Chapter 22: Christmas Special

While I was busy packing our lunch boxes—bentos—Kiko’s voice echoed through the house.

“Hime-chan, did you pack pyjamas?”

“Yes, mama!” came Himawari’s muffled reply.

“And your bathrobe?”

“Yeees, mama!”

“Mi-chan, did you—”

“Yes, kaa-chan.”

“I’ve told you not to call me that!”

“Yes, okaa-chan.”

Already barely keeping myself together, I burst into giggles at Kiko’s very loud sigh from the hallway. It turned out that being a mother was a little different to the babysitting we used to do. Different didn’t mean worse, though.

“Okaa-san,” I called out, closing up the big box of food.

After a moment, her head popped through the door. “Did you pack pyjamas?” she asked, mouth pulled into a lopsided smile.

“No, I only packed lingerie,” I said brightly, smile brighter.

She couldn’t look me in the eye for long, turning away with a blank expression and reddening cheeks. “Is that so?”

“That includes for you,” I said, trying not to laugh. She looked so cute and teasing her was too easy.

After a second, she glanced back at me and said, “It’s a good thing Hima-chan will be staying with Mi-chan,” then strode off.

Leaving me staring for a moment before a giggle bubbled up. Really, I liked being teased back more.

One of the things I loved about being a family was finding our own routine. We’d woken up early, had breakfast, only now finishing packing. No shouting—well, not angry shouting—or crying or constant threats of, “We won’t go, then!” or, “Fine, go without me.” It almost felt like a normal Saturday, just that I had to pack my school bag too.

Whether or not the girls had everything, I didn’t know. I wasn’t going to rifle through their suitcases or stand over them as they packed it. We’d all talked, made a list, and it was up to them to check it off. Work didn’t teach me much, but how to plan with competent people was one thing it did.

So, around when they all would usually leave for school, they lugged out their luggage and I joined them, filling up Kiko’s car. One thing I’d learned, she had only bought it after growing suspicious about Mi’s circumstances at home. Wanted to make sure that, if she needed to go over in the middle of the night, she could.

I loved her so much.

In the car, we also had our own routine. It wasn’t the oppressive silence peppered with whispered swearing, nor endless ranting to a captive audience, but a blend of hums and gentle chatter and faint music drifting from headphones turned up high, sometimes a sudden shout and finger-pointing at something out the window.

I loved those moments. It seemed like Himawari became louder with every passing week, and I was so happy to hear her voice more clearly.

It wasn’t a short trip, hence the packed lunch, dinky car whining up steep roads and groaning to a stop at the countless traffic lights. A little before midday, we pulled over at a campsite. Nowhere fancy, but there were toilets and sinks and an area to grill, as well as a beautiful view of a lake. Despite the cold time of year, a handful of tents were around, people huddled around a couple fires.

One group that caught my eye looked to be teens, around Mi’s age or maybe a bit older. Christmas in Japan was more a time for couples than family, not like it was a particularly Christian country, and I thought that was probably what this group was here for, nicely paired up. Still couldn’t be too affectionate in public, so holding hands and sitting close was already the limit of “decency”.

Himawari had changed a lot in the last few months. She seemed both younger and older. Her therapist described it as planting roots and growing leaves, which I thought was a nice way of thinking about it. Mi’s therapist told us less, letting Mi set the boundary for what she wanted to tell us, but we had been asked to indulge her in any childishness she showed.

For example: both of the girls went running off down the grassy slope, Himawari going so fast she barely kept her balance.

I glanced at Kiko and, knowing our roles, I took off after them, leaving her to chat to the steward (or whatever the title was of the person overseeing the campsite).

We skipped stones, gazed at clouds, Himawari ended up befriending a little girl and her dog and so had roasted marshmallows, sharing with Mi. I felt terrible taking Himawari away, so whispered with Kiko and then promised Himawari we’d come camping some time, which cheered her up. I mentioned to Mi that Sakura could come with if she wanted and, while Mi looked excited at first, I knew her too well to not notice something wasn’t being said.

I didn’t push. She had her boundaries, I respected them.

The campsite not our final destination, we carried on after eating, farther up the slopes and hills along more mountainous roads. Although cold, there wasn’t too much ice. Kiko was a good driver.

Another hour or so and we arrived at the ryokan: a traditional inn.

It was gorgeous, almost reminding me of London the way it was like a living relic, looking so old with modern touches here and there. I didn’t know if every ryokan had hot spring baths or not, but this one did. Outside ones.

While we signed in, Kiko was treated to one of our “favourite” comments.

“You two must be very close, bringing your daughters on holiday together. How sweet,” the receptionist said, harmlessly smiling.

Kiko said nothing in reply, smiling harmlessly back.

It happened a lot, especially as Mi was noticeably part-foreign and that foreign part resembled me, while Himawari and Kiko both looked native. It didn’t exactly hurt us to hear, but there was always the dull ache of what we couldn’t have.

Other than that, everything was perfect. They had yukatas for us and oh did Himawari love dressing up, her spins so sweet, smile sweeter. Mi, with her hair up, looked so beautiful—and I told her so.

She burst into a smile, shyly looking down, then fumbled her phone out of her folded-up jeans. “Can you take a photo?” she asked.

“For Sakura?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She timidly nodded, not quite meeting my gaze.

Well, knowing the audience, I guided Mi into a good pose. Nothing immodest, but not exactly a sharing selfie either. Sitting neatly, chin slightly raised, gaze low, staring out the window with the early afternoon sunlight greeting her. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing until it all clicked into place. Then I knew.

“Here,” I said, handing back her phone.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, eyes already on the screen. After a second passed, she mumbled, “Thanks,” again.

I chuckled, resisting the urge to pat her head. It wasn’t that she hated me doing it, but it was a private thing, something she didn’t like me doing with other people around, even Sakura. Only Kiko and Himawari.

Of course, Himawari couldn’t escape having her photo taken, then we had to take a million more of the girls together. All we could fit in before it was Kiko’s turn to choose a yukata.

Oh did she choose a good one.

“How do I look?” she softly asked, lips pursed, head down, shyly looking at me through her eyelashes.

A yukata wasn’t at all revealing, more hiding curves than accentuating them, covering up most of her skin. Still, my heart pounded. Beautiful, delicate, cute. Not her teaching suits, nor her casual jeans and t-shirt. It was almost funny how I rarely used those three words to describe her with clothes on, perhaps the first time all three together.

Under my stare, she quickly broke, shuffling over as the cloth wrapped around her didn’t exactly give her room to move. “Does it look weird?” she whispered.

“You look gorgeous,” I said in English—a habit, making it less likely any eavesdroppers understood our flirting. She ducked her head, but I caught the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her English had come along rather well, especially when it came to flirting.

Of course, it was my turn next, the lady who helped me choose and dress very impressed with my Japanese. I wasn’t sure if she was being condescending, but decided to assume she was being polite.

Kiko had chosen a light navy yukata with a white, floral design, so I obviously wanted to match or complement her. That would have been easier if I knew how to do that. Kiko had warned me that these traditional places could be, well, traditional, so I didn’t want to make anything too obvious by asking for something that matched either.

Using the little fashion sense I had, I chose a brighter blue that also had a flowery design in white, but different flowers.

Although there was a screen, I still felt nervous undressing with another person in the room. Different to a changing room. I tried to be quick, then called the lady over to help me tie the sash thing.

Shuffling out, I felt nervous again. A different nervous. Thinking about how intensely I’d stared at Kiko, I smiled, ready for my just desserts.

“How do I look?” I softly asked.

A second, two, three, my gaze that wouldn’t budge from her feet fighting the urge to look higher until I couldn’t. Slowly, I raised my chin and eventually met her gaze.

“Gorgeous,” she said in English, brushed with her accent. That happened when she spoke without thinking. Really, the perfect answer.

I couldn’t stare into her eyes any longer without kissing her, but looking down just brought me to her lips. While she didn’t use lipstick, I’d made a habit of buying her flavoured lip balms, telling her it would incentivise me to kiss her. She often incentivised me. The question on my lips right now was if she already had, trying to remember if I’d seen her use one at the campsite or when we’d arrived at the ryokan.

Somehow, I turned away without kissing her, if only because I wanted to at least soak in a hot spring before being thrown out.

We dropped by our rooms to leave our luggage, then were led to a tea room. I hadn’t thought the girls would be interested in these kinds of things, but, when we were choosing where to go, they both liked that this place had tea ceremonies.

Even after being in Mi’s shoes, I hadn’t expected that.

Anyway, other than a little struggling with the seiza—kneeling sitting position—I enjoyed the experience. Not that I wanted to do it again, but I didn’t not want to do it again.

We rinsed our hands and mouth before entering, had to crawl in through a small door. The room looked traditional, tatami mats and screens with a watercolour-like painting of Mt Fuji, and the person serving us wore traditional clothes too. Something thicker than a yukata, one of the more formal kimonos. She told us about a scroll hanging on the wall that apparently went back to when the ryokan had opened. It was hard for me to follow some of the words, but it sounded like it was a glowing review from a noble.

While the place did offer a complete tea ceremony with dinner, we’d opted for more of an afternoon snack course, so we were offered biscuits and mochi to go with our tea. Nothing too filling.

As long as that felt like it took, there was still plenty of afternoon left. The girls were happy to wander around and look out at the views, not often we went to such green places. I tried not to be thankful they were so easily entertained. After all, I knew why they cherished any chance to get out.

Scars lingered.

Anyway, there was a limit to their “patience” and, really, it wasn’t Himawari who was bored. The yukatas didn’t have pockets and we didn’t want to lose our phones, so we’d left them in our room. Mi kept forgetting that. After the fourth or fifth time I noticed her try to check her non-existent pocket for her phone, I guessed we’d spent enough time wandering, bringing it up with Kiko.

Concious of who Mi missed, we stopped by our rooms again before going to the “lounge”. I wasn’t really sure what to call the area, but it had couches and vending machines and a ping pong table, and I soon discovered that I hadn’t become any better at it than the last time I’d tried back in school.

The same could not be said for Kiko.

“I was in the table tennis club in middle school,” she said, both trying not to smile and trying not to look at me.

Mi also gave it a try, but quickly grew frustrated that she could barely keep a rally going with Kiko. I liked that. She had a lot more emotions these days. Sure, she didn’t always know how to handle them, but that was what growing up was about. Honestly, I’d met many adults much older than her who hadn’t learned how to deal with frustration.

The way Mi dealt with it was stepping away. Himawari jumped in, eager to try too. Pretty inconsistent, she managed to rally for a while, then missed the ball three times straight, then kept hitting it into the net. She dealt with her frustration by pouting and huffing and trying again.

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They’d changed so much, yet hardly changed. The Mi who closed herself off when struggling. The Himawari who wanted to outdo Sakura’s cooking.

Swapping places with Mi had, from time to time, made me think about what a personality really was. With my programming background, I thought of it as the algorithms. We gathered data and who we were—our soul—decided how we acted on it. I could swap with Mi because we had a similar soul, personality. It wasn’t that I would make different decisions than her, it was that I had more data. That, if we had somehow met each other and started talking, she would have made the same decisions.

Pulling myself out of those deep thoughts, I glanced at Mi and saw she looked a bit gloomy. Smiling, I looped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her like that. “Good job not getting angry.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t shake off my arm. “I’m not a child.”

I giggled and gave her another squeeze. “You know I’ve worked with adults that couldn’t manage even that,” I said.

She pouted at first, gradually settling into a blank look. The longer she didn’t speak, the more it looked like she was thinking about something else, looking more like her old self than her new self.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” I asked.

She turned away without answering.

Softly smiling, I lifted my arm and patted her head as I pulled it back. “You know you can tell me anything, and I can give you advice or sympathy or even just listen,” I said. After a second of silence, my smile faded and gaze drifted back to Kiko and Himawari.

I didn’t exactly feel jealous of their relationship. During the whole ordeal with their parents, one I could only “watch” through the conversations I had with Kiko, she and the girls were advised that, if they wanted to stay together, pretending to be more like a family would help. Under the table advice. The girls wanted that, so they started calling Kiko mama and okaa-san.

They didn’t have to keep doing it, but Himawari still did, maybe seeing Kiko as a mother, maybe not seeing mother as a particularly special title. She certainly loved Kiko, but still went to Mi a lot.

As for Mi, she (mostly) behaved at school, but liked to be rebellious at home. Though sarcastic was maybe a bit strong, she didn’t exactly mean it when calling Kiko okaa-san. Liked to use the more casual okaa-chan or the less respectful kaa-chan.

I didn’t talk about that with Kiko, even though I’d usually support her more with these kinds of rebelliousness, because I knew too much. I knew how, even now, Mi still deeply missed her mother—her parents, her dad like another person entirely before her mother passed. I knew that Mi had used mama and okaa-san for her mother, had used mum and mummy too. Those words were sacred to her. Sure, she could pretend for the court, but no more.

Kiko was amazing, though. She recognised there wasn’t really a generational age gap between them, awkward to call someone barely a decade older mother, and she recognised that Mi, being almost seventeen, didn’t really need a new mother. A guardian, but not a mother. So she let Mi set the pace and boundaries of their relationship, her only hard line being respectful to her as a teacher at school.

As for me, I felt very close to the girls. Himawari had started opening up to me, liked cuddling up between me and Kiko in the evenings, and I thoroughly cherished the time we spent together cooking and baking.

All of that said, there was a frustration churning inside me. I hadn’t been there when they needed me and now they didn’t really need me. While the whole experience with being Mi had helped me grow, I hadn’t entirely grown out of my old habits, needing to be needed. It didn’t feel like being present was enough.

My thoughts growing darker, I stood up and stretched. Only a small stretch—didn’t want the yukata coming loose. “Want to get some fresh air?” I asked Mi.

She looked like her thoughts weren’t any happier than mine. After a long second, she nodded.

I let Kiko and Himawari know we were off, then led the way to an outside walkway, the air cold, but, a courtyard, there was no chilling breeze. The yukata was nice as a “bath robe”, not so good for winter.

A slight mist hung around the ground, pond unfrozen, but there were no fish. Probably too hot. Some stones and moss and bamboo were scattered around as decoration, the trickle of water loud in the otherwise silence. We stayed up on the walkway, keeping a gentle pace, just enough to stay warm.

The silence lasted a few minutes and a couple laps. Mi stepped up to my side instead of trailing behind and gently tugged on my sleeve. “Can we go to our rooms?” she whispered.

“Sure.”

We’d booked a “double” room, split into two with a sliding partition—shoji. Right now, it was slid open with our luggage pushed to the side. Plenty of space. Despite that, when I sat down (not in the kneeling position), Mi sat right next to me.

It wasn’t something I had ever done with her, but, when Himawari snuggled up to me like that, I always rubbed her back, then kissed the top of her head. So I did the same for Mi, nice and slow to give her time to ask me to stop. She didn’t.

After the kiss on the side of her head, I just hugged her with one arm and waited, and waited, and waited.

Until she finally spoke.

“I, um, Sakura…” she mumbled, then paused to collect her thoughts. “I’m probably just… overthinking. But Sakura’s mum, when I go over, she’s nice to me like she always was, but she… always comes to see us, like, to drop off a snack, or ask Sakura something, then she leaves the door open. I didn’t notice it, but then Sakura said that… maybe her mum knows about us—because she doesn’t do that when Natalie visits. That’s what Sakura said anyway.”

It all spilled out in a torrent, meandering and hesitating, before ending in another mumble. Honestly, I felt like laughing. To think that was what weighed on her mind….

But I didn’t laugh.

She didn’t have the same experience as me, even if she’d borrowed it for a bit. Her trauma didn’t make her more mature. She was just a girl, a girl worried about what her girlfriend’s mother thought about their relationship.

Unsure of what she wanted from me, I stayed as we were, gently hugging her until she started mumbling again. “I, um, I want some advice. Please.”

“Okay,” I said and left another kiss on the side of her head. Although I didn’t exactly have relevant experience, my own “coming out” rather recent, I thought it through as best as I could. “Well, what if she does know? She still lets you visit and treats you the same. Or is the problem you want more privacy with Sakura?”

“No,” she quickly said, only to then awkwardly mutter, “Kinda.”

I smiled to myself. “Sakura’s welcome to visit whenever she wants, and there’s stuff like karaoke? I know you want to save your money, but spending a little to make yourself happy is worth it,” I said.

Little by little, we went back-and-forth while I tried not to say too much. The problem was always smaller after getting it out of your head. Easy to worry when you weren’t in control. She could have spent months terrified what would happen if Sakura’s family disowned her, one sentence from me enough to settle her: “She can stay with us.”

It wasn’t a long conversation, rather one full of pauses and breaks and thinking. One rather full of meaning.

I didn’t know how long these worries had plagued her, maybe from the beginning of their relationship. However long, I was glad to hear them, to share her burden. We hadn’t chosen to swap places before. Hadn’t given each other permission to learn our every secret. Now, though, she opened a little door into her private life, inviting me in—just a little bit.

So I invited her inside my private life a little too. Of course, not to share anything inappropriate, but the sorts of feelings I had gone through. My confusion, slowly learning what kind of “like” I had for Kiko. My pain at stepping away when they needed me and my trust in Kiko to be there for them. Something I’d talked a little about with Mi before, but not so emotionally. There was a difference between, “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” and, “I couldn’t even eat the first day, and most nights I cried in bed, hoping you and Hime were okay.”

It wasn’t exactly repaying her for being open with me, more me following where she’d moved her boundary to. See if this was what she wanted. Because, like Kiko and despite how much I’d talked about becoming her parent, I knew she wouldn’t want another mother-figure. It was enough to give her comfort and support and space to grow. Learning that adults also had feelings was part of that. That, even if I had more control over my life, I couldn’t control everything. Sometimes, I had to trust other people.

She listened and then fell into thought. A lot to think about. I left her to it, plenty of my own thoughts to think.

So we sat for a long while until she pushed herself up. Moved to the window, thinking there instead. A not-so-long while later, she shuffled back over and knelt down to hug me.

I sat there dumbly at first. We’d hugged before, but those had been emotional moments. Reactive. This felt like the first time she’d really chosen to hug me.

Smiling, I squeezed her back.

Even though we hadn’t done much, time seemed to move differently when wearing yukata and, after returning to Kiko and Himawari, it was almost time for dinner. We took a moment to freshen up, then found our way to the dining room.

It was a pretty unusual meal for us. I’d learned more healthy recipes, but we almost always still had meat or fish, pizza nights really the only time we didn’t. Tonight, they served a Buddhist meal of rice porridge (more properly, congee), stir-fried vegetables, and tofu. There was a broth to add some light flavour, as well as soy sauce. Maybe because I and, to an extant, Mi looked foreign, the server told us there were other sauces available if we would like. I almost laughed imagining the looks on everyone’s face if I poured ketchup on tofu.

“We’re fine, thank you,” I politely said with a polite smile.

That said, it really was a bland meal. Not bad, just clean and simple, nice enough for the odd dinner. I would have liked it more as a breakfast, really. Anyway, the girls didn’t complain, including Kiko, so it was fine.

Maybe it was my old diet complaining.

After dinner came our time to finally soak in the hot spring. No rush, we wandered back to our room and picked up the stuff we needed.

Only once we arrived at the changing room did I realise what was about to happen. I hadn’t been to a sentō or bathed with the girls or ever been around them naked, only Mi had. Those days felt so distant now. Gripped by this sudden awkwardness, I could barely keep myself moving, numbly going through the motions as I undressed and wrapped up in my towel.

Having taken the longest, there was no moment to settle myself before I had to followed them through to rinse. Himawari was in a bath robe to keep warm, sensitive to the cold, while Kiko and Mi were just in a towel like me. I couldn’t bear to look, staring at the ground.

Karma for mentally laughing at Natalie’s shy reaction on her first trip to a sentō.

I powered through it as best I could, leaving Himawari to Mi—the two as close as ever—while I helped Kiko and she helped me. Well, we could certainly wash ourselves, but any excuse to touch her. Innocently, of course.

As Kiko was washing my back, she leaned in close and whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I just feel a little awkward,” I said, ending with a nervous giggle.

I guessed she glanced around and saw no one because she gave me a hug, towel pressed against my back. It calmed me. Really did. I felt so safe with her, unlike anyone else. Not even my mother.

Me being from the west, Christmas was a time for family. I was glad to have finally found mine.

Guided by her hand holding mine, we walked to the hot spring’s edge. It all looked natural, stone and water and steam, a wooden roof and walls either side, but the far end open to the elements, pool stretching a little outside. I couldn’t imagine how amazing it would be in the rain—the sounds, the mix of hot water and cold droplets.

For now, though, it was amazing for the people in it.

I felt awkward and shy for a while, but it was nice enough to just sit there and listen to Mi and Himawari chatter. They were the most experienced in public bathing. Idle chatter, from school to music to nonsense, playing a word game and a Japanese version of “I spy with my little eye”. Himawari was so chatty these days, like she was catching up on all the words she’d missed out on before.

As for Kiko, she held my hand under the water. Now and then, she’d draw circles on my palm, or lightly pinch my fingers, one by one, or slide her fingers between mine and give me a “hand hug”. Something we came up with for when we wanted to hug in public.

We had a few of those. She was a teacher, so reputation was important. Well, honestly, as long as we weren’t caught kissing, it wasn’t like anyone would think she was a lesbian. The “useful” side of heteronormativity (one of my new favourite words).

My favourite of our secret codes was simple: I whispered, “Kiko.” She turned to look at me. I smiled and tapped my nose. Her mouth quirked into a shy smile and, after a second, she tapped her nose.

Our secret kiss.

After a good, long soak, we returned to our room. Himawari had changed into her pyjamas, but the rest of us were back in a yukata again. She loved her pyjamas— even if Mi wasn’t wearing the matching pair.

Though the inn did have some things to do in the evening, we just all snuggled up, talking. Talking. Talking about everything and nothing and every nothing in between. Whether Nana-chan would like her present, what Natalie was up to back in America for the holidays, when I had to go back to work.

The kind of talking that filled me with a feeling of family.

We went on for a good hour before Himawari started nodding off, even Mi getting a bit quiet. Oh they could stay up all night with a bright screen, but, take that away, and they couldn’t keep going, not after getting up so early.

So the girls went to get ready for bed. I carefully slid the divider closed—just because it was a family trip didn’t mean Kiko and I didn’t want any privacy. We waited for them to finish up, then brushed our teeth, then waited on our side, listening to the girls’ quiet chatter grow weaker, gaps growing until silence. Well, almost silence. Mi giggled now and then, no doubt on her phone messaging Sakura.

Turning to Kiko, I caught her smiling, caught her smile, smiling too. I felt like I’d smiled more since meeting her than in the rest of my life.

“Merry Chrisumas,” she said, her slight accent ever so adorable.

“Merry Christmas,” I said and, this time, I didn’t need to use a secret code to kiss her.

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