Chapter 42
Aya
Aya ended up at her mother’s studio. She hadn’t meant to go there. There was no escape from the number of things she needed to complete at the museum. But eventually, Emi dragged her out.
“I haven’t gotten what I needed,” Aya moaned on her way out the door.
The sunset, she noticed rather abruptly, was beautiful.
The night before, she had been able to appreciate the sight.
But now it just heralded her doom. If the sun is almost setting and I’ve made virtually no progress, what does that mean?
She should really stay up all night, working on both her doctorate and the Pilgrimage, if she was going to make a go of either.
“Yes, but I need to eat,” said Emi patiently. “Unless you want me to faint.”
“You probably have trail mix in your bag,” Aya grumbled. Emi was a master of preparation.
“You don’t know that,” Emi said patiently.
Her mom was between classes. She was in the little storage closet that functioned as a makeshift office, balancing the books.
Aya envied her mother’s abilities. How did she run a business while raising three daughters?
Aya had been tasked with one thing, saving the museum, and even that had been beyond her abilities.
Their balance sheet looked terrible. At least they were not likely to lose the building during the Pilgrimage itself, though she wondered what would happen immediately after.
“Good evening,” said Emi cheerfully. “Any luck on the bathroom situation?”
Aya’s mother pulled her in for a quick hug. “Nothing on my end, I’m afraid. But I am good at rounding up volunteers. Aya, would you like someone else to take on a day or two of the Pilgrimage? Twyla said Professor Jin may need you during that time. Really, it’s no trouble.”
Aya pulled away, horrified. “Mom, the Pilgrimage is the one part of my job that usually goes well! That’s the most important thing I do all year! You would really want to take me away from that?”
“I just thought you might need help with it,” her mother murmured. “I know there’s been too much on your shoulders, Aya. I’m afraid I gave you too much responsibility when you were younger. I’ve always felt that—”
“That I can’t handle anything? Thanks for the vote of confidence. We were going to see if you wanted dinner, but I think we’ll just go.”
She saw Emi mouthing an apology, which annoyed her more. And she heard a familiar voice coming over from next to the barre.
“Are you ready to start?”
She poked her head around the doorway.
“Oh, hi,” said Twyla, exchanging glances with their mother.
And Aya noticed her mother and Twyla were dressed identically.
Instead of the casual skirts that had to be tied on, they were wearing floaty black skirts.
And instead of ballet pink, which was usually the color of choice, they were both in black leotards.
“What is this?” asked Aya.
But there was no response.
She looked at the two of them. Their other sister, Martha, would probably have been part of this, except thank goodness, her work was keeping her in Japan for the time being.
That was more or less how Aya’s childhood had been.
Mom, Twyla, and Martha on one side, united by their love of dance and their ballerina bodies, and Aya on the other side, too large to look good in half the costumes.
She had also asked her mother if she could be in a pageant.
There was one that would have been perfect, and from the age of six, Aya had always asked to participate.
Little Miss Love Hollow would have been ideal.
They wouldn’t have even needed to travel, and at that age, Aya had already started singing lessons, so she had an obvious act for the talent portion.
She could have even combined singing and dancing, if her mom would let her.
But her parents had both denied her that opportunity.
And years later, Aya was forced to watch from the sidelines as Twyla and Martha alternated year after year.
If one of them won Little Miss Love Hollow, that was a virtual guarantee that the other one would win the next year.
So it was no surprise that they both ended up winning Miss Love Hollow, too, and becoming finalists for Miss Idaho.
Half the time, Aya wasn’t even allowed to watch.
“Fine,” she snapped. “You can just stay. I’ll figure this out. But no, Mom, I don’t need you to do my job for me.”
“Aya…” Twyla was getting close, probably trying to go in for some sort of conciliatory hug.
“No,” said Aya. “I get it.”
And she walked out.