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Their daughter is a tangerine.
She’s born of white flowers. And of sunshine, kind weather, and good days.
She’s saccharine sweet beneath shyness and rind and she has a temper that they both sheepishly recognise as their own. She’s what happens when fire meets a storm.
And when she learns that her father is soft to her sulking, she reveals bright yellow tartness and crocodile tears that don’t quite work on her mother. They’re both unsure where she got this from.
But she’s a good child- far better than her father had been, or so he says. Their friends say she’s a carbon copy of her mother. Figures. Her father can never say no to her. Her first words are papa, mama, then mémé, then Levi. The four people she loves most in the world. (And of course “mammit” and “doggy” in between. But Levi doesn’t like to talk about that.)
But she’s vulnerable to trouble, as all children are. So he’s hesitant to leave her alone.
“Jean!” Mikasa calls from the kitchen window, and he turns his head to look. His footsteps stall. He knows what this is about.
“Let her play,” she says, “I need your help.”
Jean takes another glance at his daughter, watching her giggle in their backyard. His hesitation at leaving her fades when he sees the impatient tap of his wife’s foot against the tiles. He heads toward the kitchen, where his arrival is your marked by a kiss dropped to the top of her head and a whispered- hey.
“She’s alone…” Jean says, eyes scanning Mikasa’s face for approval to accompany her outside. She might hurt herself. There are creatures he hasn’t accounted for in their garden. The other day he spotted some bees taking interest in their new lavender shrub.
“She’s just playing, let her be…” Mikasa smiles, “come… Your daughter wants omelette for lunch.” She tells him it’s because nobody makes an omelette as mean as his. Jean learnt it from his mother. And these days, he’s starting to see the world from her eyes. He now understands his mother’s apprehension at letting him run off to play with the other kids in their village. He had never understood it before. Now, he feels a new strain of anxiety when he looks at his daughter. Welcome to parenthood, you’re a father now! His mother had said with a clap on his back.
“But-“ he starts, and immediately he’s cut off by the look she’s giving him. There’s a furrow in her brow and her lips are drawn to a fine line. There it is- that look. Jean sees where his daughter gets it from and there’s a warmth and a pride that grows in his chest.
“We want omelette too…” Mikasa says, smoothening her palms across her dress to show him her bump.
He smiles. Oh he’s but a man. His weaknesses are laid bare for anyone to witness. And the gods have given him three. In the years to come he will have four. Good. They have enough love between them for three. They have enough love to fill a house. He pulls her in to his side and rests his hand over her growing belly.
“You’re a demanding one aren’t ya?” He says, “just like your mother…”
Mikasa snaps a kitchen towel at him, and he swipes at the cream she is whipping for the tea cake and brushes his finger against her cheek. They’re laughing like children. Their daughter turns to watch them and she laughs along. Her parents are being silly. All she’s ever known is love. Good. There is enough love to fill a house.
When Jean finally gets to beating the eggs, his eyes fleet occasionally beyond their windowsill. She’s making up stories, his daughter. He taught her about giants and soldiers and princesses that don’t need rescuing and now she’s cooking up stories of her own. She’s rehearsing for when she tells her mother later in the afternoon when they’re having cake and tea. They miss out some parts of the plot because she’s speaking a language no one quite understands. Jean checks again for bees.
“She’s fine…” Mikasa says, reaching up to kiss his stubble, “we’ll let her play a little longer…” She can read him now, and him her. And there’s a warmth that settles in his chest.
He’s starting to hear the defiance of his youth these days. He thinks of his mother whom they will visit the following week, before it gets too challenging for Mikasa to travel. They will bask in a love that has seen Jean through boyhood. The times when he had yelled something dismissive at his mother before running off after lunch. When he had been too embarrassed to acknowledge her when she had showed up at his school or at the barracks. And now he’s a man. Jean winces. The gods have borne witness, and so they’ve punished him with a daughter who’s acquainted with his weaknesses. Who has a gentleness beyond her years.
She’s everything he’s ever dreamt of.
His little tangerine.
Soon it will be summer, and their son will be born amidst the hum of cicadas. Eyes like ember; black hair soft like peaches.
“He has a good heart,” Mikasa would say as she watches him grow. Watches him catch the stray insects that wander into their house with gently cupped hands and release them in their yard. His heart is an unshakable centre, a solid, stone core that shines like rubies- “just like his father.”
Their little nectarine.
And they shower him with love, gentle like the rains in summer.
He learns to walk before he speaks, just like his sister. Jean and Mikasa find themselves dressing quite a few scraped knees and kissing away pained tears. And as much as it hurt them to witness the scars the world leaves on their children, this is necessary. This is how they grow.
His favourite thing in the world is his parents’ old survey corps uniform. (Jean reports his bolo tie missing so his son can have his old one). And his sister teaches him the names of all the fruit in their small orchard, and he would stare at her, wide-eyed and babbling. These are nectarines. She says in her small voice. They are in awe at just how many words she knows. In the fall we will have tangerines! She says.
Three winters later, their youngest is born against a backdrop of falling frost and burning wood. The harvest has always been kind to them. Persimmons are in season then. And so she is sweet like custard. She smiles at Jean the moment he holds her in his arms. She has grey eyes like her sister. And she’s the only child with hair that glints in the sun- like his. Babies can’t smile, he was once told. But now, he knows it to be untrue. She’s a funny girl, this one. Like her father, her favourite thing to do is make her mother laugh.
And so their fruit bowl is full.
They are good together. They conspire to save the best bits from lunch for their father when he returns from work only to be foiled when their mother chuckles and pulls out a Tupperware’s worth of leftovers she had already saved for him. My loves, your father will not starve.
And they love her fiercely. “Mama pricked her finger on the needle today!” They report to Jean in unison, almost accusatorially, as if he should’ve been there to prevent it. And Jean apologises and panics even though Mikasa begs him not to fuss. It’s just a prick, Jean. We’ve seen worse. Remember when we were in the military together? Remember?
Of course Jean remembers. Jean’s reminded of just that when their children insist their parents race back to the house just because. And expectedly, Mikasa comes in first, brushing imaginary dust from her shoulder and winking at him. But he’s lost count of who had saved who more. And he thinks time has given him the benefit of hazy memories and an atmosphere full of newer, more beautiful ones. Yeah yeah… But still…
Later, they call their daughter in for lunch, and Jean hoists her onto his back. A princess must be carried to the table, he tells her, in the past I carried your mother, but now, my love, I carry you. She laughs and practically climbs up onto his shoulders and Jean wishes she wouldn’t grow up so fast. Mikasa smiles as she watches them. She will never tire of watching Jean with their children. A few years down the line her three loves would wait at the windows for their father to return from work. Every day. And when they see a flash of his khaki green uniform they shout for her- mama! Mama! Papa’s home! And there would be a familiar fluttering in her gut. She preens. Butterflies, they’re called.
He’s everything she’s ever dreamt of.
They will clamour on him- his eldest on his back, his son tucked under his arm, and his youngest clinging onto a pant leg. He sneaks them the candy he got from town. You’re spoiling them, Mikasa chides, but she doesn’t say no to candy before dinner. Ever.
And when she’s picking her youngest off the ground and tossing her in the air, the others scramble to get their turn.
But for now, Jean waits for the eggs to settle into a crisp before flipping. He does a little show of it. With a flick of his wrist, the omelette folds in on itself. He watches with pride as Mikasa’s face lights up. This is all he’s ever wanted. He jokes that he has found the way to her heart. That thankfully, this is something only he can do. She kisses his shoulder and promises she’ll love him forever. (As long as omelettes are in the picture).
The harvest has always been kind to them, so their orchard is lush. The fruits of their labour are sweet like-
Milk and honey-
Good. They have enough love to fill a house. And so their house is filled to the brim.