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Naruto winced as he slid out of bed, praying that Hinata would not stir awake. Deep down, however, he knew that him waking her was the least of his concerns. He hoped their children would remain quiet until he came to get them.
The air was fresh and cool with flowers in full bloom. The sun was just beginning to rise. Down in the streets below, the shops were just beginning to open. Young fathers much like himself were flocking to the flower shop, to the bakery, to the grocery store, to surprise their wives. It was Mother’s Day and they deserved it.
Naruto slipped his phone, wallet, keys into his pocket and slipped his shoes on at the door. This would only take a minute, he reminded himself. All he needed was just one minute.
Then, the padding of little feet and Himawari stood in the hallway rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Where are you going, daddy?” she yawned. Naruto cursed in the back of his mind. She had entered an early morning phase, much to him and Hinata’s dismay. This morning was, apparently, no different.
Grinning sheepishly, Naruto rubbed the back of his neck and replied, “I just have to run some errands but don’t worry, Himawari, I’ll be back before you know it!”
Himawari arched a brow in skepticism. Even at such a young age, her attitude was astounding. She knew the way this went all too well, though. Her father, the hokage, was hardly ever home. After all, he had a duty to the village. At first, Himawari had accepted this. The shock of the initial change was enough to numb the chaos of it. It wasn’t until the reality of the situation sunk in, however—the early mornings, the late nights, the stacks upon stacks of paperwork and the meetings and the men in flak jackets knocking on the door—that Himawari began to falter. This was just like every other morning and she was not about to have it. Frowning, she then insisted, “I come, too.”
Naruto blinked in shock, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to form a response. He was not necessarily opposed to his daughter accompanying him, but…this was a time sensitive issue. He knew Himawari, young as she was, had a tendency to get distracted. But that look on her face, the pouty lips and the doe eyes, were too much to resist. Sighing, Naruto crouched down on the floor and invited Himawari to climb onto his back.
Naruto’s mission that morning was simple: a bouquet of flowers, a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread. He intended to make Hinata the best breakfast in bed possible. She loved cinnamon rolls, so he thought maybe he ought to pick her up some from the bakery, as well. He knew he could never do them justice making them from scratch. He didn’t even want to try.
Himawari clung to his back like a sleepy little sloth as Naruto weaved through the morning crowds. With her head resting on his shoulder, she watched the passerby with drowsy eyes and a soft smile. They enjoyed seeing her, the hokage’s daughter. Shopkeepers cooed at her and asked her if she was enjoying spending time with her father. They would her offer her a sample of their latest cake flavor or a tiny bud of baby’s breath. In a way, she enjoyed being treated as such. It made her feel as if her father being hokage was not entirely terrible. Like there was still something good to be found in the chaos.
By the time Naruto had finished, his back began to ache under the weight of so much cargo. Himawari eyed him suspiciously, wondering if carrying her had become too much for him, but Naruto would not hear of it. Slow as he went, he carried her and their wares all the way home.
The key turned in the lock and Boruto immediately sat bolt upright in bed. He raced into the hallway as the door creaked open and Naruto fumbled inside. “And where have you been?!” he shouted at his father and sister. Naruto cringed, eyes wide, and begged his son to keep quiet.
“Daddy and I ran errands” Himawari replied, hopping off of her father’s back.
“Errands?” Boruto repeated. “What kind of errands?”
“Have you forgotten what day it is, Boruto?” Naruto asked. Boruto tilted his head and cocked a brow. When it was clear he had no clue, Naruto sighed and replied, “It’s Mother’s Day.”
“Oh…” Boruto murmured. He never was very good with dates. “So you guys went out to get something special for mom, and you didn’t even think to ask me?” he then asked.
Naruto didn’t think he could stomach admitting that he had not intended for Himawari to accompany him. Not when she was right there. He knew she would feel offended, like she was only a burden, and then she would start to cry and Hinata would stir awake, frantic and maternal. The entire day’s plans hinged wholly on Hinata staying asleep.
“You say that as if there’s nothing else to do” Naruto said to his son. He turned on his heel toward the kitchen and added over his shoulder, “We still need to make breakfast.”
That was one thing that Naruto knew Boruto would be much better at than his sister. While Himawari had passion and gall, she was still far too little for cooking to not be catastrophic. She often got flour everywhere, egg yolk in her hair, chocolate smeared on her shirt. Naruto trusted her enough to pour things from measuring cups to bowls, but that was about it. Boruto was older and therefore his motor skills were far more refined. Cooking was the perfect chore for him to help with.
Naruto requested Himawari pick out her favorite plate on which to serve Hinata her breakfast while he and Boruto fried eggs and spread melted butter across crunchy, golden toast. Himawari decided on a large plate with sunflowers—the perfect accompaniment to their flower shop purchase. Naruto knew they were Hinata’s favorite, and she absolutely deserved the best.
It was times like this that Naruto sometimes questioned whether he was a good husband or father. His experiences only ever came in fragments: in the way Iruka steered him down the right path, in the way Kakashi protected him, in the way Jiraiya supported and encouraged him. Still, he wondered what Minato could have taught him had he lived. What it would have been like to be raised by a father of his own, unwavering and dedicated. Naruto never knew for certain if the choices he made as a parent were the right ones, but as he reveled in the smiles on his children’s faces, in their uproarious laughter and sloppy kisses and messy hands, Naruto took pride in knowing that there was at least one thing that came as naturally to him as breathing: he did not need to be taught how to love his kids.
Hinata furrowed her brows as sunlight filtered into the bedroom. She flexed her hand against the sheets, squinted awake, heard the creak of the bedroom door. And then it hit her: the smell of food. And she knew immediately. A soft smile touched her lips as she slowly sat up and watched her family approach. Boruto and Hinata each held either side of the tray, with Naruto behind them to steady. He wanted the kids to feel involved, of course, but the last thing he needed was for someone to trip and ruin all of their hard work.
“What’s all of this about?” Hinata asked, though she already knew. She tucked her hair behind her ear, drew her knees up to her chest. Naruto set the tray down on the bed beside her, the bouquet of sunflowers serving as decoration. He left the cup of hot tea for the nightstand. It was perfect.
With a soft kiss on the cheek, Naruto grinned and announced alongside his children, “Happy Mother’s Day!”