So, I almost forgot today is Wednesday, and I spent the morning cleaning the oven (it was in a very sorry state after over a month of neglect), and didn't realize until three in the afternoon that I'm supposed to release a chapter today.
Then I had to set up the posts, adjust my formatting for the forum, write this introduction, add footnotes, insert links, change the primary post to reflect the change, and all that jazz. Anyway, I'm just wasting forum space at this point, so I'll get on with the show.
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Chapter 37 – For Better Or Worse
My gait quickens as I catch sight of my sweater-vested Swooner standing outside the black-iron bars of the main gate, facing away with his hands in his pants' pockets. Despite my somewhat noisy skipping, there's enough wind to have muffled the sound of my footfalls, so he remains oblivious of my presence. Resisting the urge to call out and ruin my unseen approach, I slow to a creep for the last ten meters, grinning girlishly as I stealthily step up behind him. The last time I had a chance like this, I was much more reserved, reaching up just to cover his eyes and tease him with only the surprise. Now, I'm not afraid to crush my body against his back and cup my hands around his eyes while giggling.
“Guess who~!” I lilt, trying to disguise my voice by making it higher.
There's a brief pause while he leans back in surprise, and I use the moment to bounce myself against him playfully, which I'm sure he enjoys. When the shock settles, he calmly reaches around behind himself to place a hand on my waist, then starts mumbling.
“Hmm... well, you're about the right height,” he starts his playful, unnecessary deduction, “You're nice and soft, and you smell like... apples?” his hand moves lower, running down to my jeans and around to grab my behind, “And, you're about as curvy as I expect, but I'm not quite sure...”
I think he's just prolonging my backwards hug at this point...
Giving me a gentle squeeze, probably in an attempt to make me protest and give away my voice, he tilts his head slightly. “Ah! Okay... based on the evidence available, I'm ready to make a theoretical inference,” he announces, reaching his trailing hand up to pontificate, “I'm about ninety-five percent certain—you're Misha!”
Slapping his shoulder, I attempt an imitation, “Wahaha~!” which sounds completely wrong, then flip him around by the arm and spring up on my toes to kiss his cheek. As I settle to my feet again, I scold, “Idiot!”
“Oh, hello!” he greets, reaching around my waist and narrowing his eyes at me with a derisive smirk.
“Are we really that much alike?” I ask coyly, pouting a little.
I know Misha and I share some physical attributes...
Squinting, he looks down, presumably to compare me to his mental image of our pink-haired friend. “She's a little shorter, not as chesty... and you have a nicer... rear quarter,” he remarks, slipping his hand down over my hips to punctuate his observations, “Plus, she doesn't wear glasses.”
“
Har,
har... like that's a plus,” I mock, reaching up to adjust his crooked shirt-collar.
“Let's just call it a fetish, then?” he suggests, which I decide is a passable excuse.
“Okay, but why are you so sure about me having a nicer ass? Have you gone around grabbing hers?”
“No... I don't think I'd survive that, and, besides, have you seen yourself in jeans?” he asks plainly, forcing me to shake my head. “It's like roundness perfected,” he compliments, dragging his hand back up over my jeans to rest against my waist, “It's the best ass at Yamaku, by far—and I'm not just saying that; I've done hundreds of interviews—collected testimonials... I took the research seriously!”
I'm trying not to take him seriously, but I secretly think he isn't kidding...
It's rather futile trying to turn and look at my own behind, so I shrug and reply, “I'll take your word for it, I guess.”
In response, he leads us over to sit on the bench beside the gate, then crosses one leg over the other. After I spend a few moments looking at him with a bewildered expression, he aims his eyes downward briefly, leading me to inspect his groin. Noticing he's apparently somewhat strained, I giggle and look away, mostly to see if anyone's watching.
“
That's your litmus test?” I ask incredulously.
“It doesn't do that automatically around anyone else,” he remarks plainly, wiggling in the seat to try and adjust himself, “Just you—thought, sight... and especially touch.”
“Like I said before: I'm not even sorry!” I say, holding back some prideful laughter.
I like having that effect on him...
Happily, he doesn't seem offended, and instead closes his eyes contemplatively, resting his head back against the wall. If I gather what he's saying right, he suffers from a bit of embarrassment whenever I'm around, and, if I'm to believe his claims, he's so focused on me that other girls don't even draw his eyes. Honestly, I've felt the same way about other men since we started seeing each other; I don't think about anyone else, especially since our relationship entered the bedroom, and the idea of having some other guy in my bed is plainly repulsive.
I guess he has the same effect on me...
“If it helps at all, I'm the same way,” I mention, which makes him smile weirdly, but he stays against the wall with his eyes closed. “I never really had much of a crush except with Kenta, and that went nowhere for both of us,” I explain, pausing to gauge his nodding reaction before adding, “Ever since we met, you've pretty much been the object of all my fantasies, so don't feel bad about... that. It's a mutual problem.”
“I think it's a chemical thing,” he mentions, shrugging slightly, “I'm kinda hooked on you, like a drug—my
eighteenth medication.”
Laughing lightly, I reply, “Well, whenever you need a dose of Aiko... just let me know!”
To put a little extra distance between us, he sidles away, then remarks, “Your mom will be here in like ten minutes, or I'd take you up on that right now...”
“Later, then,” I suggest, glancing down the hill, “We can repeat this morning tomorrow, maybe...” I look back and shrug, “before you leave?”
Nodding and smiling casually, he surmises, “You mean have you spend the night, and we'll spend the morning playing
Mario Kart... among other things?”
“Exactly,” I reply, patting his knee exuberantly, which makes him flinch. “Eh, sorry—didn't mean to-”
“I'm calm now,” he interjects, shaking his head slightly. “And that sounds like a perfect plan,” he adds, starting to nod as he continues, “I'll work on getting packed while you're out; so we have more time to focus on those other things... which will remain nameless.”
Giggling, I reply, “I'll put together an overnight bag and give you a call after I get back.”
“Make it a
text,” he advises, offering a slight shrug.
“Really? My voice does it, too?” I question, shaking my head at his sympathetic smirk.
“Your voice sounds more...
sultry over the phone,” he explains, shrugging slightly, “Or, that's what my brain tells me, anyway...”
“Which brain?”
“Both of them.”
I probably shouldn't be surprised...
“Anyway,” he adds, tapping the bench with his finger, “I'll be gone for a whole month, so I'll need a big dose of Aiko before noon tomorrow.”
Nodding despite him keeping his eyes closed, I reply, “You can consider me your personal wet-nurse.”
“Sweet, sweet medicine,” he says with a lewd smirk, and I giggle airily.
I hope he doesn't think about that too much while we wait for Mom...
Since this is the last day of school for the summer, there are plenty of other students starting to make their way out toward the bus stop, and headed for the car park. Many of them are students I don't know—probably first and second years—who walk by without so much as a glance. The few I recognize are no less preoccupied with their fast-paced exit, and most of them don't even wave—it's really not surprising. Among them are a few of my classmates, teachers, and I catch sight of Emi throwing up a big, energetic wave as she steps into a little sedan.
I recall Emi saying her mom lives in the city somewhere...
Soon the crowd thins, and only a few stragglers remain, which indicates it's probably getting close to noon, so I check my watch. Timing is everything in Mom's profession, or at least it was when she ran restaurants. That makes her very punctual, which, in turn, led us out here long before the noon deadline—to ensure she doesn't go searching through the dorms. Reading the time, I notice the hands are just about to meet on twelve, and look up to see the sun reflecting off her rental's windshield, just as it crests the hill.
I think she has an atomic clock built in somewhere...
“She's here,” I mention, turning a curious look at Hisao, “You ready?”
Keeping his eyes closed, he replies, “Do I have a choice?”
Laughing at his mild apprehension, I retort, “C'mon. She actually likes you, I think.”
“Yeah, I got that,” he agrees, then moves to stand, “she's still
scary, though...”
I'd disagree, but then I'd be lying...
Rising to my feet, I hook my arm around his, and he leads us to the edge of the sidewalk. Despite his protests, Hisao hasn't really had any complaints about Mom, which I'm surprised I didn't notice until now. The fear he mentioned probably comes from respect, and perhaps a desire to impress, rather than any real aversion. He even mentioned that if I were to become like my mother—which is something that I find frightening, but remains a possibility—he wouldn't mind. It's an encouraging thought, although I'd rather it not come to that—at least not entirely.
Mom pulls up right alongside us and leans down to look up at him, smiling broadly, then beckons toward me. “Well, there's my beautiful,
smiling daughter!” she greets as I'm opening the door, “And her
handsome suitor~.”
Realizing that I never actually had the opportunity to do so, I decide to offer Hisao a proper introduction. As I'm sitting down, I aim a cordial hand toward him and announce, “Mom, this is Hisao Nakai—
The Swooner,” then I nod toward her and add, “Hisao, this is my mother—Ina Kurai.”
“Kitten, you don't need to introduce us—we've
met!” she balks, but smiles anyway and extends a hand over me toward Hisao. He looks a little perplexed, probably by the late introduction as much as her willingness to go along with it, but he remains stoically silent, and takes her hand tentatively for a quick shake.
“Charmed~!” she greets with a agreeable chuckle, “And, do call me
Ina, dear~!”
“Hello, Ina,” he replies cordially, retracting his hand slowly. “Aiko told me to call you that," he says, glancing toward me, then he shrugs slightly and looks to her before adding, "but, it feels a little weird...”
I wonder what he'd rather call her...
“Result of years working as a grunt in the service industry,” Mom explains, as she does customarily, shrugging at his furrowed brow. “It makes the work environment less stressful, I think. Even later, my employees could approach me in a friendly manner, and it made solving problems less tense... And I do appreciate your apprehension, but, please, I want to be friends with my daughter's...
friends.”
I think she was about to say “lover”...
With a flick of his eyebrows, Hisao replies, “Very well;
Ina it is.”
“Good~!” she chirps, patting his hand, “Now if you don't mind, I need to steal your girlfriend away for an afternoon!”
Nodding in deference, he takes a step back and crouches down to reply, “I won't keep you, then.”
Instead of agreeing, or waving, or starting the car moving, Mom just stares at him for a few moments with a bright smile. Her continued gaze makes him fidget in place, and cast me a questioning glance. After a few more seconds, she blurts, “Are you going to kiss her goodbye, or am I wasting gas for nothing?”
We share a quick glance at her prompting, then let out some nervous laughter. It takes a second for the thought to sink in, but he slowly approaches, then leans against the door. While he's crouching toward me, I turn a speculative glance at her, but she just nods happily and waits. Faster than we've ever done before, he leans forward, our lips meet, there's a brief moment of suction, and he backs away bashfully. Mom grins brightly at our restrained display, chuckles lightly, then offers Hisao a little wave.
“We'll be back by evening, don't worry!” she says, though I doubt it offers him much comfort.
“I'll let you know when I'm back,” I offer, which makes him smile.
As she maneuvers the car through a three-point-turn—which takes her seven points to accomplish, annoying a number of other parents as they attempt to leave—I watch as Hisao stands on the sidewalk, waving slowly and shaking his head. Once we're lined up well enough to start down the road, Mom pulls up alongside him and leans out the window, beckoning him closer with a welcoming hand. When he's close enough, she whispers something in his ear, laughs lightly at his confused response, then leaves a peck on his cheek before letting him back away.
I wonder what she keeps whispering to him...
Whatever she said, it's apparently something she isn't going to tell me, and probably told Hisao not to mention. She's probably just giving him advice, or warning him to stay in line, but keeping it a secret bothers me a little. It's also possible she's simply complimenting his sweater-vest, or something equally inane, if only to make me wonder—she's crafty like that. Once we're on the road, she tunes the radio to another classical station—away from the j-pop Midori was probably listening to during their ride earlier—then sets a contemplative look on me and sighs.
“Watch the road, Mom,” I advise flatly, rolling my eyes as she turns to face out the windshield.
“Sorry, I'm admiring the smile on my daughter's face!” she remarks, turning for another quick glance before adding, “You look so relaxed and... well,
happy.”
“That's probably because I
am happy.”
“Well, I don't just mean the state of mind, Kitten~!” she lilts melodically, which I'm guessing is some kind of lewd innuendo. “So... the sex was
good, I'm guessing?” she asks bluntly, making me cringe, then she lets out a happy whimper and adds, “I'm sorry, I'm just curious. I just want to know if you're enjoying yourself~!”
I think she's more interested in living vicariously through me...
“I am—we are... it's a fun part, like you said...” I reply nervously, trailing off and hoping she doesn't continue her line of questioning.
I don't think I'll be that lucky...
“So, is he naturally talented...? Or just
well-hung?”
“
Mom!”
I expect this from Amaya, not Mom...
“Don't be embarrassed, just think of me like one of your girl friends!” she assures me, giggling and sounding particularly girlish. “I haven't had sex in four years, and I said I wanted to help, remember...? With advice, I mean... Wow, Ina...” she trails off, shaking her head and blinking.
I guess I know where I got my dirty mind, now...
“You want
details?” I ask with mild disbelief.
“Anything you feel like sharing; I'm mostly interested in the high points.”
“
High points?”
“The ones putting that smile on your face, Kitten.”
“Oh, those...” I trail off and raise an eyebrow, “Well, three consecutive times last night... and five more this morning.”
Mild shock causes her to turn a wide-eyed stare at me for a moment, but squealing tires pull her back to reality. After regaining control of the car, she inquires, “You're sure they were-”
“Yes,” I interject, deciding to be blunt, “Big ones—very satisfying... and he's
talented, not huge.”
Shaking her head slowly, she takes a deep breath to settle herself, then comments, “Your father was quite talented like that.” Blowing out the breath, she glances at me again, and holds a questioning hand up as she adds, “You made sure that he-”
“Four times to my eight, since you left...” I say, feeling as though I'm relating a scorecard.
I wonder if there's a sexual Olympics...
“Now I regret not inviting him to lunch,” she remarks absently, then furrows her brow and asks, “You used protection-”
“New one every time he went in... though two of mine were from-” I stop myself and shrug, “And I-”
“It's alright, Kitten; I can surmise,” she interjects, relieving me from having to get too descriptive. “That he's willing to... explore all facets of the experience, with you... is telling,” she adds, then looks at me and smirks, “Going the extra mile, as it were.”
I still wonder about that ninth orgasm he claimed I missed...
Blushing at the memory, I mention, “That's actually how he woke me up.”
“Oh, dear...! That's the kind of initiative you should... cultivate~!” she lilts brightly, nodding and smiling. After a moment, she furrows her brow to inquire, “I hate asking, but... has he been with... anyone else?”
Taking a moment to consider the question, I'm certain Hisao would have told me about any other affairs; he was up-front about Iwanako. “No, I'm pretty sure his only other girlfriend never had the chance.”
“How do you mean?” she inquires, sounding curious, “Is it related to his medications?”
Kind of... but I think she's more interested in the segue...
The question of Hisao's condition is one I've been dreading, but I'm relieved she isn't just assuming he's completely healthy; she reacted somewhat poorly to meeting Kenta. It was a while after our attempted romantic endeavor, and she mostly just stared intently—which Kenta didn't exactly appreciate—but it wasn't her finest moment, and it's a reaction I'd rather save Hisao from enduring. Arrhythmia isn't particularly obvious, but it has a lot of potential to become debilitating, so I feel obliged to give her the full story.
I think Hisao will understand me being honest with Mom...
“You're wondering why he's at Yamaku?” I ask, desiring clarity.
She nods and winces, then sighs, “Yes, I suppose... I didn't quite know how to ask...”
I probably shouldn't sugar-coat it...
“Back in February, he received a confession from his crush, and... before he could even respond... he promptly suffered a heart attack,” I recount bluntly, listening to her gasp of surprise before finishing, “He spent four months in a hospital, diagnosed with arrhythmia—a heart-rate disorder... and, upon recovering well enough, his parents had him transferred to Yamaku... I met him a few days after he started in June.”
It's a lot of information to grasp, so I wait while she thinks it through. His explanations came slowly over the past two months, in little chunks, so I had plenty of time to reason them out before he added to the story. That didn't make it sound any less surprising, or horrifying, but it afforded me plenty of time to process each bit individually. Looking at Mom's expression as it slowly moves from confusion, into worry, and finally ends with a thoughtful expression and careful nodding, I let out a relieved sigh and wait for her to speak.
I'm glad she's better prepared this time...
“So, he's doing better now?”
Nodding, I reply, “Much! I've been helping him get his strength back with the swimming, and,” in the interest of full disclosure, I decide to mention, “he was depressed for a while, but... he's a lot healthier and happier now... as you can probably guess.”
In a curious tone, she remarks, “It sounds like quite the tale... I'd like to hear him tell it some time.”
I'd like to be there to see that...
“But, for now,” she continues, turning to offer a genuine smile, “it sounds like he means more to you than a simple fling.”
“We've basically been dating since we met... just... not officially until Tanabata,” I mention, smirking at the revelation; I've never actually admitted—to myself or anyone else—that it felt like love at first sight.
I didn't know how to identify the feeling at the time...
“We got stuck together working on inventory reports, on Shizune's orders, and it was... fun, y'know? We got along despite it being awkward, and mostly just sat there in silence, but... he seemed nice and smart... and I kinda wanted to see him more... so I invited him to lunch, and that was... completely awkward... But, after that, there was a lot of talking and flirting, and it took a month for us to figure it out, but-”
“Kitten,” she interjects, giggling lightly, “I don't think I've ever heard you talk so...
girlishly.”
“He makes me feel like a girl, I guess,” I say, barely conscious that I was having that thought. “Like I'm allowed to be pretty and, well... he tells me I'm sexy, and all that stupid, sappy stuff that used to make me feel uncomfortable... but from him it just makes me melt...”
As I'm trailing off, Mom remarks, “This may sound strange, but your father made me feel the same way—not that I wasn't already girlish and felt pretty... he made it okay to think it, though. Complimented me, said I was the only one for him—not in a creepy way... I'm starting to think you may have already met his corollary.”
I'll take that as a compliment...
Shaking my head and sighing, I remark, “It's weird... I never used to think about boys much until he came along... now he's practically all that's on my mind.”
“That's what love
does, Kitten; rewrites your entire outlook~! It can be a little scary, but I'm happy for you! It took me so much longer to find that feeling, and...” she trails off and frowns, then narrows her eyes to focus on the road. If she weren't such an inattentive driver, I wouldn't find that strange, but this is Mom, and she isn't known for paying attention to her driving.
Her sudden quiet makes me a little nervous, but talking about Hisao leaves an indelible smile on my face. Remembering how awkward we were for the first few weeks leaves me awed by how comfortable we've become. Even telling Mom about our sex life isn't that embarrassing, especially considering how readily she accepts the information. In her eyes, it's just part of the relationship—one part of the equation—and no more or less important than anything else we feel for each other; I'd surmise she views our mutually focused attraction as a good sign.
I wonder which of us has the dirtier mind, though—Hisao, Mom, or myself...
Having let go of my fears about Mom's driving, I find myself sinking into the seat with my knees up against the dash, smiling to myself, and readjusting my satchel about every thirty seconds; I'm not used to carrying a bag for anything. With the windows open, I can't even hear myself think when we reach the highway, but Mom soon closes them and turns the air conditioner on to full blast, like always. After that, the car ride passes in silence while I listen to the quiet thrum of engine noise, hum along with the classical symphony, and get goosebumps from the chilled air.
I never have figured out why she likes it so cold...
Upon our arrival at the Metro-Gnome Cafe, Mom insists that we sit outside to enjoy the sunshine, and I can't help snickering at her suggestion—I'm quick to claim something else made me laugh, though. Apparently she's among those people whom Amaya and I laugh at from inside the air-conditioned cafe during our visits, but I love my mom, and giggling at her enjoyment is probably rude—and dangerous. Following her toward one of the far tables, I notice colorful flower garlands arranged along the fence, and colorful garden-gnome statues standing guard beneath each post.
I always thought the cafe's name was a misspelled musical term...
Walking a few feet behind her, I find myself looking over her attire again, if only because I'm starting to entertain the idea of imitating her style. Never one to wear skirts, today she opts for black slacks with a lavender-colored blouse, along with the typical, oversized knit purse. Whether it's because I'm maturing, or just that I admire Mom, I could see myself adopting some of her choices—just not that color. The only weird thing is that I never really thought much about clothes until recently, and I think it has to do with Hisao more than Mom.
I feel like such a girl when he compliments my looks...
It's quite private sitting at the farthest table, so we won't have to worry about eavesdroppers, which I imagine is intentional on her part. Having always sat inside during previous visits, I never noticed the tables out here are constructed from heavy wrought-iron—I thought they were molded plastic. The chairs are nice and sturdy with plush cushioning, and the oversized umbrella provides a decent amount of protection from the noontime sun. Although I assume that shade is less effective earlier or later in the day, the cool breeze sweeping through the valley between the buildings assists in making it more comfortable.
I guess experience trumps perception every time...
Although I had cereal with Hisao barely two hours ago, there was an exhausting forty-five minute exercise regimen that followed, so I'm reasonably famished. Usually I get something light and sweet off their bakery menu, along with some tea, but when the perky, pig-tailed server asks, I decide to order a deli sandwich and a fruit smoothie—I hope Hisao finds something equally satisfying. Mom requests a simple fruit salad with coffee, then leans against the table on her elbows, settling a curiously stern look on me even before the chipper waitress departs.
I think she's itching to get it out quickly... whatever it is...
Mirroring her pose, I fix curious expression on her and prompt, “Mom? You said you wanted to talk about something?”
After taking a deep breath and sighing heavily, she nods slowly and replies, “I need to clear up some things about my past, Aiko.” Her not using my nickname makes me cringe a little; it either means I'm in trouble, or she's at least going into mother mode—both of which could be bad.
Before I can reason that out, she continues talking, “While we were getting ready last night, I didn't want to unload my fears onto you, and I don't think you really need to worry with Hisao,” she pauses, assuming an even expression that enhances her serious tone, “But I want you to know where my concern comes from—I wasn't always so worldly.”
Some of what she's saying sounds almost like an apology, and the wistful, faraway look she's offering is telling. Whatever she's about to say, I'm planning to pay it my full attention, though she goes silent for a short while, which may be for my benefit. Considering her prelude, I get the feeling she intends to expand on her thoughts about Hisao, but the grim look makes me feel uncomfortable; it's possible her fickle nature is about to bite my behind. If she's being this direct, she must want me to listen carefully, so I try to prepare myself for the worst.
I almost don't want to hear this...
“Not all boys are like your father, or Hisao,” she starts, pausing while I start nodding; I know some guys are jerks, in various flavors. “When I was fifteen, I was a girl with a crush... on Keno Kubari, a third-year boy on the track team,” she explains, though, from her despondent tone, I don't think it's a happy memory. “I was... timid and shy, like your red-haired friend, but early to develop like you, so I looked older...”
I know I don't want to hear this now, but I think I have to...
“Eventually, my longing glances drew his attention, and he approached me after school one day,” she says, shrugging disdainfully, then blowing out a quick breath. “He invited me to a party, and I, being infatuated, barely managed to squeak out a reply... but I agreed, and he smiled,” she continues, rolling her eyes regretfully, “At the party, which I told my parents was a girls-night-out with my friends, he found me among the crowd of third-years, and lured me up to his parents' room... where he... proceeded to get handsy...”
I feel sick...
“I was inexperienced and reluctant, and he was a
jerk... so, he got more forceful,” she continues, making me cringe, especially at seeing the tight-lipped grimace on her face. “He managed to get down past my bra before I fought him away, and managed to run... crying and blubbering, all the way home,” she finishes, shaking her head slowly and leaning back in the chair, leaving me with a shocked stare—she just told me how she was almost raped.
I can't begin to process how horrible that must have been...
After a few moments she stops her head-shaking and adds, “I've never told
anyone about Keno, until now.”
Dad would have found and murdered this guy if he knew about this...
As those words run over me, I start to feel my eyes burning, and she leans forward to touch my cheek. Using her thumb to sweep away my trailing tear, she manages a smile that I suddenly can't understand. Furrowing my brow at her lack of a reaction, and her apparent secrecy—she left a predator so he could find another girl to violate—I can't help asking, “Why didn't you ever tell anyone?”
“Because I was a stupid young girl! And I thought it was my fault,” she explains, sounding tearful and full of remorse. “I feared what my father would think, and your Grammy... her marriage was arranged, and she never dated, so...” she trails off and I can see tears welling in her eyes now, but she steels herself with a deep breath and grimly adds, “So, I bottled it up, and let him get away with it... and the experience left me terrified of men for years.”
Reaching out, I hold her cheek as she held mine, sweep away the tears, and carefully apologize, “I'm sorry, I-”
“Don't feel bad, Kitten; I know now I should have said something... but that's not the point of my story,” she explains, placing her hand over mine. “Keno took something worse than my virginity, which I retained for years before I would trust another man... and it was still the wrong man,” she says with a disgusted sigh.
Realizing she started rambling, I prompt, “Mom?”
“Aiko, he took away my ability to trust,” she replies flatly, soberly, then punctuates it with a fist slamming into the table, causing the silverware to clatter.
Seeing her react so violently, I sit in awe, feeling like I've met yet another new version of my mother. This one, instead of being an exaggeration of her gregarious nature, seems like the opposite of her bright, cheerful self. Her regretful frown is even more disturbing than the sullen, somber expression she wore while Dad was in the hospital. It's more visceral, at least, which I think comes from it being a personal failure. It's almost frightening seeing her look this angry, but somehow I think this is more like her real self—the woman she hid from our view.
I wonder what else she held back...
Taking her hand away to rest it on the table, she sits there in flustered anger, or regret, or remorse, or all of the above. For a few long minutes, the only constants are her labored breathing and narrowed eyes, which are well-hidden as she faces away from the other patrons—a maneuver she likely planned. After seething for a short while, she finally sucks in a deep breath, shrugs heavily, closes her eyes, and lets the tension out slowly. The cheerful serenity returns to her expression, and she looks to have regained control as she opens her eyes fully and locks her gaze with mine.
“He took away the ability to give myself over to a feeling... and I didn't get it back until I was in college, years later, after a series of horribly failed relationships,” she explains, and I'm starting to understand the point she's trying to make. “When I met your father, I wasn't able to trust him, and I nearly lost the chance... I don't want you to feel like that, ever! It nearly cost me the love of my life....”
“You're worried I'll miss that chance with Hisao?” I ask, and she nods slightly, but squints in consternation.
“I'm saying I don't want you missing that chance at all,” she clarifies, pausing to see me nod before continuing, “If that happens to be with Hisao, then, yes, I want you to fight for him—tooth and nail—with everything you've got... Here,” she looks down suddenly and starts pawing at her wedding band, “I want you to see this...”
Extracting the band, she lifts it up and smiles wistfully as she gazes into its interior. She removes it to cook, so I've seen it off her finger before, but taking it off here and now, I realize, is much more significant. After a few moments, she holds it out toward me and smiles, apparently wanting me to take a look. Reaching up tentatively, keeping my eyes on hers, I pick it out of her fingers reverently, and slowly draw it up closer. The outside edge bears some simple leafing, but is otherwise unmarked; it's a humble, loving reminder, not costume jewelry.
I've never held it in my hand before...
“Read inside the band, Kitten,” she advises, nodding encouragingly.
With a curious tilt of my head, I investigate as she asked, and read the Italian inscription aloud, “Amore e fedeltà per l'eternità.”
Love and faithfulness for eternity...
“Your father had it inscribed after we sent you to Yamaku,” she explains as I'm still looking it over. “Not as a command, but a promise; he loved me so much he wanted me to go on living in his absence,” she recounts, and I find myself smiling despite realizing what that meant. “He knew I had decades left to live, God willing, and didn't want me to squander my twilight years pining for a lost love.”
Confused by the apparent contradiction, I roll the ring over in my hand a few times before voicing my dilemma. “I don't understand...
fedeltà means
faithfulness... doesn't it?”
I might have misinterpreted the inscription...
“To his memory, not carnally,” she says with a light chuckle, reaching out to take the ring back carefully. Placing it on her finger once again, she takes a deep breath and blows out a contemplative sigh. “He knew I was—am... a sexual being... with needs he couldn't fulfill by that point in our marriage. He said he didn't want me to bottle up my desire if I found someone I could love again, after he was gone—I haven't yet, just in case you're wondering.”
That's a relief...
“It may be a while yet before any man can measure up to his memory,” she continues, shrugging lightly, “I mean his ability... to love, not-” she stops herself again, and I try not to think about where her meandering thoughts were leading. “You don't want to hear that, I'm sure...”
I doubt she really wants to know about Hisao's virility, either...
“Though I can't say I haven't been... investigating some options... from a distance,” she adds, pausing while I nod carefully. The idea that she might seek out a new lover in Dad's absence has crossed my mind, so I'm hardly surprised to hear her admit she considered the possibility—especially at his behest.
While I'm nodding, she develops a dirty little smirk and adds, “Like your Uncle Enzo.”
“Mom!” I yell in exasperation.
I did not need that image, thanks...!
Although, after a moment of thought, I quickly decide my reaction is incorrect. Uncle Enzo might make a decent match for her, actually, even if I'd feel really weird calling him my step-dad. It may not be so bad, though; he apparently sees me like a niece, or a daughter already—even to the point of screening my boyfriend.
I would probably still call him Uncle Enzo, though...
“Sorry,” I say, shrugging slightly. “That might be cool, actually,” I add, shaking my head slightly and blinking, “but I don't think I wanna know you've been thinking about it...”
“Fair enough... I'll let you know if I stop fantasizing, and start pursuing, alright?”
Groaning and shuddering with a sickly feeling in my stomach, I reply, “Fine, just... no
details, okay?”
Raising an eyebrow, she remarks, “This from the girl who told her conservative mother about
cumming eight times in the past fourteen hours?”
“Mom!” I balk, glancing around for any possible eavesdroppers. Satisfied that nobody heard her, I lean forward to sternly whisper, “You asked, remember?”
“You didn't have to be so...
specific...! Although, I suppose
counting is one of your specialties~!”
I guess she has a point...
“Just remember it's not a race, and the scorecard doesn't have to stay tied,” she advises, leaning forward similarly and nodding with a lewd grin, “I'm pretty sure my number is at least double that of your father, but Navarro women have a long history of high sensitivity and multiple-climaxes... which I'm thinking you inherited.”
My blushing retort is interrupted by a cheerful, though nervous, girlish voice, “One deli sandwich with a smoothie, and a fruit salad with coffee—anything else, ladies?” Immediately, I aim my face away, burying my head against my arm and trying to hide the red across my cheeks, but Mom turns a chipper smile at the dark-haired waitress.
“Thank you, miss... Mia?” she replies, apparently reading the girl's name-tag. While I move myself out of the way so the server-girl can set down the plates, Mom laughs lightly and adds, “Leave the pot? I think my daughter might want a cup, too, if you don't mind a second trip?”
“Alright~!” the waitress named Mia replies melodically, “I'll be back with another mug in a few—noontime rush!”
“That's fine, Mia, we'll be here for a while; just swing by on your next trip out.”
“Will do~! Enjoy the afternoon, I hear it's supposed to rain later!” Mia advises, sounding less nervous already.
I'm still awed by Mom's ability to make strangers feel comfortable...
“Thank you, dear!” Mom says as the girl departs, then turns a raised eyebrow at me and scoffs, “Why so embarrassed, it was just the waitress!”
Meanwhile, she has the uncanny ability to mortify me...
Turning a frustrated glare at her I accuse, “You did that on purpose!”
Watching Mia leave, she absently remarks, “Lovely girl, that... I'm always happy to see the servers taking pride in their work...”
“Are you even listening!?”
“Kitten, I'm always listening,” she replies, still looking away, and adding an indicative nod. “I'm surprised you don't know her—having come here several times before.”
Following her gesture, I turn to watch Mia walking into the main cafe, but I don't recognize her at all. That could be due to the angle, though; the black skirt and white blouse makes all the servers look the same from the back. “We don't come here often, and she might be new,” I remark absently, then look back at Mom to shake my head and reiterate, “You still did that on purpose!”
Laughing, she reaches out to pat my hand and chide, “You're a long way from being open about sex, Kitten; consider this a test of your personal fortitude!”
Her suggestion makes me groan, “I'm barely open about it with my best friends, never mind strange waitresses!”
I've had to deflect some of Amaya's more... specific... questions...
“Some people are prone to tossing it into conversation randomly... or constantly,” she adds, tapping my wrist a few times and nodding knowingly. “You need to be ready for it, and have control over your reaction; a lady shouldn't curl up like an armadillo if someone mentions something embarrassing... she should deflect it aside and continue the conversation in spite of the discomfort.”
That's probably really good advice for anyone...
“Okay, I'll work on that,” I say, pausing to sit up straight before adding, “Can we talk about something else now...?
Anything else, really...”
“Why don't we enjoy this lunch first? You look hungry, Kitten—and you're probably famished after-”
“Okay, we'll eat first!” I blurt to stop her from finishing that sentence, then start shaking my head.
I really am hungry, anyway...
With Mom watching, I try to mind my manners, but none of those silly rules—like keeping your elbows off the table—ever made sense to me; they just make eating more difficult, and result in pointless embarrassment when someone points out a mistake—it's frustrating. Luckily, she's used to my lack of table tact, and doesn't even flinch when I lean against the table to eat my sandwich. When it's about half gone, Mia swings by to deliver another coffee mug, and I take Mom's advice, partaking of the black liquid without my usual creamy, sweet additions; it's a bitter, awful experience I won't likely repeat.
I didn't even notice how Hisao takes his coffee... not that I had much chance...
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