Chapter 3: Tomorrow
Obito opened one of his eyes a mere fraction and wondered what sort of torture today instilled for him. Bleary at this hour, he rubbed his face several times at the scene.
Emi bustled around the kitchen with a tripod propped behind her, a nice camera on top of it. The sliding door was open to let in the early blue light. She bit her lip as she stared at the camera's screen, twisting the lens several times, pressing buttons on the side, deep in concentration.
He propped himself up on one arm.
She pinched the bottom of her shirt to keep it out of frame and pushed down on an object the camera was pointing at. The smell of coffee wafted to him. She checked the footage, sucked her teeth, and repeated the set up by placing the AeroPress over a second mug.
"What the hell am I looking at?"
She side-eyed him. "Good thing the video'll have music over it," she mumbled. "It's for a sponsored post."
"Uh-huh." Obito swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his lotion from the cabinet. He checked that she was busy putting away her equipment and loading the files on her laptop before screwing off the cap and slathering it on his back and chest. It was a constant battle to keep his shirt covering him, especially when it stuck to his sticky skin. Luckily, the scars didn't bother him much today, only tight in some places. He put the lotion up and joined her, his knee bending as normal.
Obito took one of the steaming mugs and surveyed the countertops. He spun in a circle and gave up, admitting he was too tired to feel anxious about bothering her. "Sugar?"
"Oh, uhm.." He held the mug above his head as she bounced around the kitchen, checking the pantry, a few doors, then the pantry again. "Ah! Hiding all the way back there." She handed him a small container of raw sugar.
He filed the information away: clearly not a sweets person.
Emi yanked off the bedding, spun her arms until it was one big knot, and stashed it in the overhead shelf. She crawled under the table and lifted it until the metal joints snapped into place. Obito arranged the cushions for the benches and opened the back doors, sitting at the edge to kick his feet out like a little kid.
Enamored, Emi stood in the kitchen. The broom handle prodded the dimple in her cheek. She watched his back rise and fall against the background of pines. He was outlined in pale yellow against the dark brown bark. When he took a sip of coffee, his exhale came out in a cloud fighting the crisp air.
She swept the van, washed off the counters, and joined him with her laptop and coffee, setting up a hotspot from her phone.
Fuzzy auburn squirrels foraged and fought over the forest floor with tiny red birds. Emi stared at her abhorrent amount of emails. She deleted the irrelevant ones, read a few less dire ones, and opened even fewer to answer.
The vertical line blinked. She looked away from it to Obito. He drank his coffee smiling at the wildlife. His face was a mix of leftover blue and cresting orange as the sun rose. She opened a new tab and started researching.
Examples of burn scars
Difference between second and third degree burns, images
Face burn scars
Do burn scars hurt after healing
Adults with burn scars
How do scars affect you
Ptsd and scars
She clicked on the long article about the psychological aftermath of burn victims. It had a few quotes from adults in their late fifties recalling how they were treated in school, at work, by peers, by friends and family. As if experiencing the initial trauma wasn't an enormous burden, they then had to navigate bullies, judgmental stares, mocking, knowing when someone was talking about you through their obvious gesturing, and stigmatization when it came to making connections with people. Many of those in the article were single.
"Something wrong?" Even though he couldn't see her screen, Emi panic-closed the tab.
"Sorry, just reading something." The vertical line on her email blinked.
"I told you to stop apologizing so much."
"Sorry," she said in a quick breath to fill the air.
"Hey." His foot tapped her calf. "Stop it."
His distinctive voice, middle of the road and raspy were things she noticed subconsciously. But in the morning it went deeper, huskier. It stood out. It quickened her heartbeat. It caused nerves to flutter in her stomach.
"Okay," she said to no one. Across from her was a vacant space where his body had been.
Obito rinsed his mug in the sink and grabbed his clothes for the day. "I'll go get ready or whatever," he called over his shoulder as he left the van for the restrooms. Emi hummed a goodbye he couldn't hear and opened the article again. Only after a second skim did she remember to send that email.
Before leaving the campsite, Emi stopped at the front gates at the Dump Station and refilled the water jugs under the sink, dumped the waste water, and cleaned the removable parts of the toilet; all in under ten minutes.
"How long have you been doing this?"
Emiko took her time adjusting her seatbelt, checking the mirrors, pulling up the map on her phone, and meandering down the dirt road for the highway. "Two years."
"I can't imagine this is a cheap lifestyle." He waved his hand at the entirety of her van. "Is vintage clothing that profitable?"
"Eh." She pressed her lips together and moved her head side to side. "It can be. Van life can be cheap and vintage clothing lucrative, but the van itself was purchased with an advance from my first book. I sold the manuscript for the second one at the beginning of the year; that's why some of the stuff looks newer, like the stove."
Obito's brain was stuck on one particular detail. "Books?"
"Books," she replied. She snorted as he motioned for her to continue. "It's a children's series. Between those, the vintage stuff, Instagram deals, I make a decent living. You wouldn't believe the sorta clicks you get living in a van. People love gawking at different lifestyles. Just one aesthetically pleasing photo of a weird little vegan hippie girl in her van can land you several thousand." She rubbed her fingers together to indicate money.
"Sorry I called you that.."
Her laugh bounced off the windows. "It's whatever, I don't care."
"I never really thought about unconventional jobs like yours."
"You said you were between jobs; have any you're gunnin' for?"
"Not really. I was a programmer. I went to school for it, but.. Dropped out. I landed a few positions in companies over the years anyway, but those ended too." Dropped out, flunked, fired, whatever it was, his poor attendance ruined it.
"Oh, smart guy things. Way over my head."
He shrugged at the passing trees. "If you say so."
"I do say so!" Her smile could have convinced rain clouds to come back some other day.
The article was a painful reminder of the sort of hurdles Obito had to overcome. Emiko imagined him walking into his first day of class and being met with stares, whispers, looks. Despite covering up, his knack for wearing hoodies during an early Fall heatwave set him apart. It made him different. That, at least, she could identify with.
Emi reached for her phone and dismissed the map.
"Are we stopping?" Obito asked. Nature surrounded them for miles. "Where're we going?"
"On an adventure, duh."
Great pine forests shrank to barbed wire fences. Rolling hills dotted with cows flattened to open plains. Mountains turned blue in the distance, shrouding themselves in a haze. Fields of leafy green vegetables ran beside them in hypnotizing lines.
Emi sat straighter in her seat as a line of yellow crested in the distance. "Yes!" She slapped the steering wheel. "They're still blooming!"
"What's still.. Sunflowers?" Rows upon rows; a field as dense as corn stalks. The flowers surged on either side of the road. The noonday sun highlighted their cheerful hues. Long green leaves waved at them. Emi parked on the grass shoulder.
"This is perfect!" she shrieked, twirling on one foot, palms clasping her cheeks. She scurried for her camera. Obito yanked his phone off the charger in the back and hurried after her. He stopped as soon as he made contact with the grass.
He groaned and shielded his eyes from the harsh brightness, stumbling across the ditch to her. "This is your idea of an adventure?" The flowers were nice, but not that exciting to him.
She looped a finger around the stem and pulled the head down to her nose. "Huh. Doesn't smell like anything." She recovered from her disenchantment. "I came through here in Spring but they hadn't bloomed yet. This is just amazing. So beautiful.."
Obito tried to see what she saw. They were ordinary sunflowers, they didn't have a lovely scent, it was too sunny out, and they skipped breakfast for this. Still, he stood by her as she took photos of her van against the backdrop, giving small affirmations that he was listening to her ramble about the composition of the zig zag down the side and how it complemented the yellows and oranges of the petals.
She told him to wait there while she put her camera away. Her devious grin when she returned should've been a warning.
"Wanna take a picture of me?" He didn't answer because the phone was shoved in his hand, camera app open. "Stand over here. Hold it higher. Yes, higher. Do I look okay? Hold on, the wind is messing up my hair," she ordered him around while smoothing out the flyaways.
Obito rounded his shoulders and put her in the center of the frame. "You look fine." More than fine. Her vibrancy sent his heart aching. She stood in front of the wall of stalks, arms open wide, inviting anyone to her circle. Inviting him. As he stared, he heard her ask if he was done, and he was sure he replied with something to bide his time. He rapidfire clicked the middle button and showed her the results.
"Want me to take one of you?"
The way the air left his lungs could have perhaps been constituted as a laugh, but it lacked any amusement, same as the disbelief on his face. "No, definitely not."
She shifted from foot to foot clutching her phone to her chest. "What if we took one together? To remember this by. I think it'd be nice."
Obito had to look away. Her eyebrows crowded her forehead. Her bottom lip stuck out. Her hands wrung the phone. She pleaded with him.
Emi was too sincere, too endearing. And he would give in if he took a second glance. He took a second glance. He gave in.
Obito held her phone as far away as possible in his right hand. The man glaring back at him on the screen withered his confidence. Did he always look this annoyed at the world? Was his frown always so awfully deep? What about his hair swooping in every direction? And most importantly, he was wearing a short sleeve shirt. His arm and face were on full display, each leading to one another creating a grotesque stream of marbled flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"You take it." He shoved the phone at Emi.
"No way, your arms are way longer than mine. If I take it your head'll be cut off."
That's the point.
Obito bottled his apprehension and held it out front instead. Equal parts him and Emi. He brought his melancholic gaze back to the screen.
Emi was tucked under his arm. Her body curved sideways to his, fingers pinching his shirt over his chest. He flexed his left hand. Her tie dye shirt wrinkled to his touch. He curled his fingers in like she did. He held her waist. Her sunshine emanated through the lens. He concentrated on her embrace. He pressed the button.
Emi held the phone up to her face and squealed. Swaying back and forth, she asked, "Want me to send it to you?" Too late, his phone buzzed in his pocket. "I'll make lunch and write up these posts." Her eyes never left the screen as she hopped in the van and set forth the cookware and ingredients.
"Are you posting that one?" Obito's large frame cast shadows across the kitchen.
"Not if you don't want me to. It can just be for us."
Us.
Obito couldn't get attached to that word.
Us.
It meant hope.
Us.
A relationship.
Oil dripped onto the pan. A bag of frozen vegetables sizzled. Emi added salt.
Us.
The lump in Obito's throat bounced.
The inky darkness whispered in his ear. It coerced him to come over. It taunted him. Told him nothing would ever come of a relationship. She would leave him. He would disappoint every last person around him. He was unlovable. Friends hated him, that's why he was so lonely.
Us.
It faded. The calling ceased. He fought back.
"Post it." He didn't recognize his own voice; it had gone hoarse from the pinching of his vocal chords.
Emi didn't know the significance of the battle in his head, and yet, her bloodshot eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Thank you."
Obito staggered to the table. He pulled his phone from his pocket, dismissed a text from Kakashi about a date he'd been on, and opened the photo of him and Emi. Peering at the image, he enlarged it until he could scrutinize every last pixel. Mentally, he prepared himself for what people would say.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there in a daze until Emi joined his side with two plates.
"Do you like it? We can try for another." He looked at the heap of food on his plate, then at her, confused. "The photo, I mean."
"Oh." He turned his phone off and sat it on the table. "I said I liked it. Post it." His tone went gentle, "Was something wrong earlier?"
"Just cooking onions, ya know." She forced a giggle out. It didn't sound right. She turned away, brought the fork to her mouth, and her face seemed to slump. The lines around her mouth sloped. Her eyelids drooped. Her nose was red, rubbed raw from a tissue.
It was a poignant moment for Obito. One he would remember for some time. Not her face per se, but the realization that he wanted to console her. He wanted to tuck her windswept hair behind her ear, be there when she cried, whisper the right things to make it better; though he had no idea what was wrong. As open as she was, it was only the surface he saw. He knew nothing about her. She knew nothing about him. Was this Depression's voice convincing him or was it the cold hard truth of reality? They weren't intimate because they had no reason to be.
He wanted to change that. He wanted to be her friend. He wanted to be more. He didn't want to be empty.
"Wanna explain what this is I'm eating?" he asked, poking the not-egg.
Emi perked up. "Breakfast hash. Potatoes, bell peppers, onions. I cut up some fake sausage and that's fake egg. When you cook it, it looks just like real scrambled eggs, doesn't it?" His face must've shown he was unconvinced because she jabbed at his arm with her elbow. "Just try it."
He grumbled and shoved some in his mouth. "Definitely vegan, but not bad."
"Sounds like a compliment to me."
A comfortable silence suspended like a warm blanket on them. This was a rare treat for Obito. Silences were usually a social death sentence, with her it felt nice. It felt easy.
He insisted on cleaning the dishes this time.
"I can handle it."
"Okay, and so can I," he argued. "But this sponge looks like it needs to be put down."
"It's supposed to look like that! It's made out of coconut, it's-"
"Compostable," he finished for her. Emiko was back to herself. She clutched her belly in a painful laugh, hardy and long to make up for the lackluster one earlier. He pointed the spatula at the table. "Now get back to work."
Her exuberance tumbled like a boulder off a cliff. "Tch, whatever." She opened her laptop and checked her emails. AeroPress approved her image and short video. She opened a tab for Instagram and wrote a caption right away since it was within the window of their contracted hours to post. After it went live, she sent the other pictures from her phone to her computer.
The photo of them, fullscreen, brought a host of emotions difficult to parse. It was nostalgic in a way to see her crush blossom. Though, as fun as it was to flirt with him, her infatuation went unnoticed. Or ignored. Her feelings may be unrequited-by all means they appeared unrequited-but seeing Obito happy was good enough for her. It was good enough.
She fed herself the lie. She stoked it's flames. It burned red hot, then black, then extinguished. It wasn't good enough. She wanted more. She needed more. She'd do anything for Obito.
She yearned to feel his love, even for a moment.
Phone in hand, she honed in her focus and cycled through the photos, putting the van first, then the one of her and Obito, and saved the lone photo of her for her Story to advertise the new post. Feeling burnt out, the caption was three simple sunflower emojis, not having the mental bandwidth to write more. "Do you want me to tag you in the pic?"
"Uh, sure." He placed the skillet he was drying in a cabinet and spelled out his handle for her.
Her veins buzzed at the speed she hit enter and checked his profile. Decidedly blank. There were a few pictures: two of him, a few with Kakashi, and some random objects he found interesting. His profile picture was of a character from a video game. His bio was minimal.
Emiko pushed the photo set live.
Obito's phone buzzed on the table. The vibrations sent it skittering to the edge. It fell, bounced, plopped on the bench cushion. He exchanged a look with Emi, his in wonderment, hers in fright. He typed in his password. Muffled buzzes and dings sounded from his palm. His eyes raced to read each popup, dismissing them in waves only to be replaced by more. Follows, likes, comments. His face was drained of color.
"So, I guess I should let you know your mug was also in the AeroPress picture, and by virtue of tagging you, people think we're dating."
"I-" More dings. More comments. The dish towel fell from his hand.
Emi's slick palms squeaked on the table at the velocity of her scrambling for her phone. A weight fell from her chest. Her shoulders unbound themselves. The comments were innocent. Most were of the variety she expected, ranging from asking who he was, calling him cute, asking if they were together. Nothing delete-worthy.
Obito turned off his notifications. "I didn't realize you were that popular."
"I'm sorry. I should've warned you."
"It's okay.." Joy spread to his face. His eyes widened as he scrolled. His boyish grin grew to a toothy smile. "I'm not used to this sorta stuff, was just surprised is all."
Emi swooned. She was a ray of sunlight spotlighting Obito. She tested the waters. "We do look cute together." He ran a hand through his hair, blushing and mumbling something in agreement.
By evening they were on their way to the ocean again. Emi pulled on a sweatshirt to pump gas. Seagulls picked at trash on the ground. Through the convenience store windows, she observed Obito crunch the $20 bill she gave him in his palm, weaving from aisle to aisle. It was his idea to buy more snacks after seeing her limited supply in the pantry. His excuse was that he was a growing boy and Emi cackled at his joke and touched his arm. The muscles tensed under her hold, so she let go.
Emi paid and parked in a spot out front so she could watch him. He bobbed around a person, head hunched to his phone, reading the labels on the back of packages. The entertainment at her personal one-man-show declined as the clock ticked over to a new hour.
The side door rolled open to a smiling Obito. The side door rolled open to a startled Emiko who clutched her knee and cursed the steering wheel for existing. He snickered, teeth glinting deviously. "Sorry to scare you again."
"At least it's my knee this time, not yours," she said, flatly, to an empty doorway.
Obito was gone, busy upturning the plastic bag on the kitchen table and giggling like a schoolboy.
"You're like a goblin who just discovered a treasure chest." She eyed the plethora of confections. "I assume there's no change?" He tossed her a few pennies. She opened a cabinet and stowed them in a jingling coffee tin.
"I got you chips and two of these huge cookies. I read about them while I was in there. They're vegan." He put her things in a separate pile. "You don't like sweets, but I just thought.." He shrugged. "And for me.." His pile, a mountain compared to her ant hill, consisted of rectangle boxes of candies, bags of gummies, chewy wrapped squares, round hard circles. A few snack cakes were on top.
"And you, uh, definitely have a sweet tooth. Thank you for thinking of me." It dawned on her. "You looked up what vegan meant?"
"Mhm, that's what took me so long; I was reading some blogs about what you could eat."
She researched him. He researched her.
Emi slouched on the bench, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. "That's sweet of you."
Obito dropped the snacks he was sorting. His hands went to his legs. Her palm laid upturned between their thighs. While in the store he posted the photo of them on his Instagram, going as far to make it his profile picture. Kakashi sent him an immediate text asking if things were going well, and for the first time in over a decade, Obito could answer 'yes'.
The gap between their fingers remained a canyon.
In the murky twilight waves crashed on shore. They thundered and boomed beyond the headlights. The fizzling sounds of bubbles bursting on sand lasted seconds before a new wave smothered them. Other vans were parked near them with people hanging out in circles of camping chairs lit by their vehicles interior lights. They waved at Emi and she waved back. Their surfboards stood as tall as trees against the night sky.
Obito released a heavy sigh and sank into the cushions. His plate was scraped clean and two wrappers from chocolate snack cakes were splayed before him, leftover cream stuck to their sides. His hairy legs bracketed Emi's while she tapped away at her computer.
She snuck a glance over the screen at him. "Enjoy your dinner?" He laced his hands over his stomach and huffed a caveman like response. "I saw you posted the photo of us."
"Did you have to comment so many heart eye emojis? You're purposefully egging people on."
"Oh, am I?" She smirked. His leg bounced, brushing the length of hers, and heat rose to her cheeks. Her fingers tripped over the letters on the keyboard. She could handle another future heartbreak if it meant being this content right now.
"I don't have a problem with that," Obito admitted. She stared at him with unwavering eye contact. The intensity caused his brain to stop functioning, and instead of spilling the truth plaguing his mind all afternoon, he said something shallow to hide his true motives, "The attention has been nice."
A soft flash of disappointment crossed her face. The corners of her lips twitched. She wiggled them up until the apples of her cheeks narrowed her eyes from view. "Good, that's good. I'll just finish up here and make the bed."
Obito scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and picked up their dishes, resolving to do them himself. It gave him time to think. Why couldn't he do it, just open up, tell her anything, literally anything about himself?
The fear of rejection.
The dish in his hand dripped dry. Emi nudged him out of the way to spit in the sink and wash off her toothbrush.
He finished the chores, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed.
Face up, his eyes burned at a ceiling he couldn't see. Sleeping on her side, Emi's gentle breaths coasted over his scarred knuckles. His fingers flexed. He stopped denying himself. In the dark, he reached out and traced her bottom lip. Every fiber of his being wanted more; it longed to be touched by her.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he will open up.