The next year of my life went by fast, but I had little reason to complain about it. Life was decent, I supposed. Seiji continued to work and to try and build a lasting political career while my mother chose to keep running her laundry shop. We had meals thrice a day, an experience which I had little trouble getting used to. Despite all this, it was odd. And surprisingly, I found myself getting jealous. My mother spent all her time tending to Seiji; cooking his favorite meal almost every night (noodles in a traditional kelp sauce, which I absolutely despised), massaging his shoulders, and waiting on him as he ate. She barely paid attention to me, her daughter, her bright little spirit. In my opinion, it was disgusting to see my strong, independent mother succumb to Seiji's needs, even if she was in love with him. Sometimes, I heard their passionate moans through the thin bamboo panes late at night, when I was trying to sleep. It was sickening.
I felt like Seiji was using my mother for her servitude and her body. It made sense, considering he was the most antisocial, emotionless, unfriendly person I had ever met; he barely talked to me, or even acknowledged me. There was something incredibly wrong with him, and it was getting worse, I knew it. As he came home from work every day, I saw thin wrinkles I had not seen the night before, I saw bags under his eyes that kept dropping lower and lower with each passing day, I saw how progressively distant he was becoming, and I heard the increasing ferocity in his lovemaking in the next room over. All of it, it scared me. And so I refused to call him "father."
But I attributed these feelings I had toward Seiji to my jealousy of him. I knew my mother still loved me, but the way she treated Seiji made me feel as if she no longer needed me. And that thought burrowed deep into my heart, like a parasite.
I didn't tell her though. Ever since my father died, my mother wasn't able to have that feeling of emotional and financial stability. Sho had left behind a spot only another husband like Seiji could take. And so I endured.
At one point when I was eight years old, my mother sat me down. She took my hands, and looked at me lovingly. I could sense her happiness, and so a feeling of warmth flooded my being. I smiled.
"Akira, my bright little spirit," my mother started. "Seiji and I, we're having a baby," she finished, beaming all the way through. "I'm four months pregnant."
At first, I thought it was a joke. But when I looked at her belly, my mouth dropped. There were obvious signs of growing life in there, and I felt like an idiot for not noticing. I was dumbfounded. I felt like sobbing. My mother concentrated all her energy onto Seiji, and with another kid in the house, she was going to be even busier. I knew it was a bit childish to be jealous, but my mother had been my mother first. We had a bond that I felt was being threatened. Despite my feelings, I smiled.
"That's wonderful, Momma! I can't wait!" I said as I gave her a hug. "I'm tired. I'm gonna go to sleep now," I said. "Goodnight!"
"Goodnight," my mother said, enthusiasm surging in her voice.
I went to my room, and under the covers, I cried myself to sleep.
I didn't want a sibling. I wanted it to be just Momma and me again.
But I knew that we could never go back to that again.
And that fact swished in my mind, haunting me.