#ahf

Early december, 1965

Yoshihiro didn't want to get out of bed that day. He knew he had to—his appointment was today—but it was so unbearably cold. He wanted to stay curled up under the covers, even though they provided little warmth.

Temperatures were almost at freezing, and the wind was brutal. It hadn’t been this bad a week ago, or even yesterday; it had to be today of all days when the weather was at its worst.

Fumiko and Yoshihiro spent ten minutes suiting up, Yoshihiro struggling to squeeze his belly into a winter coat that no longer fit him properly. If he sucked in his gut, he could just barely manage to zip it up, but it was too tight; the pressure made him feel a bit sick to his stomach, with how it cinched around him. The baby clearly didn’t like it either, as he was making his disapproval known by kicking and squirming around, more intensely than usual. He was still small enough where it didn’t feel suffocating, but big enough that his movements were distracting to Yoshihiro—they were starting to wake him up at random times of the night, and they made it harder to focus when he was reading.

“Come on, let's go,” Fumiko huffed, clearly irritated by the amount of layers she had to wear. At least they had that in common.

Yoshihiro wore an underlayment shirt and thermal underwear (which were uncomfortably tight), a button up shirt (bordering on tight but not quite outgrown yet), snow pants (which sagged and moved around with every step), a knit sweater, and a stiff, noisy button-up coat—the kind that shuffled and crinkled with every movement. And of course, earmuffs, mittens, and a hat, which fit him properly. He felt ridiculous, wearing so many layers and mismatched pieces of clothing, and he wasn't looking forward to walking into the office suited up like a fireman. Even Fumiko, in spite of her coordinated wardrobe and properly fitting clothes, looked a little silly, with her scarf wrapped around her face like a mummy.

The ride there was suffocating. With the car protecting them from the cold, he felt like he was baking in an oven under all the layers, and he cringed as he felt sweat pooling in his undershirt. But he knew it would be too much of a hassle to take all of it off just to put it back on before they left the car; and besides, it was only an eight minute drive to the clinic. Still, he felt a huge sense of relief when they finally arrived and stepped outside, even as the crisp, sharp winds nipped at his bare face. The ground was icy, so he was extra slow—he didn’t need any more incidents on his hands. Him and Fumiko shuffled inside, brushing off their boots on the welcome mat.

The waiting room was jarringly empty, with only one other person; a woman, roughly in her thirties, wearing a red plaid jacket and fluffy earmuffs. She looked stylish, and Yoshihiro envied how put together she was.

They put their coats in the coat room and waited, avoiding eye contact with the woman, in spite of the fact that his condition wasn’t obvious. To the average observer, they looked like a normal pregnant couple, in the early months—it always took a while before women began to show, anyway. Still, he felt vulnerable like this; he hadn’t been in public for a while, and each time he came back out it felt like exposing himself.

They weren't waiting for long, and the receptionist called Fumiko’s name instead of his—to give them some security.

They walked back with the receptionist, down the winding halls that Yoshihiro had memorized by now. He could feel tension radiating off of Fumiko, without even looking at her; it seemed like she resented him at these visits, though she never said so. Just her body language conveyed as much.

The woman guided them to a small office in the back and told them his doctor would be there shortly. As soon as she left and the door closed, Yoshihiro felt tension settle in his gut. Him and Fumiko hadn’t spoken much lately—when they did, it never went well. She was still upset over what happened, rightfully so, but part of him wished she would just give him an inch of relief—a kind word, a truce, anything. He couldn’t stand it much longer.

The room was quiet, mostly, save for distant, muffled chatter coming from another room. Yoshihiro rubbed his thumb and finger together, trying to relax; he hated this kind of silence—the cold, resentful kind. He wanted to say something, anything, just to break the tension, but he wouldn’t dare speak out of turn—not after what he’d done. He didn;t know if he’d ever get Fumiko to forgive him for what happened, and that was terrifying—-he couldn't imagine living the rest of his life like this; stuck in a house with a woman who resented him. Just the thought was enough to make him start questioning his whole life; was this really who he should be with? Were they truly ready for this baby yet?

“I cant believe they’d make us wait like this,” she said, breaking the thick silence. “Our appointments are scheduled months in advance, why is he never on time? It’s unprofessional.”

Her voice was stern, but didn’t have his usual bite. She seemed calm, possibly—as always, he never knew what to make of her tone.

“Yeah, I’m surprised. He’s usually here by now.” Yoshihiro could feel his voice shake, though he tried to keep it still. Out of nowhere, the baby fluttered around and he visibly twitched, startled by the movement.

“What’s wrong? Does something hurt?” she said, finally looking at him. Perhaps she was in a more amicable mood than he’d thought initially.

“I’m fine.”

“What made you twitch like that?”

Yoshihiro swallowed.

“Oh, you know…the baby. He moves really suddenly sometimes. It startled me, that’s all.”

“Oh. I see.”

She averted her gaze, like she was uncomfortable. Was that inappropriate to tell her?

“Does it hurt when he does that?” she said, looking back at him. Her voice was softer than usual—she didn't seem irritated anymore.

“I mean, it’s uncomfortable, sometimes….not really painful, though.”

“I see.”

She glanced down at his stomach, and Yoshihiro couldn’t help but look away; it was weird, having her acknowledge his condition like this. Usually they didn’t talk about it, especially lately; it was an implicit rule, one he tried his best not to break. They could still acknowledge certain symptoms without bringing up the cause outright. Phrases like “baby” and “pregnancy” were generally off limits, but he could say he was nauseous or tired without disrupting the cautious atmosphere of peace they held so tentatively between them.

For this reason, appointments felt extra difficult for Yoshihiro—having to talk out in the open about being pregnant in front of Fumiko, discussing gestational weeks, due dates, bodily changes—it felt so inappropriate. He missed having privacy during these appointments; Fumiko had insisted on sitting in with him during them, ever since what happened. He wasn’t going to fight with her over it; she didnt need anything else to resent him for, when she already had plenty.

Yoshihiro was thinking about possible names in his head when finally, the door clicked open and his doctor came in.

“I apologize for being late, I had some unexpected business to attend to.”

“It’s no bother, really,” said Yoshihiro. The man sat down in the empty chair across the room, and Yoshihiro found his eye suddenly drawn to his crotch. The doctor’s pants were stiff, tight, and he could see the man’s bulge straining against the fabric. He wasn’t erect, but he seemed well endowed; Yoshihiro felt his chest stir at these thoughts. He blinked a few times, clearing his head. This wasn’t the time or place—especially not with his wife here.

“Anyways, it’s a pleasure to see you two again. I apologize for making you drive in this weather.”