Oh, For the Love of Crap

BY: MYLiFE'SBOAT

This is a disclaimer.

Summary: family – n: a group of persons of common ancestry: a social group composed of parents and their children. The dictionary is wrong in a lot of ways.

I, mylife'sboat hold this oath to finish Oh, For the Love of Crap.

The first draft is almost finished.

Italics are flashbacks.

Short series. Two chapters the least, Five, the most.

REWRITTEN – originally one of my stories before, My Little Boy

Machine-edited. Blame MS Word Office.

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Chapter One

family n, 1: a social group composed of parents and their children

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"Mommy, this scarf makes me look like a marshmallow," the little boy complained, his eyebrows wrinkling and his lips tugging down to a frown as he jerked the hem of his mother's skirt. The little boy hated sporting too much clothing especially this . . . this yellow parka he was wearing. It was given to him by the plump old lady next door, which he never liked. The woman was simply too old and too obsessed in romance for him to handle.

The boy's mother bent down to look at his son who was now trying to undo the knot of his scarf. "It's winter, honey. Aren't you cold?" she asked with a smile while dropping a kiss on the child's forehead. She stood up and turned to their apartment door, trying to secure the almost busted locks in place. When she finished, she shoved the keys on the pocket of her coat and looked at her son.

"But I'm all mushy," he complained with an irritated look.

She gave a low chuckle while contemplating how cute he looked like with that expression. "It's fine to be mushy as long as you don't kill yourself with the cold. Just bear with it for a while, okay?" she told him as she fixed his scarf.

He groaned despairingly. "Okay."

The cold was hitting back on. Right after the New Year, the temperature had dropped drastically low. Though the snow was starting to melt already, the temperature still had its stubborn way to make people freeze out to their soul in the street. Lucky, Rinko was able to have the heater fixed before November or she and her son would have frozen to death.

"Mommy, aren't you going back to work?" the four-year-old boy asked when they reached the main street filled with busy people, trying to get their way to work. Sure, this black-haired little lad was always full of questions since he learned to speak; firing them each time he saw something that roused his interest (Mommy, what are booboos? Mommy, where do babies come from? Mommy, what does embarrassing mean?). The questions drained the last of her sanity but later, as they went on, she learned to get used to them.

While she knew how to deal some of her little boy's questions, there were still some she still had no answers to.

"No, honey. I'm still on leave. Do you want me to go to work already?"

"I wish the plump old lady won't hug me so tight again when you're gone at night. I couldn't breathe."

Now, where did this young, little man learn to speak like that?

"Touya," Rinko regarded her son with a smile. "She's not Miss Plump Old Lady; she's Sashi-san."

"Sashi-obasaan."

Rinko giggled in amusement. Such innocence!

"Honey, she's twenty-four."

"But she looks so old," he complained with his brows furrowed. He was starting to get annoyed. Why couldn't his mother see that even though she's twenty-four, she looked terribly old? He could see white strands on her hair sprouting in random places, she wore glasses that magnified twice the size of her eyes, and she always kept her hair on a tight bun. Besides, she has wrinkles on her forehead when she raised her eyebrows.

"I'm twenty-four," she pointed out.

"But you don't look old. You are pretty," he said with a smile and a hint of a wink. Her mother chuckled at this, noticing how much the boy could charm so much.

"Okay, enough of that," she told him as she tried to feign an authoritative tone but to no avail. She bent down and caught him under the shoulder blades. Rinko lifted him up and tucked him on her back as they waited for the traffic light on the other side of the road change color. Touya wound his arms securely around her mother's neck.

"Mommy, what is that?" the boy asked while pointing at the traffic light. As soon as it turned green, she crossed the street, her shoulders bumping into someone's shoulder along the way. She muttered her apology just in time and proceeded with her march with Touya complaining about how "careless that old man can get without even saying sorry." The boy sure knew how to charm girls and how to complain a lot when he was irritated. His daycare teacher would often grumble about Touya's stubbornness one moment—until the little boy climbs up to Rinko's lap and smile—and digress about his cuteness the next.

It reminded her so much of someone she knew . . . someone she loved. She had fallen for that same smile, that same flicker of mystery behind dark grey eyes, that same arrogant but gentle attitude. She had; and that was a long time ago. Rinko is never one to dwell too much about the past.

She jerked to a stop, as her arm almost disentangled itself from Touya's leg. A hand tugged the sleeve of her coat tightly, forcing her to move slightly backwards.

Caught by surprise, Rinko whipped her head back to look at the person who almost risked Touya falling from her hold. She was pretty sure Touya would complain to him aloud and her lips tugged to a smirk. Watching Touya lecture someone would be a nice live show entertainment.

But as her eyes focused on the stranger in front of her, her face was suddenly marked with shock and fear. He was the last person she'd expect to bump into a crowded street.

. . . . . . .

(At the Newspaper Company)

Rinko

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hana-chan asked in a concerned voice as she gently rubbed my back as if giving me an assurance that it was all right.

"Yeah, it must be—urk!" I grabbed the bowl for support and threw up for the second time. I haven't been feeling well lately and as I remember, I was not having normal meals yet again. I reached for my bag and rummaged for a bottle of antacid tablets. It rattled on my hold and Hana-chan got me twice the dosage as I threw up on the bowl again. The ulcer must be on its fitful revenge on my stomach for the third time this month. Oh, joy. I should really get myself a check-up before it gets worse.

I wiped my mouth with the tissue Hana provided me and popped the tablets in. Waiting for the effects of the antacid to kick in, I looked up and assured her that everything's fine. She can go back to work.

"You should go to the hospital," she asserted with a firm, unwavering voice. "Come on, I'll send you off."

"Hana, I have field work today," I told her.

She looked at me with sharp eyes. "I insist. You're sick and you're overworking."

"Oh, please," I whined. "Don't fuss much about this. I'm fine. I'll have the check up after I go to the location. This has to be finished by four."

"I'll send someone else."

Oh, right. She's my head.

Dammit.

I did not have much choice so I ended up a few minutes later on the passenger seat of her car with her humming loudly with the beat of her rock music.

(At the Clinic)

"Congratulations, you're six weeks pregnant!" the doctor announced happily as he waved the results of his findings in front of my face. Okay, maybe I wasn't hearing correctly and my ulcer has gone straight up to my auditory nerves that they were not functioning properly as well.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're pregnant. Six weeks. Congratulations." She had the world's greatest smile. Ever.

As I sat on the foot of the bed inside the doctor's clinic, I remembered. As I looked at the sea green orbs my doctor had, her smile unwavering and happy, I remembered. As I squeezed Hana's knuckles tightly that I bet they had almost gone white, I remembered.

It was the stupidest thing I have ever done.

I fell in love with a man that I should not fall in love with. I have fallen in love with a man that caught me with his smile and his gentle attitude and his mischievous eyes. I fell in love and it was a mistake; not in the context of falling in love itself but to the man I have fallen in love with.

It was three months ago when the affair started. It began with a simple chat, to a couple of drinks and fifty-year-old vintage wine, to stuffing our tongues to each other's mouths the next.

What commenced as an innocent conversation about the newspaper company I'm working on, the small studio I'm planning to start after I gain the right funds to begin the business and his work on corporate trade, later shifting to difficult-to-handle inebriation to raging hormones.

Our meetings did not end there. Truth be told, I enjoyed his company. We had a lot of fun together. We ate out on family restaurants, caught a couple of blockbuster movies (in surprisingly empty cinemas), watched a play or two together, and ended up beside each other's arms the morning after. It began as mutual attraction to commitment and attachment.

And then it happened. It always happens. Later on, I found out he was married and I felt betrayed. I slapped him hard once, cursed his name, tried to slap him again but failed, and stormed out of the restaurant with tears on my eyes. I was twenty; young and stupid. He was Ootori Kyouya, the first man I let myself fall for and the first man I allowed to break my heart.

An affair is an affair and when it ends, it ends there, period. There were never any happy endings. I was hurt because I felt betrayed. I disgusted myself because I fell in love with a married man and slept with him. I hated him because he lied to me. With much luck, I have not seen him since then and I went on with my life. It might take me a lot of time before I could manage to get over my feelings but life goes on and it doesn't just stop there.

Six weeks later, here I am, listening to my doctor say I'm pregnant with the bastard's child.

(At a restaurant a week later)

Rinko

He hated publicity. In those months we were together, he always wanted to keep our relationship discreet. I couldn't blame him. He's a young and popular son of a business tycoon and a doctor of their own hospital at that. Spreading unnecessary rumors is what he wanted to avoid the most.

I picked a table at a private corner of the restaurant. It was almost past lunch time and the customers only went in for a quick bite and nothing much. The tea was cold and we sat across each other without speaking. I was the one who asked him here so I should be the one to start the pleasantries, right? Sure.

Before I could speak, Kyouya broke it. "Nice weather."

I supressed a scoff. The weather, huh?

"I'm pregnant," I blurted out before I could stop myself. Silence came. It tore us apart.

"Is it mine?" he asked; his tone flat. As soon as he said those words, I leaned over the table and knocked out the teacup accidentally. My palm met his cheek in a solid slap.

"Bastard," I muttered under my breath, my whole body shaking in anger as tears threatened to spill. "Bastard."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I have a wife."

But of course. "A wife," I repeated. "Right. Screw your pretty little life, Kyouya. Screw you."

I left him with the tea spilt on his black leather shoes, with his cheek stinging with the blow I gave him, with the broken pieces of my small heart. I bit my lip as I tried to stop the tears.

Six months later, Touya was born. The moment I heard the loud cries of my son echo across the confines of the labor room, I was the happiest woman in the planet. I felt complete, like all the wrong pieces of the puzzle were replaced with the right ones and the whole picture was better. It was much, much better.

Touya is my whole life. I breathe because of him. I see because of him. I smile because of him. My heart beats because of my son.

. . . . . . .

"Rinko," he spoke in a low voice. It was the same baritone, with a ring of mischief and at the same time, gentleness behind each word.

"What are you doing here?" Rinko asked when she found her voice. It was small and she felt weak. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just taking a stroll," he replied casually, his hand still on Rinko's sleeve. "Here, on this street, alone. You?"

The hell.

"Hey, old man!" Touya screeched while pointing his small index finger to the man in front of them. His face was covered with irritation. His overprotective voice resounded on Rinko's ear. "Don't touch my mom!"

Kyouya's ears perked up as he pulled his hand off her sleeve. He turned to the little boy, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Is this your son?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

Rinko lost her breath.

This so, so not happening.

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A/N: Who wants to beta this? PM me. Oh, and review. /smile/