A/N

It feels like coming home, doesn't it?

This is a story for the older folks among us. I started writing in Marimite when I was young, and I'm not anymore. I expect a lot of you will find most of these pretty boring. That's okay.

This was written in an hour after not writing for more than 20 minutes for about 7 years. Be gentle.

Domesticity

A vignette or two about the best and worst thing on the planet

One

Yumi

Sachiko Ogasawara absolutely loved her home. No – adored it was probably a better word. To the other parishioners, it was most of what she talked about. The cute tile backsplash she'd put in her kitchen; the claw-foot tub she'd put in her western-style restroom, the fact that, now that she'd moved out into the country, she actually had a basement now, and a yard, unheard of in even the smallest cities. She could get a large dog, and an outdoor grill for yakiniku. She was thinking about building a three-season porch. She had recently added a little veranda. The hardware store clerks knew her by name, but she knew their shop better than they themselves did.

What was strange about this was the fact that, had she simply made an effort to hold on to her part of the will, she could have had all of this and more in Tokyo in a property that could only rightly have been described as an estate. Her home in the country, adorable though it may have been, could have fit into the garage of that estate.

Instead, she had taken a considerable but proportionally tiny sum of money as her inheritance, donated a quarter to the church, saved another quarter, and used the rest to buy her house in the country. It had been a huge hassle for Yumi, who taught school in the city, and had a half hour train ride tacked on to her daily commute.

Secretly, though, Yumi adored her house too. She loved its creaks and groans; she loved the Japanese-style layout of the rooms; and she loved the dog they had been able to get – a big Chocolate lab they'd named Kameko after they noticed that anytime she was nervous, she'd hide under whatever was nearby.

What Yumi did not adore, however, was the church.

"I actually found a really good supplier for bamboo – I know the typical style for a woodworking shed is oak and white paint, but I was thinking about making it seem more like an old-fashioned thing," Sachiko said, to Mori or Naoko or whoever she was talking to. She was in the middle of describing – for the third time – her latest scheme to give herself splinters and blisters, and Yumi was itching to leave.

She tugged at the hem of Sachiko's dress, feeling like a small child again, and Sachiko quickly interrupted what she was saying, turned to Yumi, and said, "hold on a sec," then continued. Yumi tuned her out, feeling the old irritation flare in her gut, but knowing there was not a thing she could do short of picking a fight, which she did not want.

Eventually, Sachiko finished her description of the woodworking shed (which was strange, since Sachiko did no woodworking) and Chikako or Tatsumi or whoever the hell made the appropriate noises of approval, and Sachiko finally turned her attention to Yumi. "What's up?" she asked, but her eyes said she already knew what was up, and that she did not want to talk about it just then.

Yumi, however, did. "We should go," she said. "It's time." She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but she could see from the look on Sachiko's face – first taken aback, and then irritated herself, and then, finally, neutral – that she had failed.

"Not yet, I wanted to talk to Takurou about –"

"Service has been out for almost an hour. I'm ready."

Sachiko paused for only a moment, and Yumi saw her deciding whether or not to make an issue out of it. The problem was, this was how they had left church for the last four weeks in a row – Yumi seeming to drag her away from just one more conversation that she wanted to have. She hated feeling like the bad guy, like the nag, but she hated staying even more.

Sachiko, however, must have seen something in Yumi's face too, or else she simply didn't want to talk to Takebono or whoever, who the fuck cared who he was, as much as she had claimed.

"Okay," she said. "Let's get our coats. I'll try not to get too sidetracked on our way out."

She did not get too sidetracked on her way out – possibly, again, due to the look on Yumi's face – but she did make an issue out of it as they pulled out of the large parking lot that she had paid for with that quarter of her inheritance.

"I really don't appreciate you just pushing me out of there all the time. I have friends at that church, and I'm sure it seems like you don't even care about them when you drag me away like that," she said.

"As friends go, they can't be that close," Yumi said, irritation flaring in her gut again, "or I'm sure we'd have seen them over at the house ever. I sure as shit didn't see them at the hospital last year."

"That's not fair," Sachiko said. "They have their own lives."

"And we have ours," Yumi said, "and you know I hate it in there, and I don't get why you make me come every week."

"I don't make you come," Sachiko said. "You're a grown woman, you can do whatever you want."

"You know what I mean," Yumi shot back. "Last time I didn't go to church with you you looked at me like I kicked your dog."

"I just don't think it's fair to not go to church just because you don't like coffee hour afterwards."

"It's not that I don't like coffee hour afterwards. It's that I …" she clamped her mouth shut.

"What?" Sachiko said, not like she was curious, but like she wanted Yumi to say it.

"Nothing."

"What?" Not angry. Just firm.

Yumi sighed, but didn't open her mouth. Sachiko's face softened, as did her tone. She put her hand on Yumi's, and in spite of her irritation, Yumi gripped it gently.

"I just…don't like church."

Sachiko nodded, as though she'd been expecting it. Yumi realized that she probably had.

"Not just the coffee hour," she said.

"Not just the coffee hour," Yumi agreed. "All of it. I'm not comfortable there. I feel like everyone's judging me."

"For what?" Sachiko asked. Again, she knew the answer, and Yumi knew she did.

"You know for what."

"But you need to say it."

Yumi did, and she knew it, but she didn't have to like it. Didn't have to like how she always knew.

"For us. For being gay. Do you think we'd still be welcome there if you hadn't…"

"Maybe not," Sachiko said. "Probably not, even."

"How can you want to stay there, then? Knowing that the only reason they tolerate us is the money? Isn't it just like your family…" Yumi bit her lip, feeling herself going too far, stopping her self before she did.

Sachiko didn't speak for a moment, but she didn't let go of Yumi's hand, either.

Eventually, she spoke again, slowly. "As a church, the only reason they tolerate us is the money. Individually…"

"A church is made up of individuals."

"It is and it isn't." Sachiko bit her lip for a second. "You remember a few years ago, how bad it got at the school? How everything just seemed so toxic, all the time?"

Yumi nodded. She had seriously considered taking early retirement that year, just living off of Sachiko's inheritance. She hated the prospect – hated the prospect of not being self-sufficient – but it had gotten bad. She had taken to drinking, and…

Well, it had been bad.

"No, no, I'm not trying to guilt…please don't go there, that's not where I wanted you to go."

"Hard not to," Yumi said quietly.

"For you. I've forgiven you."

It was Yumi's turn to be silent.

"Please, put that away for now. If you want to talk about it more, let's talk about it more later, but it wouldn't help. It's passed."

With effort, Yumi said, "I guess."

Sachiko smiled, and squeezed her hand. "It's passed. So, can I finish my story, or are you going to be all mopey for the rest of the ride?"

Yumi sniffed. "I feel genuinely bad. I don't like being called mopey when—"

Sachiko poked her cheek. "Mopey-pants. Some people wear skirts, some wear jeans, a few maybe even still wear bloomers, and you're wearing mopey pants. Taaaaaaaaake 'em off." She stretched the word out comically, and Yumi grinned a little, in spite of herself.

"Stop dwelling and let me tell my story."

"Yes, missus author ma'am."

"Good. So you remember how bad it was at school. Do you remember who was causing it?"

Yumi opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it. She wanted to blame half a dozen people, but knew that it wasn't really any of their faults. Individually, they were all fine people, some of whom Yumi had genuinely liked, but as a working unit, they were just…

"Nobody, I guess. It was just…the atmosphere."

"And do you remember who fixed it?"

"I mean, everyone, I guess."

"Everyone. A person at a time, right?"

"Yeah, a person at a time."

"Yeah, a person at a time." Sachiko repeated, and smiled, and then Yumi scowled.

"I feel like I'm being taught a lesson, here."

"Feels weird to be on the other side of it, huh."

"It does," Yumi said. "So, one person at a time."

"Individually, I actually like them a lot," Sachiko said. "It's not about trying to change things. I like them, and I wish you'd stop thinking poorly of them just because…well," her mouth twisted in a wry grin, "just because the organization they identify with considers us to be awful people damned to eternal fire and brimstone. Eventually, it'll get better. I'll make it get better."

Yumi sighed. "That's probably fair. I still don't feel comfortable there. I wish you'd stop making me go." Sachiko opened her mouth to speak, and Yumi said quickly, "And before you say it – I know you don't twist my arm, or chase me there with a knife, or anything. Just…I don't want to go, and I wish you'd just be okay with that. I'm not a catholic anymore, Sacchan."

Sachiko sighed. "Do you get why that bugs me?"

"Because you are, and it's something that's important to you, and I used to be, and it seems weird to you that I'd just … stop."

"Basically that, yes."

"But I did. I did just stop, and I don't want to un-stop."

"Un-stop? Are you teaching our kids Japanese, or what?"

"Technically I'm teaching them history."

Sachiko smiled, and seemed to settle back in the seat a bit. "Okay. That's fair. I don't like it, but it's fair, and it's your choice, and you're right. I should respect that."

Yumi smiled. "Thank you."

"Will you still come for special occasions? Easter, Christmas, baptisms, stuff like that?"

Yumi considered for a second, and then nodded. "For you, yes, I will. As long as you don't abuse that or anything, I'll come on days when you really want me to."

Sachiko smiled then, and squeezed Yumi's hand. They drove on in silence for another ten minutes.

"Did you still want to talk about…"

"No," Yumi said, a little more sharply than she'd wanted to.

"Okay," Sachiko said calmly. "I don't need to talk about it, but if you do, we can talk anytime."

Yumi nodded, and said no more.

After another minute of silence, Sachiko said, "I love you, you know."

Yumi looked at her. "Still?"

Sachiko smiled. "Still. It'll take a hell of a lot more than that to make me stop."

Yumi looked, just for an instant, like she might cry. Then that, too, passed, and she said, "I love you too. So, so much."

Yumi squeezed Sachiko's hand, and they finished the ride home like that. When they got home, they let Kameko out of her kennel and played an abbreviated form of fetch wherein they threw a ball to their dog, who brought it to one spot, whether they were there or not. They cooked a simple meal of grilled chicken and rice for dinner. Yumi had a couple of glasses of wine, but no more, and when they went to bed, they made love.

Sachiko drove Yumi to the station the next day, and then settled down to write.

And that week passed much as the one before it had.