Warnings: None.

Speak

Chapter 01:

"Reconnection"

Mom works 15 hours a day, six days a week, with very little time for leisure or rest. She sleeps most of Sunday away, waking in the evenings to hear about my week and eat whatever dinner I felt like preparing. Dad comes over on the third Sunday of every month so he can spend time with me. Despite their divorce, my parents get along surprisingly well. Or maybe that isn't so surprising, after all. Parents should make an effort to get along in front of their children, right?

(And besides—Dad has never quite forgiven himself for not being around when I was born. My mom was alone when the baffled doctors stood over my tiny infant body, wondering why I refused to cry after being whacked over and over again to clear my airways. A diagnostic session later they had their answer, of course, but it still came as quite a shock to my surgeon of a mother that her daughter had been born with deformed vocal cords.)

A few days before the start of my final semester of high school, we had one of our traditional Sunday night dinners. The December weather was cold, almost unbearably so—perfect weather for an Italian soup recipe I'd discovered in an old cookbook. 'Minestrone,' it was called. I had never made it before, but Mom had enjoyed my attempts at ravioli and fettuccine alfredo so I figured anything Italian would float her boat. As I simmered sausage and potatoes in a rich beef broth, adding carrots and leeks alongside spices and herbs, I heard the door to the kitchen swing open behind me.

"Good morning, Momo," Mom said, yawning as she shuffled to the kitchen table in her house slippers and sweatpants. My mom is a gorgeous person with long, slender limbs and a delicate face, but yawns contort her features into less-than-prettiness.

I turned away from the stove and told her: "It's evening, Mom." I used Japanese Sign Language; the motions were a little clumsy since I had a ladle tucked into the crook of my elbow, but Mom knew what I meant.

"Maybe to you, but I just woke up. Relativity and all that." She plopped into a chair and yawned again. Her short brown bob of hair was a mess. I snapped to get her attention, and then I brushed my hand through my own hair with a pointed look at her tangled curls.

"My hair?" she asked, and I nodded. "Oh." She tried combing it into place with her fingers. "Thanks. What are you making tonight?"

I held up the cookbook and pointed at the picture.

"Looks good. Is it difficult?"

I smirked. "Not for me and my culinary genius," I signed.

Her brown eyes rolled. "Showoff."

"You're just jealous because you can't cook worth a damn, Mom."

Some of our exchange might seem too easy to people not used to dealing with sing language, but signing is just as expressive as verbal speech—and in some ways I think it's even more expressive. Mom taught me to sign from an early age and sent me to a special school so I could learn to deal with my inability to speak. She and I use my nonverbal skills to communicate just as well as speaking people do. Since I can hear, though, she can get by with just understanding sign language; her speed when using it pretty slow. Dad's signing is even worse, but he can at least understand me when I 'speak' to him. I know most people don't know a lick of sign language, so when I go out in public I always take a dry-erase board along for the ride. I also have a skill for pantomime, developed over years of dealing with people on the fly or when my markers run out of ink.

I put a lid on the soup, putting the burner on 'low' to let the concoction simmer, and then I diced vegetables for a salad. I also put a loaf of crusty breach in the oven, setting a timer for just a few minutes so I wouldn't accidentally burn anything.

"I had such a busy week," said Mom. I looked at her over my cutting board full of veggies. She had her head in her hands, elbows on the tabletop. "An emergency surgery on top of all my scheduled procedures, and a short staff of nurses to compound matters. It was a madhouse."

I finished the salad and put it in the fridge to chill before rapping my knuckles on the countertop. "I had a busy week, too," I signed to Mom when she looked up. She was the type who liked having her mind taken off of her troubles, so I tried to do just that by changing the subject.

"Yeah?" she said, tension around her eyes easing as I began to set the table.

I nodded, placing forks and knives and glasses in front of three chairs. "I had to buy another uniform skirt. I grew over the break, I think. Plus I've had softball practice all this week since the seniors will be graduating before the new season starts. Have to make sure the underclassman can handle being in charge. And of course I had to finish my winter break homework and bake Yuuki a birthday cake."

"How'd that go?"

"It went well. I made pound cake with pink frosting. Her mother liked it; wanted the recipe."

Mom sighed. "I like Yuuki's mother. I wish I could become friends with her."

"We could invite Yuuki's family to our next Sunday dinner," I offered.

"That might be nice!" Mom said, tired eyes brightening, and then she shot me a sheepish grin. "If I can stay awake, that is."

Kusagawa Yuuki had been my best friend since my first year of middle school (which was, coincidentally, also my first year of non-specialized school). Partially because she had a deaf cousin and knew a little sign language and partially because she was just a generally friendly person, Yuuki befriended me and helped me get used to the brand new world of public middle school. Through her I had made many of my best friends and learned not to be so self-conscious of my lack of speech. I hadn't seen her since her birthday early in the week; getting to be with her every day at school made the thought of slogging through my very last semester bearable.

"Are you going to be able to make it to my softball game?" I asked as I sat next to Mom at the table. I checked my watch; all that was left to do was wait for Dad and the food.

Mom's guilty expression tipped me off before she even spoke. "I'm going to try," she said, looking at her hands as she kept them laced together on the table. "But..."

I reached out and laid my hand atop hers. When she looked at me I grinned my biggest, most cheerful grin.

"It's just a scrimmage," I told her with my hands. "We're not in season right now, anyway. Don't worry about it. It's just to let the underclassman take charge without the stakes set too high." I flexed my arms and winked. "Besides. We'll kick their butts so fast the game will end in less than an inning, anyway!"

A look of appreciation replaced her guilty expression. She smoothed my long black hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear.

"That's my girl," she said. Her eyes were soft. "Always seeing the best in things."

I grinned back and rolled my eyes, shrugging as I did so. "You flatter me," I signed in a very exaggerated way. "Stop, stop, I'm a shy creature!"

Her laugh lit up the room. "Well," she said, standing, "I'm going to go shower. See you in a little bit!"

"Try to be done by the time Dad gets here," I signed, and she winked before heading out.

As I watched her go, I thought about what she'd said regarding my personality. She was right about me being a habitually cheerful person. I smiled all the time, tried to see the best in people, and did all I could to stay positive. Maybe I'm just trying to cover up the difficulties that come with being mute by acting overly happy, but I don't think that's all there is to it. Happy-go-lucky is just the way I am. A cheerful attitude is just my default setting.

After all, life—full of difficulty as it often was—would be a chore if I didn't try my best to stay happy.

Dad arrived before Mom returned from her bath. I inherited his thick black hair as opposed to Mom's fine brown hair, and most people say my father and I look a helluva lot alike—more so than Mom and I do. I caught a whiff of Dad's aftershave as I kissed his cheek after letting him inside, and he hugged me around the shoulders.

"Hey, kiddo," he said. "How's it going?"

I shot him a thumbs-up and motioned for him to follow me into the kitchen. Mom was waiting for us at the table, finger-combing her damp hair with a scowl. She smiled at Dad and gave him a brief hug in greeting, and then both Dad and Mom sat down across from each other.

Dad took a deep breath of warm air. He wore his work outfit: a tailored grey suit with a crimson tie, plus a heavy jacket to combat the weather. He's the owner of an electronics business, and a booming one at that. Between him and Mom we're good on the money front. "What smells so great?" he asked.

I looked at Mom; Mom looked at me. Then she looked at Dad and said: "Minestrone."

Thank God for silent communication, right? Mom and I have it down perfectly. When I can't quickly answer, all it takes is a look for her to translate my silence. My friends are good at the process, too.

As if on cue, the timer on the oven went off. I busied myself with serving the food and pouring glasses of ice water. Then I signed to Mom and Dad: "Would either of you like some wine?"

Mom immediately hopped up to fill a glass. "I think that's just what I need."

"Good idea, Momoko," Dad said, smiling at me. He, unlike Mom, always used my full name in lieu of my nickname, Momo.

We sat down to dinner soon after. The soup, for those interested, was a success, as was the complimentary wine. Mom and Dad chatted while we ate, since my hands were busy with my utensils. As was tradition, my parents ate slowly so I could finish before them and free my hands for conversation. We talked about our weeks and what was happening in our day-to-day life. Dad had made a good deal with a distributor the previous week, and I had hit two triples in softball practice the day before. Mom liked to gossip with us about the nurses in the hospital; many were young women scheming to ensnare the handsome head of pediatrics as their husband, and they were constantly undercutting one another in their attempts to attract his affection.

Our banter lasted until well after the meal ended. I served cookies I had made earlier in the day, and when we finished our dessert Dad folded his hands on the table and assumed a very serious expression. Mom and I quieted down as he took a deep breath and offered us a shaky smile.

"I have news," he said. "It concerns my brother, Kazuyu."

"You're speaking to each other again?" Mom said, raising one thin eyebrow. "That's sudden. It's been, what, seventeen years?"

Dad's brown eyes bored into Mom's black ones in melancholy acceptance. "He called out of the blue. So it's a recent development, yes," he said in a pained voice, and I winced out of sympathy.

You're probably wondering at the tense atmosphere, so let me explain: Dad is the firstborn son of the Hatanaka family, a prestigious old-money clan with ties to various Japanese industries. As firstborn, he was expected to take over the family business from his father, Ryuuji. However, my father devoted all of his time as a young man to bettering the company—so much so that he had little time for cultivating a family. His brother Kazuyu, however, saw that the company's heir had no heir of his own, so he set out to find a wife. He got married quickly, and soon his wife became pregnant. Kazuyu then convinced Ryuuji to allow him to become the new heir, considering Kazuyu already had a family and could take over in the event of Ryuuji's unforeseen death (or something like that, anyway; I'm pretty sure there was sake involved). In the end it doesn't matter, I guess, because no matter what was said, Ryuuji agreed to replace my father with Kazuyu.

Predictably, my dad was so enraged by this betrayal that he cut all ties to both the company and his family (especially his brother), and then he went out and married the first woman he could convince to do so—and that woman would up being my mother. Her parents had just died in an accident, so she was emotionally vulnerable, and…well, you get the picture. They very quickly filed for an annulment.

However, shortly after filing, Mom realized she was pregnant—but she didn't tell Dad until after I was born and I was given her maiden name of Miyamoto. She wanted me to have no ties to my father's family and had no desire to see me roped into a treacherous environment from birth.

Not that they would have wanted me, anyway. Upon hearing of my birth and my subsequent disability, my paternal grandfather wrote my mother and father and told them to never ask for any sort of help in raising a 'subpar' human, bastard of the Hatanaka family or not.

Yeah. Ouch. As you can see, contact between our family and the rest of the Hatanakas is a rare occurrence, at best, and an abjectly painful one, at worst.

"What did your brother call about?" I signed at Dad. I tried not to scowl or anything; I wanted to believe that his brother had good intentions in contacting Dad, even if I had founded misgivings that proclaimed otherwise.

Dad ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, the first thing he told me was that his wife lost their first baby before she carried it to term," he said.

"Quite the way to start a conversation," Mom muttered.

"That's awful," I added. A smaller, darker part of me thought that maybe, just maybe, my uncle deserved it for being such a lying snake, but my more forgiving nature told me that that was a horrible wish I should never, ever think about again. And his poor wife! No way did she deserve such pain. She didn't deserve any of the Hatanaka drama, marriage or no marriage.

Had she not miscarried, my cousin would be the same age as me, I thought. It's like that baby's life was exchanged for mine, mute little Momo's. No wonder my grandfather was disappointed. Of course, I'd never voice that thought aloud, either. My mother would be livid if she caught me devaluing myself.

Dad smirked without humor. "My father was so mad Kazuyu caused trouble over a nonexistent heir, he appointed a cousin as the company's successor instead of him. The Hatanakas lost the company—in name, at least."

"So you went through all of that pain for nothing," Mom said. I could see the anger in her squared shoulders and firm jaw. "You have the worst family of all time; do you know that?"

"Yeah," Dad said, "but give my brother some credit. He called to make amends." Mom snorted, clearly skeptical, but Dad pressed on. "I didn't forgive him, and I probably won't for a while, but I think I'm going to meet with him soon to sort things out. Family is family, after all." He turned to me, eyes softer than before. "His wife died delivering his first and only son three years later. He's fourteen now. I think the two of you should meet."

My empathy for my uncle's wife shot through the roof, but a sense of unease tempered my sadness. The thought of me, an eighteen-year-old senior in high school, spending time with a middle-school son of a traitor didn't really appeal to me. But then I remembered the kid had nothing to do with the fight between Dad and Uncle, so I pushed my negativity away and focused on the positive. It was also a little jarring to think that I had a cousin who, for fourteen years, had been unknown to me. I always assumed Uncle Kazuyu's child was my age, and had a mother of his own. Poor kid. Maybe he really did need a family…

"It'll be nice to meet my family," I signed, forming each word with care. Mom had no living family, so Dad's side was all I had left. "So long as we stay away from my grandfather, I think I'd like to meet my cousin and uncle."

Mom scowled when she saw the words my hands shaped. "Yes, I don't want you associating with people like Ryuuji. No offense, Mamoru," she said, addressing Dad with that last sentence. "You're nothing like your father."

He nodded, their eyes meeting at the same time. "Thank you, Kaori."

I let the moment breathe, stirring the last dregs of my soup with eyes downcast. Moments like that always made me think that the two of them could get back together someday, although I would never tell them as much.

When they finally looked away from each other, I rapped my knuckles on the table to get their attention. "What else did my uncle say?" I asked.

"Well, Kazuyu got remarried a few months ago," Dad said, "to a widow with a son. I'm not sure of the boy's age, but that means you now have a new aunt and two cousins to meet. Isn't that nice?"

I nodded and smiled, rising from my chair to clear away the dishes. I loaded them into the dishwasher as Dad talked to Mom about the possibility of having me over to his house when Uncle and his family came for dinner.

"If Momo says yes, then you're welcome to come, too," he said. "You're Momoko's mother. If anybody deserves to be by her side, it's you."

But Mom shook her head. "Not me. I want nothing to do with Kazuyu. If it weren't for him..."

She didn't have to keep speaking for me to know what she would have said. I'm a good listener. Subtext is as readable to me as Japanese or sign language.

If it weren't for him, Mom wanted to say, our marriage wouldn't have been rushed, and we might have been a proper family.

NOTES (1/17/2015):

This story used to have seven chapters. Now it has two. Nobody panic! I took down most of the chapters because I'm revamping them. I realized I'd written myself into a few corners—this is my attempt to fix them. I'll be reposting all of the edited chapters soon.

"Speak" will cross over with another of my stories, "Future Talk," as well as my story "Touched." That's the reason I stopped updating this story as well as "Touched." I didn't want to spoil the ending of "Future Talk." Surprise!

I'm cleaning up the grammar (basic cosmetic stuff, I know it's still not perfect), changing the ages of the characters, changing the time of year the story takes place, and fixing a few bits of continuity so "Speak" jives with my other stories.

I also learned that Japanese high schools tend to have trimester systems—third term is generally from January to graduation in March—and softball season isn't until March, so some of Momo's hobbies needed to be updated. The story now takes place in January, with Momo about to start her last semester of high school.

Officially, "Speak" takes place shortly after the events of "Future Talk," and occurs in the same fan-universe. I'll be updating "Speak" regularly once "Future Talk" is finished.

I wasn't sure if I should just replace the old chapters, or delete and post new ones...but it's been five years since I updated. I doubt many people remember the old chapters. I felt like a fresh delete-and-repost made the most sense. Give interested readers a chance to catch up.

Thank you so much for supporting this story.

((Below follow my notes from when I originally posted this chapter, way back in 2010.))

NOTES, Spring 2010:

So here's the thing that some of you picked up on: my OC is mute.

I am dedicated to making this as authentic as possible. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you probably saw my posts about "Operation Silence" and the like. The long and short of it is that I went a weekend without saying a word. I ate at restaurants, went to parties, studied at the library, and did everything I normally do with the caveat of not uttering a single syllable. I laughed like a mute (no inflection), sighed like a mute (also with no inflection), and had to pantomime my butt off because I only know a bit of sign language as a result of having two deaf cousins. My friends were all wonderfully understanding. =]

On another note, a lot of people seemed taken by the gore aspect of the last chapter, and I am sorry to report that this won't be gory right off the bat. There will some emotional pain, however, so maybe that will feel the same until I get where I'm going? You saw a bit of family-fun-angst in this chapter, too, but I promise that Momo doesn't dwell on it too much.

Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you picked up on the... um... hints in this chapter. My lovely reviewers deserve many kudos for praising such a fledgling of a story, so here they are in all their glory: White Tempest, StrawberryxXxKisses, kakashisfuturewife, blackangelxvikkix, Ephemeral Muse, AkaMizu-chan, chocolateluvr13, FoxgirlRay, Panda-chan31, Naitza-Kururugi, and VampireOnFire!