Akane sighed, looking over the redhead sitting on her couch skeptically. “I really don’t wanna go to class today and leave you alone. I don’t trust you.”
Her wife groaned, throwing her hands up in the air and letting them fall to the hips of her sleeveless yellow skater dress with a loud thwap. “Akane, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t just pause your whole life for me.”
And if you can, you should fucking come on tour with me, not sit on the couch with me and watch shitty reruns.
Akane shook her head with an exasperated smile. “Princess, you are my life. I’m worried about you. So, I’ll go, but I’m coming home right after my exam. And, so help me…”
“I know, I know. Don’t do any chores. Just sit here and look pretty.” Ranko made a raspberry with her tongue against her lips, slumping back onto the couch.
Ranko’s wife grinned, reaching down and stroking her partner’s cheek with the backs of her fingers ever-so-gently. “I mean, at least you’re good at it. You’re definitely the cute one in the family.”
The redhead blushed, shivering a little at Akane’s soft touch. “I aim to please, my love.”
“Then you hit what you aimed for.” Akane smiled, tilting Ranko’s chin upward with her fingers and bending down to give her lover a whisper-soft kiss on her strawberry-glossed lips. “I love you, Ranko. Now, can I count on you to be a good girl and stay put until I get back, or do I need to make another round of calls and try to find someone to come stay with you?”
“Butt. Couch. Understood.” Ranko giggled brightly. “I love you, too. Now get going, or you’re gonna have to tell your professor you’re late because you couldn’t stop flirting with a cute girl.”
“There are worse reasons,” Akane said with a blush of her own, shouldering her blue school backpack over her heather gray Minato University Athletic Department tee shirt. “See you soon.”
“See ya, Akane! Love you! Good luck on your test!” Ranko waved, blowing her wife another kiss as Akane walked to, and then through, the door into the hallway, locking the door behind her with her key.
Ranko bit her lip, closing her eyes and listening for the sound of footsteps on the stairs descending from their second-floor apartment to the building’s main entrance below. Once she heard the steel outer door slam in the brisk January breeze downstairs, she turned to her right, smirking to her constant companion of late.
“Okay, Starlight, just so we have our stories straight: when Akane asks who cleaned the house, we’re blaming Ziggy. Got it?”
Taking the stuffed unicorn’s silence as assent, she hopped up on her right leg, supporting her weight on it as she retrieved her crutches from where they leaned on the end table next to her and stuffed them under her armpits.
I should’ve worn a tee shirt or something with sleeves; these things hurt like hell on bare skin.
Ranko sighed, looking around and taking stock of the state of the apartment she shared with her young wife. The place hadn’t been cleaned properly in nearly three weeks, between Ranko’s injury and Akane’s grueling class schedule. She was embarrassed at the number of the couple’s friends and family who had seen it in such a condition, as Akane had paraded damn near everyone Ranko knew by to keep her occupied and cared for. Keeping the apartment clean was something she considered to be her responsibility as Akane’s wife, despite Hana’s constant assurances that Akane was, in fact, just as much of a wife as Ranko was. With her leg still locked immobile by the hinged metal brace ratchet-strapped to it, she hadn’t been able to do chores, cook, or cheer, and she couldn’t work or perform either. She hadn’t even been able to take a proper shower by herself since the injury she’d suffered in her fight with Kuno, forcing Akane to endure the frigid water with her.
She felt entirely useless, and she hated it.
Not today, Ranko swore to herself as she hobbled to the kitchen on her crutches, surveying the sink full of plastic containers - mostly artifacts of food offerings sent home with Akane by Hana and Ranko’s sisters to keep the couple fed while Ranko was unable to work in the kitchen. It had taken more than a year, but the Phoenix clan had finally experienced enough inedible disasters to accept that their youngest sister was not kidding when she said Akane’s culinary skills were far beyond hope of salvation.
The young couple couldn’t afford to order in every night, either. Hana had continued to pay Ranko as if she was working her usual shifts; Ranko had asked her not to, but Akane had been accepting the money in secret anyway. As the arbiter of the couple’s budget, Akane understood the reality that they needed the money, whatever her wife’s pride might have had to say about it. Ranko’s first payout under the new contract Nabiki had negotiated for Wild Orchid would be coming in a few weeks, and it was set to be the first significant check she was slated to receive from her music career. It was a good thing, too, because the list of things Ranko needed to buy before she left on the first leg of her international tour was staggering.
Okay, Ranko. Think. How are we gonna pull this off? She peeked over the kitchen counter into the living room, her lips curling upward with the formation of a plan. She swung herself around the counter on her crutches, turning and leaning on the living room side of the countertop. She reached down for one of the rarely-used wooden bar stools that were tucked under the counter’s overhang into the living room, picking it up and setting it upside-down on the counter. Slipping her crutches back under her armpits, she hobbled back into the kitchen, taking the stool down from the counter on the kitchen side and setting it on the floor in front of the sink.
Okay… I can do this. One. Two.
Ranko gritted her teeth, planting the rubber feet of her crutches firmly on the pinkish linoleum kitchen floor. She pushed down hard on their handles with her arms with a grunt, hopping as best she could on her good leg. It wasn’t comfortable, but she managed to raise herself high enough to plop down on the stool.
Yes! Didn’t die! Nice!
Propping her metal crutches against the countertop next to her, Ranko popped the dishwasher open and swiveled the faucet to one side of the sink, turning on the stream of water to its coldest setting. One by one, she ran the plastic containers under the ice-cold jet of water to knock the larger morsels of food loose before arranging them as tightly as possible in the top rack of the dishwasher. She dared not reach far enough down to use the bottom rack for fear of falling from her stool. Ranko cringed as she removed the blue plastic lid of a large container Izumi had sent home with Akane a week ago. It had been full of lasagna once, but with the pasta long gone, the interior of the container had begun to smell.
I promise, Akane, I’ll never let it get this bad again. In fairness, you were supposed to be the one to do the dishes anyway, since I technically won the tournament, but I know how worn out you are. I’d have cleaned all this up days ago, if you hadn’t all but kept me chained to the couch under constant supervision.
The redhead grabbed the bottle of dish soap from the counter, holding it over the little cup in the door and squeezing from nearly a meter above. She only got about two-thirds of the soap into the cup; the rest dripped around it. Gonna have to be good enough; I can’t reach, she thought. Using the end of one of her crutches to pop the hinged door up high enough that she could reach it, she latched it closed and pressed the start button, grinning proudly as the sound of water whooshing around in the machine began.
Look at me, accomplishing shit. Now, to get down from here. Ranko took a deep breath, transferring her weight to the kitchen countertop and sliding down off the stool onto her right foot. It jostled her injured knee somewhat, and she winced a bit, but she was down. Opting to leave the stool there in case she needed it for future chores, she plodded her way back into the living room.
Okay. What else needs doing, that I can actually do? The floor needs to be swept something fierce, but I’m not sure I can manage a broom on these damn things. She sighed in defeat at a pair of Akane’s socks, piled on the floor next to the couch. She’s gotta be about out of clothes by now. I was already a few days behind on the laundry with the holidays and the awards show, before I got hurt. She glanced through the open bedroom door at the overflowing gray wicker laundry hamper with a frown. Yeah, I gotta make a dent in that, somehow.
Ranko gingerly bounced into the bedroom on her crutches, having to shimmy sideways through the narrow door to pass. Hmmm. How’m I gonna carry the hamper? Aha!
She lifted her left crutch, jamming it down hard into the hamper. She wiggled it as best she could, driving it as far toward the bottom of the hamper as possible. “Okay, c’mere,” she said aloud, sliding the crutch forward and dragging the hamper on the floor along with it. She put as much of her weight as possible on the right crutch while the left one slowly pulled the wicker hamper across the floor toward the bathroom, where the access door to the apartment’s tiny washer and dryer was located.
So focused was she on maintaining some semblance of balance that the sudden shrill tone of the doorbell startled her. “Wha? Who would… coming!” She attempted to pull the crutch out of the hamper, but it caught on a belt loop on a pair of Akane’s jeans, and the force with which she’d yanked it caused Ranko to topple to her side, crashing to the floor on her right hip.
“Ow! Fuck!” Ranko shimmied the half-meter or so across the bathroom floor to reclaim her right crutch, having freed her left one from the laundry hamper. It took her a minute and a half to carefully maneuver from the floor to the toilet seat, and from there back to a vertical position.
“I’m coming, sorry!” Ranko moved as quickly as the crutches would allow to the front door, turning the deadbolt and pulling the door inward. “Oh! Hey, Ma!”
Nodoka Shimizu, clad in a beige kimono printed with large white and red flowers, waved from the doorway, but there was concern in her eyes. “I heard a loud noise. Did you fall, baby?” The recent divorcee started to look over her daughter, as if damage done to her ligaments would have been visible through her daughter’s yellow sundress somehow.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Nah, I’m fine,” Ranko lied, padding gingerly out of the way of the door on her crutches to allow her mother entry. “I didn’t expect to see you today. What’s up?” Ranko frowned, looking over the disheveled state of her apartment again. I freakin’ hate that she’s seeing me fail like this.
Ranko’s biological mother stepped close, pulling her daughter into a hug. “I came by to check on you, and see if I could help with anything, since you’re still not on your feet and Akane’s been so busy.”
The redhead winced. “That’s… really sweet of you. I’ve been trying, Ma. I swear. I’m so embarrassed with how filthy this place is, I just… it’s hard, and Akane won’t let me do nothin’, but she really doesn’t have the time to do it, either. Poor thing’s fallen asleep at the desk droolin’ on her homework three nights this week as it is. I wanna pull my weight, but…” She lifted her crutches off the floor for emphasis. “I can barely even support my weight. Stupid knee.”
Nodoka nodded, a matronly smile forming on her lips. “Then, consider me your helper for the day. Let me know what you’re most concerned with, and I’ll see that it’s done.” I do wish Akane could have stepped up a bit more around here, but if my daughter says she’s doing her best, I’ll have to take her word for it.
Ranko sighed quietly. “That’s so nice of you to offer, Ma, but I couldn’t ask you to come over and clean up after me. That’s not how this is supposed to work. It’s my job to be the housewife around here.”
With a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head, Nodoka cupped her daughter’s cheek in her hands. “Nonsense. I missed out on two decades of taking care of you, sweetheart. I think I can manage an afternoon. Come on now, little orchid. Let me help you.” She smiled broadly, a gesture Ranko returned. It never failed to make Ranko blush when Nodoka referred explicitly to the new form of her name that she’d taken on her wedding day, when Soun Tendo had adopted her as his fourth daughter and given the woman who had risen from the ashes of Ranma Saotome’s life her own legal existence.
“Alright, if you promise not to judge me for how dirty everything is. I swear, I’ll be back to keeping it spotless as soon as I can walk right. At least, until I go away, that is. I can’t make promises for what Akane does with the place when I’m in New Zealand.” The redhead giggled as Nodoka pulled out one of the couple’s rickety dining room chairs for her.
“Yes, I suppose that would be an awfully long flight just to run a broom over the floor,” Nodoka said with a slight laugh. “Come here, baby. Sit down, and let your mama take care of all this.”
Ranko plopped down into the chair, leaning her crutches against the table. She smirked over at the couch, where her huge stuffed pink bear sat slumped to his side alongside Starlight. “Looks like you’re off the hook this time, Zigs.”
“I do wonder sometimes,” Nodoka asked as she scooped Akane’s socks from the living room floor, “why you chose to take on so many of the traditionally feminine responsibilities in your relationship. I wouldn’t have expected that, considering.”
Ranko’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t know. It… I know it’s weird, especially for… a girl like me, but I like it, doin’ stuff for her. It’s like, nobody enjoys the act of mopping the bathroom, but, every little thing I do around here is another opportunity to make Akane’s day just a little bit better. And that just… it feels good, even on the days where she doesn’t notice everything I did. Sometimes it feels best when she doesn’t notice, ‘cause it means I did such a good job taking it off her mind that it wasn’t ever on it, ya know? Besides, having grown up with Kasumi, she was used to having everything done for her, so it was kind of a culture shock asking her to pitch in around here at all. I mean, some stuff, I was always gonna have to do anyways. Like, I’m not trying to die young, so I’m not about to let her set foot in my kitchen. I just… I don’t know, I just like feeling like I’m taking care of her. Is that silly?”
Ranko’s mother nodded, smiling wistfully. “I felt exactly the same way when I first met your father. So, maybe that’s a little bit of me coming through in you.”
The redhead’s cheeks darkened further. The idea of any mannerism being carried down to her from her biological mother, despite their long estrangement, made her happy to think about. “I hope so.”
“Any ideas what you’re gonna do when your career gets too busy to keep it up? I mean, this tour of yours is probably just the beginning for you.” As she spoke, the elder woman picked up a pile of junk mail on the dining room table, flipping through it to ensure there was nothing of consequence interspersed between the advertisements before depositing it in the nearby kitchen trash can.
“Hopefully by then, I can start making some real money doing this, and I can pay somebody to clean the house. Akane can go be a doctor and run her dojo, and I’ll just… sing.” Ranko sighed happily at the long-held dream. She blushed furiously. My music career started with Izzi trying to dress me like a maid, and it might end up with me being able to afford to hire one, she thought to herself.
“It sounds lovely, dear.” Nodoka frowned as she spied the overturned laundry hamper on the bathroom floor, realizing that was likely what had caused her daughter’s fall that she’d heard from the hallway. She bent down and righted it, opening the washing machine. “How’s your leg feeling, honey,” she asked as she tossed one of Ranko’s dresses into the overhead front-loading machine.
“It’s alright, I guess. I mean, it’s still pretty sore; I’m eatin’ ibuprofen like they’re candy. They offered me some stronger stuff for pain, but… I don’t really like that crap too much.” Not after it almost killed me when I fought Kuno the last time, anyway. Besides, it makes me kinda goofy. Almost as bad as Shin’s baking. Ranko lifted her left leg with her hands, elevating it gently across the seat of another of the dining room chairs with a quiet wince.
“Have they given you any indication how much longer it will be,” Nodoka asked as she added a few pairs of Ranko’s panties to the washing machine, leaving aside Akane’s jeans for a future load so as not to damage her daughter’s satin unmentionables.
Ranko sighed. “I’m supposed to go back to the doctor a week from Tuesday. If they like the way it looks when they check it then, they’re gonna let me start walking on it, with the brace, and they’ll give me some exercises to do to build up a little strength in it again. They said they’re probably gonna want me to keep the brace on it as much as possible up until the tour, just to give it as much time to heal as we can before I start dancing on it full speed.”
The songstress’ mother nodded. “Makes sense, even though I’m sure it’s not what you’d prefer to he…” She stopped mid-word, startled by the loud thwump sound of a solid object falling out of the wadded-up shirt she’d lifted from the hamper. It clattered to the bathroom floor, bouncing slightly on contact.
“Yeah, I wish I… oh, gods.” Ranko gulped at the sight of the object laying bare on the yellow checkered linoleum flooring of the narrow bathroom, and she immediately felt lightheaded from all of the blood in her body flowing into her face at once. “I, uh, ma, that’s, um, that’s… not what you think…”
Kill me now. Please. Just toss my ass off the fire escape. I have never been so mortified in my entire life, and that's including the number of times I got wet at the wrong times and strangers ended up seeing my tits.
Nodoka, her face as flushed as her daughter’s, bent down to pick up the oblong rubber item tentatively with two fingers, holding it at arm’s length and letting it dangle loosely from them. She eyed it trepidatiously, as if she were concerned the item in her hand was going to bite her. “I’m… fairly certain it is, dear.”
“Yeah, well, um, ya see, it’s like this, Yui and Sakura, they… and me an’ Akane, ya know, we’re… umm… and sometimes when we…” Ranko stammered, burying her face in her hands. Only her damaged knee prevented her from standing and running out of the apartment in shame.
Her mother shook her head, dropping the awkward item in the bathroom sink and jumping back away from it as if it were covered with spiders. “I mean, I wasn’t especially expecting something like that to jump out of your laundry basket at me, but I… I suppose I’m just glad to see you still get an opportunity to be a little masculine from time to time after all.” She tucked her brown hair behind her ear, clearly more flustered than she sought to let on.
Ranko’s face invented a new shade of red. “Ma! It’s not mine!”
The flushed middle-aged woman in the kimono laughed. “I understand that you’re embarrassed, honey, but it’s… pretty hard to deny, given the circumstances, don’t you think? You don’t have to lie to me.”
The redhead swallowed hard behind her hands. “I, um… I’m not lying. It’s not mine! I… didn’t say it’s not… ours.”
Nodoka paused for a moment, and then her smile melted like ice cream in the summer sun as the reality of Ranko’s words sank in.
“... Oh. But…” Ranko’s mother raised a finger as if requesting a moment for her thoughts to finish coalescing around a sentence, her brow furrowing.
Ranko covered her face in her hands again. “Ma, don’t ask if you don’t wanna know.”
“Good idea,” Nodoka replied after a prolonged pause, her cheeks still a bright crimson. “We’ll just…” She reached into the clothes hamper, pulling out one of Akane’s tee shirts and gingerly draping it over the sink like a shroud to hide the object of their mutual embarrassment from view.
Akane is never, ever, ever gonna fuckin’ let me live that down, Ranko thought, her cheeks still blazing. Please, gods, don’t let her find anything else.
“This is pretty,” Nodoka said, pulling a pastel pink dress from the hamper and holding it up to get a better look at it.
Ranko nodded, grateful for literally anything else to talk about. “It’s one of my favorites. I bought it for me and Akane’s first date. It’s actually the first dress I ever picked out for myself. And, speaking of, don’t think you’re getting out of our bet. I won the tournament, on a technicality or not, so you owe me a shopping trip.”
The middle-aged brunette nodded as she added a scoop of laundry powder and started the washing machine. “Oh, I know. You’re right; you earned it. As soon as you’re on your feet a bit, we’ll go. I want you to be able to enjoy it too, honey.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Nodoka’s daughter replied. “We’re gonna drag your butt kicking and screaming into the twentieth century while we still can. We’ve only got a few years left.”
With a shake of her head, a chuckle and a smile, Ranko’s mother moved the half-full laundry hamper to the side of the bathroom out of the way, opening the door separating the bathroom and the bedroom. “I don’t see why I can’t just let my pop star daughter be the fashion-forward woman of the family.”
Ranko laughed, raising her voice to be heard in the bedroom around the corner. “You hear that, Ma? In the distance? That’s the sound of Izzi’s heart breaking.”
Nodoka laughed heartily as she returned to the bathroom after having made her daughter’s queen-sized bed. “She’ll survive.” She opened the dryer, where the last load of laundry Ranko had finished before her injury still waited to be put away. She pulled one of Akane’s dresses out, shaking it hard once to loosen some of the wrinkles that had formed in the last few weeks. “You don’t keep your empty hangers by your laundry machines? I guess they’re still in the…”
“Uh, Ma?! Maybe… um… don’t go in the closet?” The heat from Ranko’s cheeks could have powered the greater Tokyo metropolitan area for an hour. “Sorry, Akane’s just really particular about her stuff.” And if you open that door, after what you just found, I promise, you’re gonna be in therapy for the rest of your life.
Nodoka laughed, nodding in understanding as she put the dress back in the dryer. “Well, then, is it at least safe to ask where you girls keep your broom?”