Warmth: I Miss You Most On Cold Mornings

Coffee had always been special to Kaho, just like tea. Aromas filled her nose as boiling water seeped through beans or leaves, leaving their mark on her via scent. When it was ready, it would fill a ceramic mug, steam billowing softly in thin wisps as she stirred and held it with her palms and let the heat move into her skin. Slow sips would bring a tingle to her lips, then send tastes of pleasant acidity, flowers, and berries along her waiting tongue.

She would always wonder if she was slurping too loud still, like she did when she was a child.

That was one of the first times she truly felt othered by her deafness. She was only eight, and her mother pulled her aside at a luncheon to let her know that they would be working on how she swallowed from then on.

Eventually, with enough physical therapy and feedback from her parents that let her know her liquid consumption was satisfactory, she was able to enjoy beverages again instead of only viewing them as exercises on tongue and throat control.

That morning, she had woken first. Even in the early Autumn, the Tokyo sun still came early, so the world was already painted in a crisp, paled blue that told the world cold was not too far in the future and soon they would all be wearing their thickened sweaters and heavy coats. For now, she was wrapped in her two piece pajamas and slippers, and that was enough.

Automated hums and faint scents of light roast told her that the kitchen coffee machine was already preparing her father’s first pot. It was a simple , older machine, dignified in its weathered buttons and basic twelve ounce pot. Her father, ever Japanese and ever a fiscal conservative, had no desire to buy something newer and fancier if this decade-old Costco purchase was still functioning.

Dark drops began to fall into the glass container and Kaho wondered what dripping sounded like.

She stood in the unlit room, letting the ambience of dawn do the light’s work as she watched the pot fill over the seconds. It was her favorite blend, from a tiny shop in Sumida that sold Edo Kiriko cut glass cups and served cheesecakes with their blends.

She thought of him.

It snuck into her thoughts with the unplanned swiftness it always did. One moment, she would be thinking of something else, anything else. Then, he would be smiling from the corners of her awareness.

She poured a few ounces into the mug she’d bought on Kappabachi Street that day, a few hours before her mother had walked in on her in the dressing room. She looked at her hands and let her mind drift to the embrace of him.

That time, she thought of the first cup of coffee he’d given her after she had almost broken completely. That bandaged wrist had brought him to the treatment facility, and by whatever stroke of luck, fortune, or indifferent coincidence of the universe, she was there when he was.

She breathed in deep as she watched the dawn light turn from muted to vibrant blue, and by the time her cup had cooled to the temperature she preferred, the sky was fully enveloped in autumnal morning.

Nerve damage had left some of her scars sensitive to the cold.

A shadow moved along the wall nearby and she prepared herself. Her father was approaching.

It had been somewhat awkward in the weeks since everything came to a head. Her parents, ever the conservative reserved Japanese elders, had barely spoken to her, save for the occasional instruction or inspection. They had softened. She could sense that and see it. When they spoke to her, something in their expressions looked regretful and unsure.

It made her feel childlike, as though they were new parents again and wrestling with how to raise this deaf child they’d brought into the world.

He entered the room with his eyes down on the morning paper in his hand, and when he finally looked up, he gave a surprised brow raise and immediately shifted into a harder, more stoic father figure instead of the half asleep man who had just entered.

“Good morning,” Kaho signed.

“Good morning,” he signed back to her as he kept his nervous furrow above his eyes.

He made his own cup and stood awkwardly beside the machine as though he was unsure of how to act when it was just the two of them. Kaho accepted that it would still be quite some time before things had any form of normalcy.

His eyes stayed on her pajama sleeve.

“You always wore longer sleeves. Even in the summer. I never thought much about it. Now… I understand why,” he signed.

Kaho smiled and frowned at the same time. It was as close to honesty as she could expect, and in truth she was still unsure of how to speak about her cutting with her parents. Part of her wished it would never be discussed at all, but she knew it would be a part of conversations and thoughts between them for a very long time. Just like the pinks ridges of flesh that covered her body, her actions had torn open a part of her family, and it would take a great amount of time to heal.

He had nothing else to add, so he resolved himself to move past her to sit at the breakfast nook. Upon sitting, he laid the morning paper on the table then gestured his hand to the seat beside him. Lagos did not know if it was an order or an invitation, but if nothing else, it meant he was willing to sit with her as they enjoyed the morning light.

Kaho sat softly beside him, gently lowering the mug onto the glass coaster as she’d been guided to so often as a child. A joke among the Deaf community was that it would make the loudest house. Her parents had made sure that she never slammed a door. That she never scraped a plate or chewed with her mouth open. That she never clanked glassware. Sounds she never knew were avoided with care even if she could not hear their unwanted presence.

The date on the morning paper stared back at her. Tonight was the night of her ikebana exhibit. She had already invited her parents and Sayane. But they did not know about one invitation.

Across the room, her mother entered, wearing a look that was just as surprised as her father when she saw Kaho.

To her credit, her mother was handling the entire endeavor better. She had taken Kaho to her hairstylist after the attack to make sure that what was left of Kaho’s hair was styled in the most flattering way. Words may have been sparse, but her actions were intentional and soft in their own way.

Her mother joined them at the table with her usual morning glass of room temperature water and lemon. No one spoke, and her father allowed himself to begin skimming the paper’s inner pages. Kaho closed her eyes and turned her head to the sunlight, letting its cooled warmth drench the cells beneath her skin. She was still adjusting to her ears being perpetually exposed, but the tingling heat of nourishing light felt nice upon her earlobes as she sat there.

A few minutes later, her mother tapped her shoulder.

Kaho opened her eyes and looked to her.

“Do you need anything for tonight?” she signed and spoke at the same time.

Kaho shook her head.

“No. I just need to be there early to set up,” Kaho replied.

“I’ve arranged for you to be driven there,” her father added.

Kaho nodded and bowed her head in a sign of gratitude. The attack had removed any chance for her to use public transportation any time soon, so she wasn’t surprised. She cleared her throat and braced her heart.

“I’ve invited Shuhei,” she said.

Her father sighed, but did not seem overly surprised. Her mother simply nodded.

“Are you sure?” her father asked.

She knew he was not just asking her about tonight, but in the broader sense.

“He was kind to me. And gentle. And he understood me. I would not be this much better without him. I am out in the world. I speak to people and even have friends. I have something I'm passionate about. I feel. I feel again. Finally.”

So much of her growth had been small and slow. Just like a flower growing from seed to stem to bloom, it did not seem like a lot in the steady, subtle passage of daily moments, but eventually, petals would appear and so many onlookers would be shocked at just how different that seed had become.

She had her ikebana. The boys at Club Eden had been kind to her. Sayane was a sincere friend beyond just being a translator. Daily walks through the city had reminded her of all the things she’d missed in her years below the surface. There was still so much new existence she wanted to find. Her flower may not have been fully bloomed yet, but the petals were finally opening from the stems.

And so much of it was from her time with Shuhei. He had not been the only thing that made her better, she knew that. But she also knew that without him being there, she may have simply killed herself one night and been done with it.

She did not know what a future with Shuhei would even look like. But she wanted to find out. So much of her called for her and yearned for him. The possibility of that never being accepted by her parents was a horror she did not wish to know.

Her father set the paper flat on the table and looked at her. His bagged, aged eyes were focused and unreadable as they analyzed her answer and face with equal measure.

His inspection lasted for a moment, then he simply took his wife’s hand for comfort as his head lowered.

When it raised, he was vulnerable. Wrinkles along his cheeks and lips defined as he frowned.

“I am sorry, my daughter. I wish we had learned about your pain sooner. Please, forgive us for not being there for you.”

Kaho’s brow lifted. It wasn’t the answer she’d expected and it was impossible to know if that was deflection, rejection, or approval. But most importantly, it was sincere. His tragic look told her that he was indeed laboring under a great amount of shame and guilt. She wanted to reach out to him, but she still needed her hands to say one more thing.

“I’ve been much better, but at least I’m healing.”

Her mother smiled and the sun broke over the roofline of the distant buildings.

“Let me know if you need me to help you pick out an outfit,” her mother said.

“…I’d like that,” Kaho replied.