Work Text:
Change was in the air. The neighborhood cherry blossoms had already rained down their splendor, and the mornings had grown warmer. As spring was making its first concessions to an inevitable summer, so too did Umi as she opened a window first thing after she awoke.
A gentle breeze stole in as she snuck an affectionate look at Shun beside her. She allowed herself a moment before rolling up her futon, nudging him along in his struggle to face the day.
Umi didn’t normally have such difficulties. Mornings were her favorite part of the day. They allowed for a fresh start, another chance to set things in order, and their quiet stillness bestowed a serenity that carried her through the day. For as long as she could remember, waking up early had been a choice, not a chore. Lately, though, sleep could not fully dissipate the stubborn shroud of exhaustion that hung over her.
But it was to be expected. They were both weighed down by long hours working or studying. She made a conscious effort to push back against the self-doubt that tried to convince her that she couldn’t handle the pressure and stress of her chosen path. There was nothing to do but to push through any weariness.
She crossed over to the small kitchen in their apartment to prepare the day’s breakfast and lunch. She opened another window to abate the beads of sweat that quickly began to dot her forehead. With each welcome breath of wind, she unconsciously closed her eyes, smiling. It had to be more fancy than reality, but she tasted the faintest taste of sea salt on the air.
Their new apartment had brought them further inland for convenience’s sake. They were now closer to both her schooling and his work. But the sea was not yet completely out of sight. If she peered outside, she could still see a reassuring glimpse of sparkling blue in the distance. It would almost feel as if they were stranded if she could not keep it in sight.
Shun blearily joined her in the kitchen, setting the table. They exchanged tired smiles as they sat down across from each other, sharing in their fatigue and hunger.
She came with him afterwards to the entryway when he was about to set out. She cautioned him to take his time and to go on safely. He worried over her health, and she was affectionate in her dismissal of his concern.
Handing off a carefully packed bento, she suppressed a smile at the thought of the small flag she had replicated for him out of rice and umeboshi. She wanted it to be a surprise to help him through the long day ahead. Selfishly, she wanted to keep ahold of his attention even across the distance that separated them daily.
It was only later, after she had sat down to another day of demanding study, that she discovered one of his messages. She was leafing through her textbook to cross-reference a topic when a small sheet of paper floated out. Sudden and powerful fondness swept through her.
She was used to his colored sketches of flags being tucked into her work. This sheet contained a rarer occurrence. A quick poem.
The piece had clearly been written weeks ago, and she could instantly place its origin in time. It had been a Sunday, a day of relative leisure. They had treated themselves to a plate of fresh strawberries. Shun had kept pushing them closer to her, enjoying the sight of her assiduously devouring them as she studied.
Occasionally she’d glanced up at him, inquiring into what he was doing, but he wouldn’t commit to any answer. Now it lay before her.
Fair wife,
Devoting all your thoughts to studies and strawberries
Won’t you cast your attention across the divide between us?
Today, again, I attend upon your every word and smile
Reflexively, her mouth curved upward. The words carried her through her morning studies and lunch, and she stopped to pocket the poem before she walked over for her afternoon shift at the hospital. It became a touchstone during the busy, tiring hours that followed, keeping her on course.
It was late when she was collecting her things, and she was surprised by her mother seeking her out and taking her aside into her office in the adjoining building. It was in one of these moments that Umi was grateful that she was working in the same hospital affiliated with her mother’s university. She gratefully accepted the cool cup of tea that her mother poured out.
“Shun called and told me to check in on you,” her mother said.
What a wonderful, overwhelming thing to have people looking out for her, even when her pride wanted to obscure any sign of difficulty. Umi maintained her composure for a long minute before she gave in to the combined effect of their consideration. Her worries began to pour out of her.
It was the best of their conversations, both professional and personal. A talk with both a mentor and a parent. With time, they were only becoming more enriching and essential. Her mother could always make a situation better, and this time, she was particularly suited to help.
She sorted out Umi’s strained health with a check up, and she soothed every anxious thought that followed. At the end, her mother took her hands in hers and smiled.
“You remind me so much of myself when I was young. What an honor to be your parent. You have the best of me and more. If I could manage, I know you can too, come what may.”
“Mother,” Umi said, losing out to her tears.
“You’ll let me say it, won’t you?”
“I’ve grown up. Now more than ever.”
“You’ll always be my child. You’ll see in the future.”
As Umi collected herself, her mother took her in her arms. “Reach out if you need help. I’m sorry that I haven’t always been here, but I am now. So please promise me you’ll let me help.”
It was a request that Umi couldn’t deny her mother. The support and the reassurances that her mother offered her steadied her through their goodbyes and on the walk home. As she neared her apartment, she slowed, staring at a storefront decked out in celebration of seasonal festivities. It was very nearly closing time, and she did not have much time to hesitate.
It was too early. She knew that. And yet she could not resist when she imagined how she could surprise Shun. She stepped into the store and made the purchase.
She could not slow her steps for the rest of the way home. Heartbeat racing, she made it to her door and opened it. Shun’s shoes were already lined up in the entrance. She took a calming breath and switched out her own shoes for slippers, then padded over to the kitchen. A few snacks were laid out, and she waited, eating, as she heard him finish up in the bath.
He joined her when he was done, settling down at her side. She took his face in her hands and greeted him with a series of small, resolute kisses. When he pulled away for breath, she traced out the contours of his face with her lips and hands. His attention sufficiently diverted, it was many minutes before he took notice of the bag she had brought home.
“What’s this?”
“Open it,” she said, barely getting the words out.
He did, taking out the carp streamers with great, uncertain care. She had bought the set. Two longer ones, red and black. And one more: a shorter, vivid blue.
“It’s early, but I couldn’t help myself. I thought we might want to hang these up,” Umi said, her smile unable to be contained any longer.
His answer was an embrace that she freely sank into, clinging just as tightly in her own exuberance.
“Really?” he asked into her hair, and she laughed, bright.
“Yes.”
They didn’t have a flagpole at their apartment, and Umi hadn’t purchased the accompanying pole or its full adornments. But they didn’t let it deter them. They set about hanging up the three carps out the open window. Father. Mother.
Child.
Watching the carp streamers ride out their first breeze, Umi felt untethered from the earth as if she was catching flight too, buoyed by irrepressible joy. She felt Shun take her hand in his own and clasp it tightly. No, that was not right. She was tethered, yet free floating all at once.
The carps swam on against the current of the wind, and Umi thought of the future.