuzzy critter curl up in a ball and coil his tail around himself. After your encounter with Don-chan, you’d set the bar for Pekora’s taste in pets at…‘exotic,’ to put it politely. Compared to whatever affront to God that thing was, a more normal animal like a cat is actually somewhat of a relief to see.
“He is, isn’t he?” Pekora’s mother giggles to herself as she admires him from afar. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t scratch. He’s just a bit shy around strangers.”
Like owner like pet, you suppose…
“Anyways, have a seat and relax,” she offers, motioning to the table as she slips behind the countertop to the kitchen. “I have a feeling you’ll need all the energy you can spare for your little outing.”
“Thanks.” As you seat yourself, your gaze wanders away from the lounging feline to scan the spacious, yet vacant room. There’s a marked lack of activity within the household for a Sunday evening, with no dad to speak of. The more colorful side of your imagination had been anticipating a stern-faced, rabbit-eared man glaring daggers at you from across the table, offering pleasantries laced with an undertone of murderous intent. “Is it just you and Pekora?”
“Nervous about meeting her father?” Seemingly reading your thoughts, the rabbit-eared mom responds teasingly as she returns with a kettle in one hand and a pair of glazed ceramic teacups in the other. “Well, you’ll be relieved to know that my husband is a busy man. He’s off on one of his business trips to the capital.” Setting one cup in front of you, she begins to pour. Steam rises from the receptacle as it fills up with freshly-brewed green tea. “You’ll only have to handle me tonight.”
“…Uh-”
“Tell me about yourself,” she continues unabated, filling her own cup before taking a seat across from you. “I heard you mention a ‘hometown’ a moment ago. I take it you’re not from around here either?”
‘Either.’ So Pekora’s family isn’t native to this town… “Er, that’s right,” you answer as you take hold of your cup, letting the heat radiating from the contents warm your palms. “I actually just moved here a few months ago.”
Her expression takes on a knowing air, seemingly commiserating with your situation. “Quite the transition being new to a place like this, isn’t it?”
“There may have been some slight culture shock.”
The understatement earns you another snicker as the woman begins idly tracing the rim of her cup with one fingertip. “And how did you and my little kitten wind up entangled with each other?”
Does she have to keep saying things like that…?
“We, um…” Your voice trails off as you try to shake off your fluster and search for the right words. You and Pekora didn’t exactly start off on the best of terms…what’s the nicest way you can put this? “She liked to…well…play pranks on me. It turned into a sort of ‘game’ between us.”
“Oh dear,” she says in equal parts resignation and amusement. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Bit of a handful sometimes, isn’t she?”
“Maaaybe a little.” This time you join in her mirth, allowing yourself a wry smirk as you put the cup to your lips and take a cautious sip. The hot but thankfully not scalding tea washes over your tastebuds, tantalizing you with that familiar earthy and refreshing flavor. “I can only imagine what it must be like living with her.”
“Oh honey.” Her head faintly shakes from side to side in faux pity. “You have no idea. Back when her brothers were still living here? Hoo! Let me tell you, she, was, a, menace.”
“…Brothers?” You blink as your internal codex abruptly updates.
“Mmhmm,” she hums. “Pekora used to follow those two everywhere. She was practically glued to them.” A wistful and nostalgic look passes over the mother’s expression, her eyes staring off into some distant and long-gone place. “You should have seen how she would sit next to them with stars in her eyes while they played some game or another on the TV. I’d wager that a good chunk of her taste in entertainment came from them.”
“Huh…” So Pekora is the youngest of three. An unexpected development, but somehow the revelation doesn’t surprise you at all. She always did give off the energy of a bratty little sister, making mischief and getting herself into trouble. And the mental image of an adorable pint-sized Pekora sitting cross-legged and watching enthralled while her older brother plays video games gives you an urge to smile that cannot be denied. “I’m guessing that admiration didn’t stop her from giving them a headache, did it?”
“Not in the slightest,” she answers with a grin. “I could go on for hours about all the embarrassing shenanigans she got up to.”
“…Ohhh…you don’t say…” With a single statement, the paradigm between yourself and Pekora’s mother shifts. Suddenly the mature rabbit woman seated opposite you is not a figure of intimidating parental authority, or a tempting siren…she’s an information broker. A dealer in valuable Pekora lore. You would be an absolute fool to leave this wellspring of forbidden knowledge unplumbed. Your fingers steeple together as you lean forward in your seat. “Tell me more of these…‘embarrassing shenanigans.’”
Pekora’s mother hides her mouth behind her fingers as she lets out a hearty laugh at your sudden enthusiasm. “Goodness! That certainly caught your attention, didn’t it?” Impishness once again sparkles in her amber eyes as she similarly leans in, a conspiratorial atmosphere beginning to permeate the air around you both. “Well. How about we make ourselves a bargain? I’m sure you have your own fair share of stories about my little girl, so let’s trade. I tell you one, you tell me one. How does that sound?”
Ah, so you’re going that route, then. An equal exchange of information. Intel for intel. A shrewd, yet fair offer. This lady has a good head on her shoulders. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” you declare, lifting your cup and holding it up to her.
Quick to grasp your intentions, the mischievous mom snickers to herself as she similarly raises her own cup and gently clinks it against yours. The pact is sealed. “Perfect. Now…how about I spin you a yarn about Pekora’s ‘milk thief’ phase?”
“I’m listening.”
And so the minutes tick by. Pekora’s mother regales you with colorful tales of her daughter’s childhood misadventures, every excruciating detail carefully recorded, aggregated, and stored within your memory banks. As it turns out, that rabbit’s meddlesome nature is far from a recent development; the little gremlin has been causing trouble since she was old enough to walk. There’s enough dirty laundry here to last your entire lifetime, if only there were enough time to hear it all. And you, in return, share your own experiences with her many acts of mischief. The pitfall trap beneath your locker. The library incident. Mile-markers on you and Pekora’s slow path from enemies to friends and beyond. The older woman seems elated at this opportunity to hear tales of her daughter’s life at Cover High, hanging on your every word with a giddy look on her face and her long white ears standing fully upright atop her head. An unbridled and uncannily familiar enthusiasm that hearkens back to the day you brought Pekora to the safety ward chamber beneath the school. Her mother may be decades older and wiser, but in some respects the two are practically reflections of each other. Your cup empties time and time again, swiftly refilled each time by your gracious host and accomplice as your illicit collusion continues. Before you know it, your stomach is full of tea, and your head full of secrets.
“…and she said, ‘if you buy this for me, I’ll be a good girl from now on~’” Pekora’s mother cranks her voice up an octave in her best imitation of her daughter, clasping her hands together in histrionic pleading.
“So that was a lie,” you predict, your head resting idly against your knuckles.
“Bold-faced,” she confirms with a laugh before wetting her throat with another swig of tea. “She didn’t even last two days.”
“Hah.” Your cheeks are starting to hurt from grinning so much. Whatever tension and anxiety you had felt when you first walked into the house is long gone, melted away by this woman’s disarmingly warm, yet playful attitude. It almost feels like you’re talking to an old friend, despite this being your first encounter. Basking in that homey atmosphere, you pick up your cup and savor another long drink with her. “That girl is one piece of work. You’ve got the patience of a saint, dealing with her for this long.”
But Pekora’s mother is quick to humbly wave off your words of praise. “Well now, let’s not give me too much credit. I’ve lost my temper at her on plenty of occasions, believe it or not. There were times when I wanted to leave that little hellion on a doorstep somewhere.”
“I’d be more surprised if there weren’t.”
The lady emits a quiet chuckle that tapers off into silence as she peers down into her drink, lightly stroking the side of the cup with her thumb. “Never a dull moment, those days. As mad as it might sound…I think some part of me misses it.”
“…Eh?” You lift your head away from your fist at the unexpected remark. You’re not sure what to be more alarmed by: the implication that Pekora actually stopped tormenting her family, or that her mother somehow wishes she hadn’t. “What, she doesn’t do stuff like that anymore?”
Her long ears sway gently to and fro as she shakes her head. “Not since her brothers left the nest. I don’t know if losing her primary victims took the fight out of her, or she just started to grow up, but nowadays Pekora’s a bit…different.”
‘Different.’ Not better. Different. She was very particular about that word choice. Your relaxed posture begins to straighten, initial surprise giving way to a vague sense of unease. Something’s…off. “What do you mean?”
Pekora’s mother doesn’t immediately respond, letting the question hang for a moment or two as she searches for her voice. “…I suppose,” she says at last, “you could say she prefers to…keep her cards close to her chest, so to speak.”
“…Close to her chest…?”
“Mm,” she hums with a tiny nod. “She likes to spend most of her time up in her room, doing her own thing. Staying up until all hours, making all sorts of noise doing who even knows what.” A dry look passes over her features as she brings her cup to her lips. “Probably fooling around on the computer. Kids these days do love their electronics.”
Staying up late and making lots of noise…if you had to hazard a guess, that would probably be Pekora working on her traps. She’s mentioned before that her ever-growing arsenal requires a fair bit of time investment, often to the point of losing sleep and having to take naps during class. But a nagging voice in the back of your head is telling you that there’s more to this story. Beneath her mother’s veil of droll amusement lie unspoken insinuations of concern. And the fact that she doesn’t actually know what her daughter is up to implies a troubling lack of communication between the two. You can certainly understand the desire for privacy up to a point, but this seems like a bit much. “She doesn’t tell you about her hobbies?” It’s a bit of an insensitive question, but you can’t stop yourself from asking. “Not even a bit of small talk over dinner??”
The rabbit woman’s ears begin to droop, the corners of her eyes wilting despite the smile masking her face. “We…don’t eat together all that much anymore,” she admits with no small amount of abashment. “Usually she takes her food up to her room. The most I hear from her is letting me know that she enjoyed my cooking after the fact.”
…No. No fucking way. She eats alone too?! Even you still sit down for meals with your parents, terminally online as you are. You’ve known for a while now that Pekora is shy, but not to an extent like this. Her behavior has shot past mere shut-in territory and dived head-first into the hikikomori abyssal zone. For all the time you’ve spent with that rabbit, there’s clearly still much about her that you don’t know, and not all of it is sunshine and rainbows. “…Damn…I think I’m starting to get why you miss her younger years…”
“To be fair,” her mother begins, “she is at that age where you start wanting to become independent from your parents and make your own decisions. I felt the same way when I was her size. So long as she keeps her grades up, I’m willing to give her a certain amount of leeway to manage her affairs as she sees fit. And it’s not as if she never talks to me or goes outside. She just…likes her personal time.”
All you can do is look back at her in ambivalence. This feels like cope. Despite the brave face she’s putting on, Pekora’s mother clearly worries for her. Looking at this whole situation from her perspective, you’re faced with a daughter who rarely leaves the house, or even her room, and shares details about her comings and goings sparingly, if at all. And combined with two elder children who have already struck out on their own, and a husband who’s out of town on what you presume is a semi-regular basis…this woman’s smile is looking more and more lonesome and hollow.
Just a few minutes ago, you had been musing to yourself about what a nightmare it must have been to raise a troublesome girl like Pekora. But now your imagination is starting to sink into a far darker place. To watching your child’s youthful spark fade away. Seeing them grow ever more distant and withdrawn, finding it harder and harder to connect with them. Fearing that they’re retreating into themself, eschewing interaction with the outside world. Your lively little bundle of joy, becoming…lost. And you have no clue what to do about it, or if there’s even anything you can do. How would that even feel? Saddening? Terrifying? Infuriating? Some or all of the above? It’s so far outside your life experience that you can’t even begin to comprehend it on anything more than the most basic of levels.
But you know that it must hurt. It has to.
Seeing the conflicted look on your face, Pekora’s mother laughs quietly to herself and waves a hand as if in an attempt to fan away the heavy atmosphere. “Goodness, listen to me getting all sentimental,” she scolds herself. “Forgive me. It isn’t every day that I get to talk about my daughter like this. I guess I let myself get a bit carried away.”
“No, it’s…it’s okay.” A pang of guilt needles your heart at her self-derisive attempt to take responsibility for the morose turn in the conversation. This is your fault, not hers. “I’m the one who kept pressing the subject. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.”
The rabbit woman gazes at you warmly despite her wilted ears betraying the emotions hidden underneath her smile. One hand reaches across the table to rest atop yours, giving it a squeeze and a soft little shake. Her grip is gentle. Her palm, warm. Another similarity to her daughter… “You have a good heart, sweetie,” she speaks softly to you. “I really want to thank you for coming over and having this little sit-down with me. It’s meant more to me than you might think.” The warm bridge between your bodies lingers a moment longer before her hand slips away and returns to her teacup. “Seeing that my little girl at least still has friends at school…let’s just say that it helps put this old woman’s mind at ease.”
…at school…
“…I want to show you something.”
The words spill out of your mouth directly from your stream of consciousness. A kernel of inspiration has bubbled up from the depths of your mind - a ghost of an idea that you feel compelled to run with, for the sake of the kind-hearted yet troubled mother across the table. You have just enough time to see the mixture of surprise and curiosity appear on her face before breaking eye contact to focus on your phone as you fish it out of your pocket and begin tapping away. Unlock code. LINE. Chat list. Your thumb swipes with swift yet practiced motions as you navigate your message history. Where is it…?
There.
You lift your digit and stare at the screen. There are no guarantees that what you’re about to do will accomplish anything. As has become increasingly common for you, you’re just latching on to the first idea that pops into your head, flying on a wing and a prayer. But it’s the best you can do. A stranger to the household like yourself has no right to pass judgment on this family’s affairs, but maybe you can still help Pekora’s mother find some respite, however fleeting, from her anxieties. It may be little more than putting a band-aid on a bullet wound, but you still want to try.
You have one last story to tell.
“Here.” Holding out your phone, you offer it to Pekora’s mother. “Take a look at this.”
There on the screen, in landscape display, is a photo. The photo that Coco took on that fateful Friday afternoon that had marked the end of a most fateful week. You and Pekora, caught in each other’s arms, your faces locked in a permanent state of dumbfounded surprise. Her genmates, and Moona, and Coco, and Astel, all the members of your coalition, all smiling. Your shared moment of triumph and camaraderie after days of heartache and anxiety, immortalized in a series of ones and zeroes on your phone’s memory.
As Pekora’s mother delicately accepts the device from you and turns the screen towards herself, a range of emotions pass over her features in quick succession. Her eyes widen, a rosy pink bleeding into her cheeks as her wilted ears snap upright. The corners of her mouth curl into a grin, a breathless scoff of laughter washing past her lips. And as she continues to stare, her face softens by degrees into a warm and gentle smile. One that you can’t help but find all too familiar. “My my,” she says without looking up. “How scandalous.”
“That picture’s from a couple of weeks ago,” you explain to her. “After…you know…the thing that happened.” You don’t care how little that damn rabbit speaks to her mom, she has to have known about her daughter’s imprisonment. There’s no way the school wouldn’t have informed her, and allegedly she was the one who dropped off that cute change of clothes Pekora wore when you came to pick her up. “We all threw a sort of ’welcome-back celebration’ for Pekora when she was let out.”
“Looks like it was a real shindig,” the older woman whimsically comments as she rests her hand against her cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my daughter surrounded by this many people of her own volition.”
‘Shindig’? Holy hell, this lady is dating herself. You have to suppress the urge to laugh, the corners of your mouth twitching as it fights back a smirk. “Those are her friends. I’m guessing you know Marine and her crew already.” You sure as hell hope she does; Pekora and her genmates have been together since middle school.
“Of course,” she answers with a giggle. “I’d recognize that pirate getup anywhere. I see she still loves cosplay as much as ever. And…goodness.” She masks her growing smile with her hand as the flush in her cheeks intensifies. “Noel never seems to stop growing, does she? She must drive poor Ru-chan crazy.”
“Yes, she sure is…big.” You capitalize on the rabbit woman’s distracted state to momentarily lock on to her own ‘size,’ mentally comparing it with the silver-haired girl and finding it not too far behind.
Oblivious to the salacious act, Pekora’s mother shifts her focus to the blonde elven girl holding Noel’s hand. “Flare looks about the same as she did back then. One of the perks of elven blood, you know. Ages you like wine.” Her head tilts curiously, her long ears leaning to one side as she taps the screen. “Who’s that girl with the stars in her hair? She looks lovely.”
“That’s Moona,” you answer, glancing down to see the smirking face of your violet-haired friend. “She’s from Indonesia.”
“So that’s who that hot sauce came from…”
“Hm?”
“Nothing dear, just thinking out loud. You were saying?”
You give her a curious look, but quickly refocus. “…She can seem a bit stoic when you first meet her. But she isn’t, really. She’s just kinda shy. She had some trouble fitting in when she first transferred, but Pekora reached out to her. Helped her get used to the place and stuff like that. Nowadays she’s probably one of the closest friends that rabbit has in the whole school.”
“Really?” The revelation seems to come as a genuine and pleasant surprise to the woman, her eyebrows rising in amazement. “My little kitten actually reached out to someone…” she utters quietly to herself, a hint of pride in her voice.
“She’s a good friend.” You still remember how happy Moona looked when she told you the story of their blossoming friendship. How frightened she had become when she thought Pekora might leave the school. How she had been the one to pull the rabbit girl out of the darkness and convince her to stay. A relationship like theirs is practically one-in-a-million. Those two have something special. “And Moona’s been a good friend to her too."
“I can certainly see that,” she remarks with a smile, admiring the snapshot of the starry-haired girl pushing Pekora into your arms. “How about the dragon? The one shooting us the bird.”
Ho boy, here we go. “That, is Coco. She’s…” Whatever you do, do not mention her ties to the mob. “…a little wild. Loud. Irreverent. Swears up a storm almost constantly. That sort of thing.”
Pekora’s mother lets out a knowing chuckle. “Sounds like she’s got a delinquent streak.”
“…Something like that, yeah,” you vaguely confirm. “But she’s also smart. Not like, book smart, but street smart. She gives great advice.” She did for you, at least. You probably never would have confessed to Pekora if Coco hadn’t literally grabbed you by the shoulders and told you to man the fuck up. A faint smile crosses your face at the recollection. “If you need someone to light a fire under your ass, she’s the girl for the job.”
“And him?” Her slender finger motions to your blue-haired friend, the only boy in the photo besides you.
“His name’s Astel. He’s more my friend than Pekora’s. A bit of a snarky bastard, but you can count on him to have your back when you really need it.” You still owe him big-time for how much he contributed to the team’s efforts during Pekora’s imprisonment. Guy went out of his way to help a girl he barely even knows, just because she was someone important to you and Moona. What an absolute lad.
“Hmmm…” Pekora’s mother hums softly as she continues to stare at the photograph in wordless appreciation. Her eyes drift from one smiling face to the next, savoring each one like courses in a feast. And you sit back, content to let her enjoy it at her own pace. A long, but comfortable silence lingers within the room, until at last the rabbit-eared woman seems to find her voice again. “What a motley crew,” she comments light-heartedly, her gaze briefly darting up to meet yours. “I didn’t know my daughter had so many friends.”
“Well…she does.” Pekora may get upset at you for sharing details about her social life, but she can yell at you all she wants later. Right now, her mom seems like she needs to hear this. “Back when…when Pekora got in trouble, everyone was worried about her. They ended up joining forces and forming a sort of…team.”
To think that if Marine hadn’t stumbled upon you throwing a tantrum in the hallway, none of that week’s events may have happened. She was the one who brought the gang together and coordinated your efforts. The one who led the strategy meetings. The one always keeping an eye on morale, ready to raise everyone’s spirits with one of her pep talks. If anybody deserves the title of leader, it’s probably her.
“…‘The Rabbit Rescue Coalition.’” You inwardly sneer at yourself as you utter that redheaded girl’s ridiculous team name. “And I’ll deny I ever called it that.”
“Oh my,” Pekora’s mother snickers, sharing in your dry mirth. “A coalition. How official.”
“It was very serious business.” Despite your tone, you’re only half-joking. Your fingers idly turn the cup of now-cold tea in your hand as you think back to those days full of strategizing and subterfuge. At the time, it had felt like a nightmare. But now that you can look back on it from the other side, you can’t help but remember it with a certain fondness. For all its bumps and turns, it had been one hell of an experience. “Everyone worked really hard that week. They went to see Pekora every day, talking with her and trying their best to make her feel better. When rumors started spreading about her, they spread rumors of their own to protect her reputation. Hell, they even went to talk with the headmaster of the school, just so they could vouch for her.”
The lady raises a brow at you, tapping a fingertip against her cheek as she gives you a sly look. “You keep saying ‘they,’” she points out. “But you were there too, no? How else would you know all of this?”
“…I was,” you admit with a shrug. “But this story’s more about them than it is about me.”
“So modest~”
You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Look, I just…I want you to know that Pekora has more friends than she lets on. She might not talk about them or have them over for playdates or whatever, but they still exist. And I haven’t known them for very long, but after seeing how far they’re willing to go for her…I think she’s really lucky to have them.” You’ve witnessed firsthand how big their hearts can be. To Pekora…and to you. You’re not going to forget Marine dropping her lecherous behavior to comfort you at your lowest moments. Coco encouraging you to chase after your desires. Moona giving you that little extra push you needed to confront Yagoo. Flare tending to your wounded body and morals after your unfortunate encounter with Miko. So many little acts of kindness, without which you may never have arrived at where you are now.
Perhaps Pekora wasn’t the only one saved that week…
A smile unconsciously sneaks its way onto your face, carrying with it a fondness and affection that you don’t often allow yourself to show. But you can’t stop yourself. And you don’t really want to, either. “…Your daughter is important to them…to us. She can be a handful, and she can be a troublemaker, but she can also be sweet, and funny, and surprisingly considerate. It’s all part of the package with her. We wouldn’t have it any other way.” Lifting your head, you look Pekora’s mother in the eye with a tiny affirming nod. “So I hope that helps, um…‘put your mind at ease,’ as you put it.”
The rabbit-eared woman gazes warmly back at you. The veiled sadness has faded from her expression, washed away to leave a tender joy that reaches all the way up to her bright amber eyes. You can once more feel that comforting, motherly aura you’d felt upon first meeting her at the threshold. And just as she did back then…she looks so very beautiful. “I think I’m starting to understand why Pekora fancies you so much,” she half-teases, tapping the side of your phone to power down the screen. As she deposits it into your palm, her hand lingers to gingerly curl your fingers around the device, her amber eyes looking deep into yours. “Thank you, sweetie…so very much. It seems my daughter’s in good hands.”
“…Yeah…she is.” You don’t pull your hand back until she’s released you, savoring the warmth of her touch for as long as it lasts. Your trusty electronic companion slips back into your pocket for a well-deserved rest, its task completed. “I just hope she doesn’t get mad that I told you all of this.”
“Don’t worry,” she assures you with a devilish glimmer in her eyes. “I don’t kiss and tell. It’ll be our little secret.”
“Interesting phrasing, but okay.” If she can make remarks like that, she must be back in high spirits again. Your gambit seems to have paid off. Pekora’s home life is its own matter, one that’s none of your business to meddle in, but at least her mother can rest easy knowing that her daughter isn’t such a recluse at Cover High. You’re not sure if there’s something in the water or what, but something about that place seems to simultaneously bring out the best and worst in that damn rabbit. A bit of a shame that she keeps her family in the dark about it, but maybe she has…her…reasons…?
…Hang on a second.
“…Hey, uh, can I…ask you something?” you tentatively probe.
Pekora’s mother smiles back at you. “Of course, honey. What’s on your mind?”
“…If Pekora doesn’t talk to you about her friends…then how did you know about me?” The way she had greeted you when the two of you first met, it was as though she’d known about you for quite a while already. She said it herself: it was nice to ‘finally’ meet you. She had been looking forward to it. How is that possible?
The woman’s expression doesn’t shift even a single millimeter, her warm smile unwavering. “Call it a mother’s intuition,” she answers. “I remember what it was like to be her age. I’ve been in love, and I know what it looks like. Spacing out with that dreamy look in your eyes when you think of them. Dressing yourself up in cute clothes and styling your hair to make yourself look pretty, hoping to catch their attention. Pekora might not say out loud that she has someone she likes, but actions speak louder than words, as they say.”
You can’t deny that. Pretty much everyone has known about Pekora’s interest in you for ages. She may try to hide it beneath her bratty exterior, but her poker face is, to put it mildly, insufficient. And her fixation on pranking you says more than she’d ever be able to put into words. Her mother’s story is plausible. Perfectly, unquestionably plausible. And yet, your curiosity…your suspicion, remains unquelled. Because her oh-so-impeccably plausible story still fails to explain one crucial detail. Your scrutinizing gaze remains locked on the rabbit-eared woman across from you as you pose your next question.
“And how did you know I was coming?”
This time, her expression does change.
The corners of her smile pull back towards her cheeks, twisting into a grin. Her amber eyes almost imperceptibly narrow, her kindly gaze giving way to a sharp and predatory leer. That subtle glint of insidious mischief, momentarily glimpsed in the woman’s visage several times this evening, has now come unabashedly to the forefront to gleam like a dagger drawn from its sheath. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end, a chill washing through your body at the immense pressure beginning to emanate from this seemingly-innocent mother. “I wonder,” she muses with an almost terrifying calmness. “What do you think, dear? How did I know you were coming?”
“…U-Uh…” You can feel your heart beginning to pump faster in your chest. Caught off-guard by the abrupt shift in her demeanor, all you can do at first is sit frozen on the spot like a deer in the path of a 16-wheel truck. It takes a few moments of wrestling the reins away from your screaming fight-or-flight instinct before you can finally clear your throat with a gulp and stammer out a response. “W-Well…I’m guessing it isn’t because Pekora told you.”
“That’s correct,” confirms the smirking woman. “Pekora didn’t tell me.”
…She’s goading you. Playing coy to coax you along. You’ve spotted the thread, and now she wants you to follow it. To let it lead you to the answer. Your jaw tightens as you force the initial fear from your thoughts and sharpen your focus, honed by months of contending with traps, pranks and mind-games. You take hold of the thread and begin to pull. “You had to have known that she’s going to the festival tonight. You might have even guessed that she’s going with ‘the person she likes.’ But there’s no reason to assume that ‘that person’ would come to pick her up.”
“That would be an odd thing to assume, wouldn’t it?” she agrees with a nod. “Especially given what we just talked about.”
What you just talked about…Pekora keeps her home life and school life separate. Her mother doesn’t know about any of the friends she’s made since entering Cover High, because she doesn’t talk to her parents about her friends. And following that same logic… “If anything, you would have assumed that she’s going to leave the house by herself. Because she doesn’t have friends over, does she?”
The devil-faced rabbit’s grin widens further, verifying your theory before she even opens her mouth. “Also correct. Not once has my daughter ever invited a friend over to her house. At least not while her father or I are home.” Lacing her fingers together, she leans in closer. “And yet, here you are. Quite the intriguing change of heart, don’t you think?”
You hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. But knowing what you do now about Pekora’s habits…it’s strange. You being here. You being invited here. Is that really something she would do? It seems to contradict everything you’ve heard about her thus far. It just doesn’t add up. And yet, you were undoubtedly invited. You’ve read that exchange like two dozen-
…that…exchange…
The thread reaches its terminus. The pieces of the puzzle click seamlessly into place. And the truth falls at your feet.
“…Did you-?”
“Mommy~?”
You almost bolt from your chair at the unexpected sound, head whipping in the direction of the stairway as all the tension wound up inside you snaps like a rubber band. But that momentary panic quickly subsides as your brain catches up to your sympathetic nervous system and identifies the new stimulus as Pekora’s voice, ringing out from the floor above.
Pekora’s mother shuts her eyes and lets out a quiet huff of amusement before turning in her seat and calling back to her. “Yes sweetie?”
The soft thump of sock-covered feet against hardwood drifts down the stairs. The voice draws closer. “Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it any-”
And out of the stairway and into the room steps the rabbit girl herself.
The instant she lays eyes on you, Pekora’s question sputters out, her entire body locking up in place as if someone hit the pause button. A look of steadily-mounting shock and horror grows on her face, all the blood seeming to drain from her features to leave her with a deathly, ghostlike pallor made all the more striking by her vibrant crimson yukata. “T-…T-T-Transfer Student?!” she shouts out as she recoils in fright.
“Hi Pekora,” you greet her in resignation.
“Y-Wh-I-How-Why are you here?!” The nonsensical string of monosyllabic noises at last gains coherence and forms a complete sentence. One that only serves to confirm your suspicions.
“…Your mom lured me in.”
“Lured you-?!” But Pekora’s voice once more dries up as she snaps her head towards her mother, watching wide-eyed as the smiling woman casually pulls something out of the front pocket of her standard-issue mom’s apron and sets it atop the dining room table: a smartphone in a blue rabbit-eared case.
“I found your phone.”
There it is. The final, damning piece of evidence in this little mystery. That entire LINE conversation, that last-minute change of plans that led you to this house…it hadn’t been Pekora on the other end. She didn’t invite you here. Her mother did. The sly trap that you had so carelessly walked into was not the handiwork of your usual foe as you initially thought, but a hitherto unknown and far more guileful string-puller. Looking at that kindly-faced woman, behind whose smile lurks a great and terrible cunning, you can see at last that she well and truly is Pekora’s progenitor.
“Ehhh?!” Pekora emits a mortified shriek that sends Goro scampering out of the room in a panic as she desperately snatches her phone off the table. “When did…how…what did you do?!” she demands, affixing her mother with a frenzied wide-eyed glare.
And in sharp contrast, her mother meets the accusatory look with a total lack of concern. The calm and confident expression of someone who knows they’ve already won. “It’s as he says,” she explains. “I borrowed your phone and invited him over. We had a nice little chat over tea.”
The panicked rabbit girl stutters and stammers as her gaze repeatedly darts back and forth between her mom and the phone in her hand. “But…b-b-but my passcode-!”
“You had it set to your birthday, sweetie,” the woman remarks with a raised brow. “It wasn’t that hard to guess.”
Pekora’s complexion only seems to grow ever paler, her mouth flapping uselessly like a fish out of water. “B-…Wh-…Why would you do that?! Th-This is a huge invasion of my privacy!”
“Says the girl who broke into my locker-”
“Can it, Transfer Student!”
“You know what my name is!”
The older woman lets out a mirthful laugh as she watches the two of you exchange verbal blows, her cheek resting lazily against her hand. “I don’t know why you’re so bent out of shape. You do realize what time it is, right? You were supposed to meet your date a good twenty minutes ago. If I hadn’t brought him here and kept him entertained, the poor thing would be standing around the torii gate right now wondering if something had happened to you.” Her shoulders shrug in feigned indifference. “You should be thanking me, really.”
Your conversation with Pekora’s mom had been so thoroughly engrossing that you’d lost sense of the passage of time, but a quick glance at the clock on the wall validates her assertion: the minute hand is positioned precariously close to its lowest point, well past you and Pekora’s agreed-upon meetup time. And she hasn’t even left the house yet. If you had stuck to the original plan, she would have been late by more than half an hour by the time she finally got to the shrine.
Pekora seems to come to the same realization, her ears hanging low as her shoulders droop. “I…you…but…but you still…!” Her brain seems to have short-circuited, leapfrogging haphazardly between indignant anger and shameful humiliation as she stands rooted on the spot. Soon enough her frustration finally reaches a boiling point, both hands gripping the sides of her head and roughly tousling her hair as she lets out a roar of directionless fury. “RRRGH!”
“You’re going to mess up your hair, honey,” her mother teasingly scolds. “And after all the work you put into it, too.” Her playful amber eyes wander in your direction. “What do you think? Doesn’t she look lovely?”
Absorbed as you’d been in the unveiling of her mother’s machinations, Pekora’s attire had escaped proper scrutiny at first. But with your attention now being beckoned towards it, you begin to fully take in the sight of her choice of clothes…and find yourself becoming more and more enraptured the longer you look.
Much like the day of her release from the school jail, Pekora has foregone her usual outfit and dressed herself in something new for the festive occasion: a surprisingly short red yukata that doesn’t even reach halfway down her thighs, leaving her enticingly bare and shapely legs on full display. A yellow sash is wrapped snugly around her waist, held in place by a white obijime cord decorated with a carrot-shaped ornament atop a little pink bow. The tasuki curled around her shoulders to hold up her sleeves is white and fluffy, with an all-too-familiar pair of beady little eyes peering vacantly from the rabbit-eared head at the end: Don-chan has once again been incorporated into the bunny girl’s outfit. Even her hair has been done up in a new style, neatly braided and coiled into a pair of buns, adorned on one side with a red flower-shaped kanzashi. All the pieces fit neatly together, forming an ensemble that’s cute, girly, and just a little bit sexy. You are, for the second time, utterly smitten by Pekora’s fashion sense.
“You do look pretty amazing.”
“Gh-!” The color that had drained out of Pekora’s face comes rushing back in a flood of rosy pink across her cheeks. The blushing girl turns her gaze away to stare intently at the wall as her hand begins bashfully fidgeting with a lock of unbraided hair, twirling it around and around her fingers. Her petulant outburst has gone completely off the rails. Overwhelmed by sheer meek embarrassment, she seems at an utter loss for words. “I-I…um…”
“Just take the compliment,” her mother advises. “I think you’ve earned it.”
Pekora emits a faint little whine as she clenches her eyes shut, her grip tightening on her hair. You briefly begin to worry that she may bolt from the room and retreat back upstairs in a fit, but when she finally does spring into action not a moment after the thought has crossed her mind, she heads not for the stairway, but for you. “Come on,” she firmly states as she grabs you by the wrist, her voice carrying a grave finality that brooks no room for argument. “We’re running late.”
“Wh-?” You can’t even get a single word out before you find yourself yanked out of your chair and onto your feet, being forcefully pulled along with a shocking amount of strength for such a petite girl. “Woah, woah!” Stumbling inelegantly after the flustered rabbit, your head darts back to her mother. “U-uh, it was nice to meet you!”
All traces of devious intent have retreated from the rabbit woman’s exterior and slipped back into the shadows; her visage has returned to its usual gentleness. One last time, you’re treated to the sight of that tender and genuine smile as the kindly, yet mischievous mom holds up a hand and waves you goodbye. “It was nice to meet you too, dear,” she calls after you. “Take good care of my baby, peko~”
“AaaaaaAAAAAAOKAYLOVEYOUMOMMYBYE!”
“Don’t be out too late! You have school tomorrow~!”
Her voice fades away as Pekora hauls you to the foyer, snatches her purse off the coat rack, steps into a pair of zori sandals and drags you out the door, all with such fluid swiftness that you barely even have time to put your shoes back on. The next thing you know, you’re standing out on the streetlamp-lit road, that cozy suburban home at your back. Pekora’s hand remains firmly clamped down on your wrist, her head pointedly turned away from you to hide her face. But the rabbit ears pinned flat back against her head betray her current emotional state…and it doesn’t look encouraging.
“…She was nice-”
“What did she tell you?” her voice cuts you off.
“Come again?”
“Don’t play dumb!” Pekora shouts, looking back at you with cheeks on fire and a glare that could melt steel. “I know she talked about me! What did she say?! What humiliating things did she tell you?! Don’t lie to me!”
“Well, she definitely didn’t say anything about you raiding the fridge to steal your brothers’ milk.” …Is what you want to say at first, but your volition is quick to yank the leash and rein in your impulse to tease. Pekora looks legitimately upset; this is perhaps the second angriest you’ve ever seen her. You just met her mom, something she had made a point of avoiding for all of her other high-school friends. And even if unknowingly, you did so without her consent. Now’s not the time to make fun of her or rub your newfound knowledge in her face. You need to set your ‘rival’ urges aside and handle this with some actual tact, or else this date is going to start off on a disastrous note. Your expression softens, your arm going limp in Pekora’s grasp. “Nothing that I plan on ever sharing. With anyone.”
“You sure as hell better not!” she snaps back. “If I ever find out that you repeated any of what you heard back there, I’ll find the nearest big rock and make you forget!”
Disturbing. “You know me better than that. I’m no gossip.”
Though Pekora continues to scowl at you, your assurance does seem to take the edge off her rage, her iron hold slackening just a little as her flattened ears begin to lift a few degrees. “You still haven’t told me what she said.”
Well, you can’t exactly go down the list of all the childhood stories her mother shared with you. That would just make her angry all over again. But maybe you can tell her something else.
“…She’s glad.”
Pekora blinks, one ear tilting curiously to the side. “What??”
“She told me she’s glad,” you repeat. “That you have friends.” You’re paraphrasing a bit, but that is the gist of what her mother said. “She got to see that you’re still making new friends at school. And that made her really happy.”
The unexpectedly earnest answer seems to throw Pekora off her stride. Her brow begins to unfurrow, the fury gradually bleeding out of her expression. The once white-knuckle grip on your wrist relaxes further and further, until it starts to feel almost delicate. “…She said that?”
“She did,” you confirm, gently nodding. “Your mom worries for you…y’know? Moms do that. The good ones, at least. I think meeting me helped her worry a little less.” Could that be why she did it? The reason she lured you over and had that clandestine meetup with you? She avoided giving a straight answer when asked. Was it to assuage her fears about Pekora’s social life? Was she curious about her daughter’s crush? Was it loneliness? Boredom? A simple desire to cause mischief? Hell, maybe it was all of those things put together. You don’t know. And you likely won’t be able to find out for a good long while; something tells you that Pekora isn’t going to let you back inside that house any time soon. For now, at least, it looks like you’ll just have to speculate. Whatever the case, the fact remains that she benefited from the encounter.
Pekora is silent, nibbling thoughtfully on her lip with her gaze lowered. By now her ears have lifted to once more stand upright, the last vestiges of anger gone from her body language as she stands there in quiet contemplation. “…I guess…that’s not so bad…” she finally mumbles in seeming acceptance. “…I’m still mad though…”
“Would it make you feel any better if I said I was sorry?”
“…Maybe a little…”
Your arm gently shakes in Pekora’s weakened grasp, wordlessly signaling to her. The message seems to go through, her head raising to let her gaze meet yours. “…I’m sorry.” Your voice is soft. Your remorse, honest. You may not have intended to do anything wrong, but right now making her feel better is more important than trying to exonerate yourself. “I’m sorry I went to your house without your permission.”
A moment of silence hangs between yourself and her, broken only by the faint buzz of the streetlamps overhead and the metronomic chirping of crickets. As she stares deep into your eyes, the corners of the rabbit girl’s brow begin to droop; she almost looks guilty, despite you being the one apologizing. The last flickering embers of residual anger fizzle out, her fingers unclenching fully to release their hold and let your hand fall back to your side. “It does feel better,” she quietly admits. “…I’m sorry I yelled at you. I just…I didn’t think my mommy would do something like that.”
“I guess now I know where you got your knack for mischief,” you say with a tentative smile.
The corners of her mouth twitch as she lets out an almost-inaudible snort. “…Guess so...I can’t believe she managed to take my phone.” Pekora slips the blue-cased device out of her purse and turns it over in her hand, eyeing it with a hint of curiosity. “How did she even get you to come over?”
“She pretended to be you and asked me to pick you up.”
“Yeah, that’s about what I figured,” she says with a resigned sigh. Powering up the screen with a tap of her thumb, she opens up her LINE app. As her amber eyes scan the screen, the mortification in her expression rapidly intensifies, her face scrunching up in perhaps the most intense cringe you’ve ever seen in your life. “Ohhh god, she even copied the way I type…”
With a peek over her shoulder, you can see you and Pekora’s chat history displayed on the screen. On comparison, the messages from the real deal sent earlier this afternoon and the later ones sent by the impostor are nearly identical. Her mother even made sure to mimic her excessive use of tildes. “Pretty convincing, right?”
With a groan, Pekora powers down her phone and shoves it back into her purse with perhaps more force than is warranted. “It is, and I hate it. God, she is just the worst!”
Seeing her about to reignite, you pre-emptively dump a bucket of water onto the kindling. “You know she loves you though, right?”
“Mmmmmh…!” Pekora grumbles and puffs up her cheeks in a cranky pout, stroking the strap of her purse as she wriggles back and forth in palpable, somewhat adorable irritation. The heel of her foot thumps angrily, the ‘clack’ of her sandal against the pavement drifting down the empty road. Eventually her roiling frustration seems to die down, the rhythmic wooden sound falling silent and her agitated motions slowing to a halt as she grumpily lowers her gaze. “…Yeah, I know,” she murmurs with no small amount of reluctance. “I love her too. She just…she embarrasses me. A lot.”
“I’m pretty sure moms are contractually obligated to be at least a little embarrassing,” you remark. “I guarantee you I’d be a wreck too if our roles were reversed.” God help you if Pekora ever meets your mother…
The sulking rabbit’s gaze flits over to you, peering at you out of the corner of her eye before looking away again. “…I guess…”
“Tell you what,” you offer, holding out your hand with the gentlest look on your face that you can manage. “How about we start this date over? From this moment on. No more worrying about embarrassing family members or whatever. This is our night. We go to the festival, and we have fun. Just like we planned. Deal?”
“…” This time, her gaze turns to you and stays. Her sullen expression cracks, breaking by degrees until it finally shatters into a faint, but undeniable smile. The first you’ve seen from her this evening. As cute as Pekora is when she’s pouting…this suits her far better. “Okay.” Her little hand reaches out and takes hold of yours, fingers slipping through the gaps between your own. “It’s a deal…peko.”
With a nod and a gentle squeeze, you motion down the road with your head. “We’d better get a move on, then. Like you said, we’re behind schedule.”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
As you and your date begin your nighttime trek towards the shrine, the stars shining high above the glow of the streetlights, you take one last sidelong glance at that utterly unremarkable two-story house, within which resides a most remarkable mom. You learned much from that woman. About her daughter, both good and bad. About herself, and her worries and joys. About the danger that lurks beneath her warm smile. What was to be nothing more than a simple pickup before an eventful evening ultimately turned into an experience in and of itself, all courtesy of that caring and conniving mother. You’re not sure when, or if, you’ll ever be back. You hope you will, someday. But for now, you have more important matters to attend to.
Turning your back, you leave the house behind and walk the path toward your awaited evening of adventure.
“So, um…did my mommy say anything else about me?”
“I thought we were starting over.”
“Just answer the question, peko.”
“Are you sure you really want to know?”
“Yes, I want to know!”
“…‘Milk thief.’”
“KYIEEEEEEE!!!”
The two figures slip out of sight and into the dark, their voices fading into the distance. And somewhere within that unremarkable two-story house, a curtain is drawn shut with a faint chuckle of delight.
“How interesting.”
~~~~~