The alarm screamed beside me. Still only half-conscious, I turned it off and accidentally caught sight of a calendar notification.
Ah, my birthday. My fiftieth.
I sighed, closed my eyes for a few moments, and sat up. The bed creaked slightly as the person beside me turned toward me. I looked at the woman’s face.
Ever since we got married, I’ve always recorded my family’s birthdays on my phone calendar. I’d never cared about them before. Maybe it was because I got married later in life. The calendar was one of the reminders keeping me from screwing around with my own life.
And after doing the math, I realized my wife was turning thirty-five this year. That’s right—a fifty-year-old man and a thirty-five-year-old woman were sharing the same bed. Quite an age gap.
Amid the hustle and bustle of this snowy country, hardly anyone had been willing to stay by my side and build a small family with me. It was understandable, really. I was already forty back then. A marriage that promised nothing except the cries of little children and the groans of an old man.
Still, I’d always worked hard to take care of my body. I exercised and ate well. And apparently, my efforts had reached my wife’s heart.
I gently stroked her cheek, then kissed her eyes, cheek, and lips. She stirred, murmured, and fell silent. I gave her neck another quick kiss.
“Come on, wake up, Babe. The twins have a daily quiz today.”
She sighed, rubbed her eyes, and woke up.
I watched her as she was still trying to come to. She looked up, reached for me, and I felt her warmth when she buried her face in my chest.
Some habits never changed.
“I smell like medicated balm.”
She only nuzzled against me. “It smells good. You smell good, Babe.”
Was it normal for a fifty-year-old man to blush? My blood seemed to rush through my veins, and I felt incredibly warm. I gently rubbed her back.
We ended the embrace after a brief kiss on the lips. I got out of bed. Suddenly, pain shot through my lower back.
“Ah!” Damn it. I groaned.
“What’s wrong, Babe?” My wife’s eyes went wide.
Damn, damn. My handsomeness and cool factor had just dropped by fifty percent.
“No, it’s nothing. It just hurts a little.”
I nodded reassuringly at her as she continued staring at me.
Now I was standing in front of the stove with three bento boxes. My wife chopped vegetables while I cooled the rice. I called for my twin daughters, who had apparently already left their room in their neat uniforms.
“Morning, beautiful girls. Is your little brother awake?” My wife turned around.
“Not yet, Ma. I did wake him up earlier.”
She left the vegetables she’d finished chopping and hurried away.
I arranged the vegetables over the rice, packed it down, and rolled it in dried seaweed. Then I cut it into bite-sized pieces.
“You understand the material pretty well, right?”
I turned toward my two daughters, who nodded with their mouths full.
“Quiz us, Dad!”
“Where are the flash cards?”
My younger daughter handed me the flash cards we’d made together to make it easier to remember the material. As I arranged their lunches, they took turns shouting out the answers to the quiz.
“You really don’t want to go to daycare? Aww, but there are so many toys, your teacher likes reading fairy tales, and your friends are fun... Really?” My wife’s exaggerated voice rang out. My five-year-old son was in her arms. His hair was still a mess, his lips were pushed into a pout as he shook his head back and forth. It was like looking at myself as a child.
After dropping off all three of my kids, I saw my wife cleaning the floor with the vacuum. She even cleaned between the sofa cushions and under the carpet. I said nothing and noticed the dishes still lying around. I hurried into the kitchen.
“Just leave the dishes, Babe!”
“It’s only a few.”
“Does your lower back not hurt anymore?”
I closed my eyes. On my birthday, of all days, I’d wanted to act cool. I wanted to be strong like a young dad. If only I’d kept my mouth shut earlier.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.” That wasn’t true, of course. I’d try to find some exercises later to ease the pain.
Even the washing machine was already humming. My wife had hauled all the household laundry over by herself.
I watched her secretly while washing the dishes. She was focused on moving her hands back and forth. Apparently, she noticed and looked back at me.
“What is it, Babe?”
I shook my head with a small smile. “Nothing.”
“What is it, anyway? Geez. You’re being so weird!” She pouted, though her eyes were holding back a laugh.
We had breakfast together after all the chores were done. The TV was on just to fill the house with some noise. Meanwhile, my wife talked about the novel she was revising. Yes, my wife was a writer. Wasn’t she incredibly cool? Sometimes I responded to her, and sometimes I kissed her lips.
I hadn’t used to be the kind of man who liked this sort of physical affection. But marrying her meant getting unexpected kisses all the time. Sometimes, while I was washing the dishes, she would hug me from behind and kiss my back. After sex, she always hugged me first. She wasn’t shy about asking me to kiss her. She loved nurturing our affection that way.
And now, her speech paused when I kissed her. She lowered her face after we looked into each other’s eyes.
“Why do you keep kissing me today, Babe...?”
“You do it too.”
“So this is revenge?”
I raised one eyebrow. “Maybe?”
She whined and pushed against my chest. I could only laugh and reach for her hand, pulling her into my embrace.