Messily Married

After Aiki went into the bathroom, Hatsumi found something strange in the living room. Or rather, a familiar object in a strange place. Aiki’s suit jacket. On the couch. It wasn’t even draped on the back seat but curled in the middle like a lazy cat.

Hatsumi lifted the garment. Had Aiki done this intentionally? No, she was being paranoid. Over-analytical. He practically killed himself so they could have a life, often doing extra hours, often coming home at nine or ten. Plus, now and then, he’d be forced to drink with his boss and co-workers. All that probably made his head numb. Fuzzy.

She gently picked up the jacket and hung it in the bedroom closet.

‧ ‧ ‧

This problem repeated the following week.

When Hatsumi walked into the living room, she spotted Aiki’s office pants hanging on the back of a chair, drooping like a windless flag. She snatched up the pants and stretched them. Okay, using chairs like hangers wasn’t that unusual — except this was the chair she always used when, on rare occasions, they had dinner together. It was as if Aiki had wanted her to see it. As if he were challenging her.

Hatsumi pressed her fingers to her forehead. Was she overreacting again? But this was the second time — all right, perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps work had stressed out Aiki. Perhaps age was catching up. Hard work could make you age faster.

But just in case.

“Aiki?” she called out.

“What’s wrong?” He emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his crew cut with a towel.

Hatsumi’s eyes flitted between him and his pants. With gritted teeth, she said, “Guess.”

He raised his brows as if his pants were an unusual sight. “I stained them with something?”

“Nope.”

“I made a hole somewhere?”

She examined Aiki’s face. His single-lidded eyes were relaxed. His heart-shaped lips formed a straight line.

“It’s nothing,” Hatsumi said with a sigh. “I’m going to wash them.”

She might’ve been fooled by coincidence. When two similar events happened simultaneously — especially close to each other — they could make you believe that there was a pattern. Which was an illusion.

But sometimes it wasn’t.

‧ ‧ ‧

Hatsumi clutched Aiki’s striped tie and sat on the couch, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. He did so after a few minutes, toweling his head as he always did.

She stood up, holding out the tie. “Can we talk about this?”

Aiki blinked at her. “You found a stain on it?”

Hatsumi shook her head. “I found it on the floor.”

“I don’t remember leaving the tie there.”

“You must’ve draped it on the chair, then it fell off.”

“Sorry, I’ll hang it more carefully next time.”

“That’s not the issue!” Hatsumi half-shouted, half-hissed. “Why did you hang it on the chair?”

Aiki cradled his chin. “I don’t remember … maybe because I didn’t want to throw it on the floor?”

She groaned mentally, then sighed. “It’s not the first time you’ve done something like this.”

“What are you talking about?”

Hatsumi told him about the suit jacket and office pants.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.” Aiki stepped in front of her and perched his hands on her hips. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful next time, okay?”

She nodded, hesitatingly resting her hands on his shoulders. So she’d been overreacting after all. Come to think of it, the whole issue was stupid. Why would her husband throw his clothes around intentionally? It didn’t make any sense. Her emotions must’ve sabotaged her logic.

“I’ll go put on some clothes,” Aiki said, releasing her.

Hatsumi watched him retreat to the bedroom. Something wasn’t right, though. Something was missing. She felt as if she were looking at a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. What could it be? Oh, wait …

She looked to the floor — spotting Aiki’s towel in front of her feet.

‧ ‧ ‧

For the first time in a while, Hatsumi took the day off as a housewife and met her friend Shouko. To know whether the problem was Hatsumi or Aiki, she needed a fresh pair of eyes.

“So you had an argument over a towel,” Shouko confirmed, her brown eyebrows knitted together. She liked to use seriousness to mock Hatsumi’s obsessiveness.

Hatsumi put her cocktail on the bar. “But it was on the floor. Isn’t that awful?”

“Yes, very awful,” Shouko said with mocking nonchalance, then sipped her beer and interlaced her fingers. “So he didn’t throw things around before?”

Hatsumi shook her head. “So it’s weird, don’t you think?”

“Maybe he’s doing all this unconsciously?”

“Is there such a thing? Doing things unconsciously?”

Shouko nodded. “Maybe our actions are more unconscious than conscious. Maybe we only know a fraction of what causes them. Which means we don’t have control over things, don’t really know our true selves.”

Hatsumi gawked. “What the — ?”

She flashed a goofy grin. “Calm down. I’m just messing with you.”

Hatsumi sighed and smiled mournfully. “That’s your hobby.”

“Joke aside, why do you think Aiki is doing this? Did you make him mad or something?”

“I don’t think so. We haven’t fought, and everything is normal. Maybe every husband gets tired of his wife after a while.”

“Maybe it’s your obsessiveness? Personally, these little things wouldn’t bother me. There are worse things. Like your husband cheating on you or him developing erectile dysfunction.”

Hatsumi chewed this over, then sighed. “Okay, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should try to fix myself.”

“How about talking things out with Aiki? Maybe he’ll make an effort to change too.”

Hatsumi nodded. This might be the only way to put her marriage — and house — in order.

‧ ‧ ‧

When Hatsumi arrived home, her gaze froze — on Aiki’s dress shirts scattered on the floor. On his office pants draped on the sofa. On his trousers sitting in the sink. On his ties hanging on every dining room chair. Not only were Aiki’s clothes part of this atrocious mess. Her summer dress was peeking from a drawer. Her favorite skirt was hanging on the TV. Her leather boots were lying on the couch. This looked like the aftermath of a tsunami.

After removing her pumps and coat, she surveyed the apartment, finally spotting Aiki. He was leaning against the side of the couch, his face with an alcohol tan, his eyes bloodshot, his tie and shirt loose and messy as if he’d been in a bar fight.

Hatsumi was too shocked to speak, so she just flopped down in front of Aiki, waiting for him to talk — simultaneously wishing she wouldn’t have to hear his words.

“I have something to confess,” he said, his voice slurred by drunkenness. “I’ve been tossing my clothes around — but I only became aware of this now. I’ve been doing it consciously. Or unconsciously? Anyway, that’s not the point. The thing is, I’ve been resenting you for the past two years — to the point of hating you. But I couldn’t tell you since you haven’t exactly done anything wrong. So maybe that’s why I threw my anger on you. Indirectly.”

There was only one thing to feel: pain. And only one question to ask.

“Why?” Hatsumi uttered.

Aiki looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “You only care about housework. About cooking, cleaning, washing, and folding clothes — you don’t spend time with me anymore. We don’t even talk. We don’t even have sex. So now I see you more like a housewife. Not a wife.”

She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of the water. Until she could finally speak. “Well … I am a housewife now … I have responsibilities …”

He sighed. “As I said, you haven’t done anything wrong. This is what happens with most marriages.”

“But it’s not what should happen. We can fix this.”

Aiki brought his fist to his chin, eyes locked on an invisible point in front of him. Finally, he rose to his feet, towering over her. “There’s only one way. We should be apart for a while — so we can remember the time we were close. The time we were happy and in love.”

Hatsumi stood too. “You can’t be serious …”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

And I’ve never been so sad in my life! she wanted to shout — but she shouldn’t turn this into a fight. A competition. Spouses were allies after all; they shouldn’t try to defeat each other but to figure out how to win together.

She sighed, head lowered. “Okay, at least we have a solution.” She looked up. “So … for how long?”

“For as long as it’s necessary,” he replied.

“Are we going to call each other?”

“If we do that, it won’t be called being apart.”

“Where where are you going to stay?”

“At my parents’ house.”

Hatsumi glanced at their chaotic home. “I hope we can sort this out.”

‧ ‧ ‧

“Sure you need to pack your clothes?” Hatsumi asked Aiki the next morning. He’d decided to start their long-distance therapy as quickly as possible.

He stopped at the doorway with his suitcase. He was wearing his suit jacket, office pants, and striped tie. If it weren’t Saturday, she would’ve thought he was heading to work.

“Of course,” he said. “You want me to wear the same clothes until they become part of my skin?”

The word part reminded Hatsumi of a question. Or rather, it gave her the mental momentum to ask it since it’d become an omniscient presence in her mind. “What if this distance doesn’t help us remember our love?”

Aiki gave her a mournful smile. “Let’s forget about that for now.” Then he gave Hatsumi a koala hug and a kiss on her eyelid. Drawing back and releasing her, he said, “Sorry I’m making us go through this. But it’s necessary.”

Hatsumi offered a teary nod, keeping her head lowered.

“You’re not going to say goodbye?” Aiki asked.

“Goodbye.”

“You’ll do it without looking up?”

She nodded. “I don’t want to see you walking away.”

“Okay. And sorry again.”

The sound of Aiki’s wheeled suitcase echoed through the cave inside her ears — until it receded into nothingness.

‧ ‧ ‧

For the following days, Hatsumi couldn’t do any housework at all. No wiping, washing, scrubbing, brushing, dusting — what was the point of cleaning and keeping the house tidy if it wasn’t a home anymore?

So she spent her time eating instant ramen, drinking canned cocktails, watching her house turn into a private recycling center. Noodle cups crowded the table, unwashed clothes littered the sofa, tear-soaked tissues overflowed the trash can. Not even Aiki would’ve made a mess like this.

She also met Shouko daily at their regular bar. To pour her sadness onto her. And gallons of beer into her glass.

“You’re a mess,” Shouko said. “I feel strange saying this to the tidiest person I know.”

Hatsumi pushed her cocktail aside and buried her head between her arms. “This is nothing. You should see my house.”

“Speaking of which, Aiki hasn’t come back yet?”

Hatsumi shook her head. “I’m not even sure if he ever will. If he’ll ever remember the honeymoon period of our relationship.”

“How about you? Have you remembered it?”

Right, she’d been so busy wondering whether Aiki would succeed that she’d forgotten to make an effort herself. When she gave it a try, though, nothing surfaced. It couldn’t be … Had she stopped loving Aiki? Just like Aiki had stopped loving her? No, this was the wrong approach. She should remember a moment where things were right with Aiki.

Her memory sent her four years back. The day they’d gone shopping for new clothes for Aiki. He’d just gotten hired by a company. Sure, it was a typical clerical job. But this meant a lot to Hatsumi. They were getting closer and closer to living a life as a husband and wife.

“You know what I want to do?” Hatsumi said as they drove to the Shinjuku Shopping area. “I want to welcome you at the door and help you take off your jacket.”

Aiki laughed. “That’s a bit old-fashioned, isn’t it?”

“I don’t care. That’s been my dream since I was in junior high school.”

“Wow, most little girls dream of being an idol or an actress. Your dream is to help your husband undress.”

Hatsumi nodded, smiling. “It’s not that crazy. When you love someone, that person becomes a superstar. So little things you do for that person mean a lot. Little things that, added together, become something big.”

Her dream came true in the end. Every evening, she greeted Aiki at the door, removed his suit jacket, and hung it in the closet. Along the way, though, she stopped doing it; as time passed, she realized that there was more and more housework to be done. Scrub this, wipe that, brush that other thing — to the point that she no longer had time to greet Aiki at the door. Or even talk or spend time with him. However, she was doing all this for him. She had always done it all for him.

Right, that had been the original reason she’d become obsessed with cleanliness and tidiness. She wanted him not to have a home but the best one. The tidiest one.

“Sorry, I’m going back home,” Hatsuki blurted, letting go of her cocktail glass.

Shouko blinked at her. “You remembered something?”

Hatsumi nodded, springing up from her stool and shouldering her handbag. “And I need to let Aiki know.”

‧ ‧ ‧

When Hatsumi arrived at her house, she took off her pumps, turned on the lights, and darted into the living room. As soon as she spotted the embarrassing mess, as soon as she heard the endless silence, she remembered — Aiki wasn’t here. Wasn’t home.

She slumped amid the noodle cups, clutching her skirt. Perhaps Aiki still hadn’t remembered the old days. Remembered that he loved her — or could it be that he no longer did? Could she have killed his affection with the obsessive one she’d displayed? She clutched her head. Her life had become a mess, the biggest mess she’d ever encountered. How would she clean it up? This time she couldn’t use a vacuum or a dustpan.

But maybe she could start by cleaning the house first? She picked up the cups and clothes littering the floor. Then tissues that had rolled off their hill in the trash can.

When Hatsumi stood and stepped to the couch, she found — Aiki’s suit jacket, neatly draped on the back seat.

“Aiki?” she called as she hurried to the bathroom and pulled open the door.

By the way, I’m writing a novel. If you want to know when it’ll be released, click here.