I’m sitting at the kitchen table, going over everything from css today.
At this point it's part of my routine. Typically, after Ms. Mikado leaves, I eat a snack and then go upstairs and take a nap for an hour, before coming back down to the kitchen and reviewing the day's lessons until my mom gets home. Once my mom gets home, we have dinner, and then study together for about an hour before bath time.
Just as I’m thinking about this routine which I have found I really like, I hear the front door open, signaling that my mom is home from work for the evening. When she arrives in the kitchen with a smile, I sign,
My mom rolls her eyes,
I think she's been letting me eat what I want because I got hit by a car and stuff. But that leeway seems to have run out. Dammit.
With a look that says, ‘sure you will,’ my mom starts making dinner, while I return to studying. Today we went over the words for all kinds of professions. I finally know how to sign ‘writer’ without fingerspelling, which is pretty nice.
After 20 minutes or so I hear a chime notifying me that I've got a new email.
When I open my email I'm surprised to see that I have an email from [email protected] titled,
Re: Your Upcoming Yuri Literary Anthology.
I blink several times, as if what I'm seeing is an illusion.
I totally forgot I ever sent the email they are responding to. I sent it the day I got hurt and I only sort of remember a bunch of that day. But seeing this email jogs my memory.
I was on campus that day meeting with my adviser, Professor Yoshitaka. She told me that since I'm graduating soon, I should look for upcoming literary anthologies and magazines that I would like to write for, and send them emails with my CV and a cover letter. I sent several out before I left campus and rode my bike home, and that’s when I got hurt.
My palms start to sweat as I consider what this email might say.
It's been a long time. Almost two months. Surely they wouldn't respond now only to reject me. Right?
Of course the fact I haven’t heard back at all from all of the others probably doesn’t bode well. Maybe they are just being more courteous than the rest, who ignored me.
Only one way to find out.
I take a deep breath and open the email.
Dear Ms. Kato,
Congratutions on your awards and your imminent graduation. We are very impressed with your writing! We would love to hear your pitch for a 20,000-word story that would appear in the anthology, which will be published next year. It will be focused on period romance, so you seem like a perfect fit. Send us a pitch within the next couple of months, and we'll move on from there.
We look forward to hearing from you.
As I read the email, I feel myself smile.
My mom comes over and taps me on the shoulder,
I turn my ptop towards her and show her the email. As she reads it a smile grows on her face and then she hugs me and says, “Bzbzbz!”
I can't understand what she said, but I know she's happy for me. Sometimes words don't matter.
There's only one problem…
“I don't have any ideas, mom. I haven't written a word since I got hurt. I'm worried more of my brain got hurt than we thought. The creative part.”
My mom breaks the hug with a frown and asks me to pass over the ptop. I don't know why at first, and then she opens up Word and starts to type slowly, with one finger, while she looks down at the keys.
Is she trying to be like Ms. Mikado? That woman can type really fast. I imagine she talks really fast too, though I can't really verify that.
I ugh, “Mom, you're terrible at typing. Just write it. It would be faster. Heck, fingerspelling might be faster.”
She waves a hand at me dismissively and keeps typing. If we can call it that. I cross my arms and wait patiently as she hunts-and-pecks each individual key. Then she finally shows me her message.
You'll think of something, sweetie. For now, just enjoy the recognition. You're a very gifted writer. This is even more proof of that. They want you to write for them! This is amazing!
I smile at my mom's message,
My mom nods and then takes the ptop back and starts hunt-and-pecking again.
I scoff, “If you're going to insist on this, we need to get you some typing lessons on top of the sign nguage. Maybe Ms. Mikado can come an hour earlier.”
She gres pyfully at me as she continues composing her message at a snail’s pace. Eventually, she reveals it to me.
And it's even yuri, so you'll really get to express yourself. No more only having the women in your stories just be really close friends!
I feel a little emotional when I read her message. It almost makes waiting so long for her to type it worth it.
She's right. My short stories so far have all been period dramas about intense friendships between women. I always stop short of making them openly romantic, because I've been writing for various university competitions and publications that would frown upon it at best. I also didn't love the idea of using my real name and screaming ‘I'M A LESBIAN!’ at the entire world.
Other gay people would understand the subtext in the stories I've written so far, but most people don't pick up on it. This time, I'm writing for an audience that expects there to be romance for women. That's really exciting.
Now I just need to think of a story. Let's hope it turns out that part of my brain made it through my accident unscathed.
…
Once again, I'm in bed with Haru and I can't sleep. But for good reasons.
I think I feel…giddy. It's not an emotion I know very well, so I can't be sure. I tried to think of ideas for a story for a couple of hours and didn't get anywhere. Normally I would let that weigh me down, but just the fact a major publisher is asking me to pitch a story idea is just…amazing.
It's all I've ever wanted - to write stories about women falling in love with one another. Even if I don't think it's something I'll ever get to experience myself.
I mean, I've been in love with a girl before. But I don't think one will ever love me back. I accepted that a long time ago. But I can live vicariously through my characters. I'm happy to, even.
All that matters is that I get to write some lesbian romance. And get paid for it! Not a lot, but getting paid at all makes me a professional right?
I'm a professional writer!
At least, I will be as long as I can come up with a pitch and they like it. I have time. I'll think of something.
It's breakfast, and while I'm trying to enjoy my current meal my mom hits me with some news about our next meal that has me very worried. I'm a creature of habit. I have eaten a lunch my mom made me almost every single day of my life. And she's such a good cook.
Who knows what that silly woman will bring? Can she even cook? She doesn't exactly seem the type.
Of course, I've never even TRIED to cook. But that's not the point…
I shake my head to throw away my childish feelings,
My mom smiles wryly,
Hard to argue with that…
Fed up with signing for the moment, I say, “How do you know she's bringing lunch anyway? She didn't say she would yesterday.”
My mom holds up her phone and shows me the text conversation with Ms. Mikado. It makes me feel a little jealous. Of both of them. I didn't know they were talking outside of our css.
I bet my mom wishes she had a daughter more like her.
…
It's time for lunch. We learned a lot of food and other meal-reted terms for our lesson, so I think she is somehow making lunch a learning experience today. I'm not sure how I feel about that. It doesn't sound very rexing.
Right now Ms. Mikado is reheating the food she brought. My mom is looking at me pointedly. She doesn't need sign nguage to say ‘Do you remember what we talked about earlier?’ She's doing it with her eyes.
But it makes me want to be even more defiant. It bugs me that these two are talking outside of css and didn't even invite me into the group text. They probably talk about me and how difficult I always am. My mom is always on Ms. Mikado's side about things too. It’s getting old.
Ms. Mikado comes over to the table and serves each of us rice before pcing a rge pte in the middle of the table. I don't recognize the dish at all. The good news is, it looks like little thumb-sized rolls of meat. The bad news is, at the center of those rolls is something green and leafy that looks suspiciously like a vegetable.
With a proud smile, Ms. Mikado signs one of the words we learned today,
I was embarrassed that I didn't know what it was when we learned and was going to ask my mom ter, so I didn't say anything.
I reply,
She replies with two more words we learned today,
You had to go and ruin some perfectly good beef, didn't you?
My mom gives me another pointed look, and it's the st straw for me. Knowing she thinks I'm such a child only makes me want to be more of one. If I don’t like this, I shouldn't have to pretend. And shoot, I can use some of what we learned today to communicate my feelings. Isn't that the point?
< I don’t like scallions. Thank you, though. I'll eat something else.>
Ms. Mikado grimaces and her smile almost disappears. It's still there. Faintly. But it's the smallest I've ever seen. And it's because of me.
I immediately regret being so defiant.
When I get up the nerve and turn to look at my mom, she looks furious. Her eyebrows are knit and her jaw is clenched. She crosses her arms and says something. Her buzzing sounds more aggressive than usual.
I look at the screen on Ms. Mikado’s computer, which is always set up with voice recognition software at lunchtime so I can sort of stay in the loop if they are using speech. It says,
Win was the st thyme you tied them?
Even with the garbled transtion, I know what my mom is trying to say. And she’s right.
I look down at the table, ashamed for being the child my mom told me not to be. And for clearly hurting Ms. Mikado's feelings when she didn't do anything wrong.
I make eye contact with Ms. Mikado, something very hard for me normally, and doubly so because she's so freaking pretty. But, I owe her this for being so childish all the time.
“I-it's been a long time since I tried scallions. I don't actually know if I like them. But I'm going to try them now. A-and…I can eat around them even if I don’t! The meat looks delicious. I…should have just said…thank you for making us lunch today.”
Ms. Mikado's smile rebounds, making me feel relieved. But there is definitely some worry in her eyes. She quickly ptes me some of the food and thrusts it in front of me. She gets my mom a pte too. I look down at the meat-wrapped scallions on my pte and try to psych myself up. But then I feel eyes burning into me.
I look up and see Ms. Mikado watching me closely with a furrowed brow and her hands anxiously folded together.
Well…no getting around really trying this now. Apparently she's going to watch.
I pick up one of the negimaki with my chopsticks. I hesitate a little, and then put the whole thing into my mouth, hoping I can just taste the meat and swallow without the scallion ever touching my tongue.
I start to chew.
Oh. My. God.
This might be the best meat I've ever tasted.
The meat is in lots of little strips and it’s really well-cooked and tender with a perfect teriyaki gze.
And…there's this subtle peppery, herby taste too that goes so well with the meat. Is that in the sauce?
As I continue to chew, I feel the crunchiness of the scallions. As the peppery taste intensifies, I realize that's where that subtle taste I'm enjoying so much is coming from. I start to feel even more embarrassed for my behavior earlier.
Well…guess my mom was right. I wonder if there is any other food that I haven't tried since childhood that I would like now.
When I open my eyes, I see Ms. Mikado still looking on anxiously. She looks a little more confident, probably because she could tell I was savoring it.
But she still looks worried when she signs,
I put another meat-rolled scallion in my mouth for emphasis.
Ms. Mikado's face lights up and it gives me a twinge in my chest. I guess the upside of making her smile go so dim is that I get to see it return to its normal, bright configuration.
After that, lunch is less tense. My mom and Ms. Mikado discuss the dish, which is apparently Japanese-American. Ms. Mikado has a Japanese-American friend who gave her the recipe.
I have a hard time really focusing on the conversation though. Partly because the food is so good. But mostly because all I can think about is how nice it was to make Ms. Mikado really smile.
Now we’ve finished cleaning up after the meal, and we’re having a bit of tea before my mom leaves and Ms. Mikado and I begin our lip reading lesson for the day.
Suddenly, an unexpected visitor arrives. With a chirp-like meow, Haru jumps on the table and inquisitively walks towards Ms. Mikado, before stopping a good distance away from her.
We’ve told Ms. Mikado about Haru, and in the past she’s been disappointed that she hasn’t gotten to see her. Now that Haru is making an appearance, I can see in her golden eyes that she wants nothing more than to pick up the cute little calico and squeeze it to her ample chest. But she restrains herself and looks to me as if asking what she should do.
I sign,
Ms. Mikado hesitantly reaches out her hand a few centimeters away from Haru. She examines her hand, and I feel like I can see the gears turning in her head. Then she steps forward a few steps, and rubs the top of her head on Ms. Mikado’s hand. Then, she lets Ms. Mikado pet her a few times, before running off.
Ms. Mikado beams with pride. It's pretty cute that she's that happy about Haru's apparent acceptance of her.
I guess I’m not the only one warming up to her.