We have just paid the bill and are walking down the hallway when we accidentally run into someone I know. Someone who isn't supposed to be here at this time, but he is—wearing a white coat like any other doctor here.
Kawagoe is a gynecologist, the fellow who used to enjoy teasing me. Rumor has it that he is now living in a rural area working in a rather small hospital. But why is he here now? When did he return? Our eye contact is completely accidental because we are actually quite far away from each other.
Perhaps because of the presence of a strong-looking young man next to me, he flinches. But then he snorts at me.
"So do you finally get yourself a bodyguard or what, Yuge-sensei?"
"...Excuse me?"
Iwamoto seems to be quite sensitive to Kawagoe's hostility.
For some reason, he put his arms on guard. Just like one of those guys who usually get into a fight on the street. I hurriedly hold him back.
"Hey, Iwamoto..."
"Oh, let him be, Yuge-sensei. I find it amusing to see someone have enough courage to stand up for himself. Good that you hang out with people like him now, you can learn something, can't you?"
"Well, who the fuck are you supposed to be?!"
Iwamoto is usually calm, but once he shows that expression, he becomes ferocious. His dignified face, his good physique, and the looks like he can punch you to death give off a strange, terrifying air. A dangerous sexiness different from the usual bewitching sexiness when we were in the bed. I know this is not supposed to be the time to be calmly admiring him, yet here I am fascinated by him.
Iwamoto is a beautiful man no matter what he does.
"Calm down, big guy. We're former colleagues but, I've only been recently working back here."
"Well, I don't care! I don't care if you're his former colleague or a doctor or the damn boss of this place. I'm not going to let you trash talking about my husband!"
"Husband..."
It sounds really good, so I can't help but let my mouth involuntarily repeats it.
Iwamoto turns his head at me, eyes widening looking a little red, realizes what he had just blurted out.
"Well, that's what you are, am I wrong? And I can call you that any time! I can call you darling, husband, sweetheart, sensei... Anyway, you ex-partner, you can't talk shit to my husband. Watch your mouth!"
Kawagoe says something back, but I can't make out what it is because my attention has been on Iwamoto's cute flustered face.
Truth be told, I always thought that I am going to be traumatized for life if I ever see the man who had forced me to sing karaoke in front of many people but, now as Iwamoto is standing up for me, I feel absolutely nothing. The former rugby player's body, which felt so menacing years ago, doesn't seem like a big deal to me now. Instead, I laugh because my husband and I are so much taller than him—he doesn't even reach our chests! Really, what is going on with this guy? What did he think he was going to do?
"Let's go now, we shouldn't have even stopped here."
After that, I actually am going to scold Iwamoto for getting angry in my place, but well, there are more interesting things to discuss now. Such as what are we going to do for the rest of the day? We don't have to go to work anymore so maybe, we can stop by the supermarket and do shopping longer than usual, order food at a drive-through, and in the end, go back to our house. Talking about Kawagoe certainly doesn't interest me.
"Let's just leave it at that," I say when we arrive at the hospital parking lot.
It's summer now. The parking lot feels damn hot like we're in hell. Being inside the car feels much hotter than outside. I can't touch the window handle without feeling my fingers melt.
I turn on the air conditioner just as Iwamoto tells me.
"No, you gotta tell me. I still really want to punch that guy."
"Sure... It's just that I got to thinking because somebody seems to have forgotten that he had just come out of an ultrasound room. It was my duty to hold him back."
Iwamoto chuckles.
"Ultrasound is a lot easier than the probe thing. A thousand times easier! I came out feeling great so I think I'd be able to kick his ass without any damn trouble. Or don't you think so?"
Iwamoto is at that stage where his mood never stops being good. And therefore he looks damned sexy. His heart rate jumps under his shirt and his sweat-dampened hair clings to his flushed cheeks. I don't know if it's normal, but his sex drive has grown considerably since this whole pregnancy thing started.
Iwamoto's broad, tanned right-hand rests on my fair, bony left hand. I accept it happily and gently trace the ring finger where his wedding ring on.
Iwamoto's lips almost touch my ear as he comes over to say, "I asked Ohara-sensei if we could have sex..."
Even in a hot car, my body heats up to heights. Is he being serious? No wonder Ohara was laughing when we left his office.
"He said he understood my concern but, it's okay to do that." Iwamoto is playing with my hand, rubbing between my fingers very slowly. "Sex is also a form of communication. If you're too patient and stop touching me, it's seriously going to be a burden for me. You heard it earlier, I have no risk of miscarriage."
Iwamoto controls his hand but closes his body to mine. "Confirming our love is the key to a successful pregnancy."
I can't stand it and leans forward as well. In front of me is a beautiful face full of greed and desire.
"So...? Once we're home can we do a lot of erotic things?"
Iwamoto licks my lips. I lift one corner of my mouth.
"Please..." he begs, hand running between my legs.
I don't answer. Instead, I silently turn my face forward, put on my seatbelt, take off the brake and pull out of the parking lot wildly.
I'm on edge.
"Takashi, is it safe to drive like this? Remember you're carrying your husband and baby here! Be careful!"
Iwamoto laughs nervously. Ugh, for real, I can't take it anymore.
* * *
I wash some potatoes with tap water then make a fine cut in the skin, making a round with the paring knife just as Iwamoto had taught me to do. I place the potatoes in a pot with one hand, pour just enough water to hide them, before turning on the stove to a medium flame.
Dealing with knives isn't that hard, but I'm really bad at timing.
When it starts to boil, I lower the heat and set the timer for 15 minutes. When the timer goes off, I have to put the potatoes to rest with cold water for a minute and then, start peeling off the skin.
I repeat the procedure in my head, systematically. Over and over again until I finally get it right.
I watch the hot water in the pot. Nothing has happened yet. Small air bubbles are supposed to start coming out, which will then begin to stick to the wall of the pot and finally the surface of the water will begin to shake vigorously.
I've learned that if I wait too long, everything will become a real mess.
At first, Iwamoto always came to my rescue. I would forget the steps and shout, "Help me!" and he would come looking all pale with trembling fingers.
I know Iwamoto never got mad because of that but I realized I shouldn't do that anymore.
So I asked him to give me specific instructions with definite numbers and times. All very exact. And now I can proudly say, I understand the mechanics of boiling potatoes without calling Iwamoto even once.
I know I don't have enough passion for cooking, but I want to be able to help Iwamoto at least in this, so that he no longer has an additional burden.
"Takashi-san, did you press the timer?"
Iwamoto asks while lying on the sofa, watching the morning news.
"Yep."
"Then it's a 15-minute wait, come here," he says, beckoning with his hands.
I happily run towards him like a dog called by its owner, joining him on the sofa. Iwamoto hugs me and lets out a deep sigh.
I look at his tired face, then kiss him on the forehead, his cheeks, and on his nose too.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
Today, fortunately, Iwamoto doesn't seem to hate physical contact nor my body odor, though food smell seems to be bothering him a lot lately.
Except on good days, when Iwamoto can eat the same as me, I would feed him mostly boiled potatoes—good for relieving nausea even though he usually doesn't like them. I also give him fruit juice, grapefruit, strawberry, and a lot of tofu.
I understand that mood swing is terribly exhausting to deal with. My husband can't stand the smell of oil or gravy or soup, he hates coffee in the mornings and also the smell of my cologne and fabric softener and cleaners. So recently, too, I've been eating out and boiling his usual potatoes and tea once I get home.
I know Iwamoto is now hugging me but, afraid that he actually is disturbed by my body odor, I get up to take a shower. But he stops me. He says my smell is fine, so he hugs me even tighter.
"I feel really bad, Taka-san..." he says.
"I know...but it'll only be for a little while."
"Thank you for helping me."
Having my husband tell me that makes me flustered. I am happy.
"I love you."
I stroke his hair lovingly, and he gives me back a beautiful smile on his pale face. He leans his head against my chest, lets out a deep breath, and relaxes himself. I keep watching him as he breathes in and out slowly before finally letting his eyelashes fall.
It would be a lie if I say I'm not tired but, all my burdens seem to disappear when I hold him just like this.
Iwamoto's fingertip slides over my arm and I, I feel good enough to not move. He falls asleep, I fix the blanket on his body, but then he opens his eyes again and tightens his hug, saying,
"Don't go..."
"Is it really okay for me to stay here?"
"Yeah... Well, it's okay now. But I might suddenly feel sick and throw up..."
"You can throw up on me if that happens."
Iwamoto chuckles. He digs deeper into my chest. All of this suddenly makes me feel very sleepy because I hadn't been able to sleep well for several nights either.
My hand still runs on Iwamoto's hair. Then I kiss him over his eyelids and peck him on the lips.
"I love you too."