“So?” Yuko huffed, taking a pen and swirling it across the writing paper on her lap. “Care to share what knowledge Teacher Kamoi so graciously imparted on you today?”

“C’mon Yuko,” Alfred groaned as he lit the candles set on the living room table. “Aren’t we a little old for that? We’re doing the best we can!”

Discussing Mister Kamoi and their finances was not how either of them wanted to share their sliver of private time together, but it had to be done.

“Throwing Lucy into a new job every two days is not his best, not for him nor for any man.” Yuko tsked as a flower slowly formed across the white page. “He should be working you, not her. It isn’t fair.”

“Isn’t fair? He’s been throwin’ stuff at me this whole time too! It’s not just her he’s dragging around!” Crouching beside his fiance, Alfred rested his chin on her shoulder and peered down at her work. “Flower’s almost as pretty as you.”

He chuckled as Yuko shrugged him off. “Don’t change the subject. Lucy’s actually been working, while you-”

Yuko paused, taking a moment to look Alfred up and down. He was completely disheveled, glasses askew and hair awry in all directions.

“I don’t even know where to begin with you.” She sighed, biting her tongue for fear that she would blurt out something she’d later regret.

“I know, I know.” Alfred raised his hands above his chest in submission. “I gotta work on the language, that’s why no one’ll take me, yeah?”

“Well…yes.” Yuko’s grip on her pencil tightened, slowly tracing a stem from the center of her flower. “You beat me to it this time. But it’s not just that.”

“Eh?”

“He’s robbing us blind.” She furrowed her brow as her concentration grew, carefully plotting the positions of the leaves. “Thirty percent is not reasonable, and you know it as well as I do.”

Crossing his arms and stretching his legs, Alfred shook his head. “What other option do we have? I mean, maybe if you could work too then-”

The fine movements of Yuko’s fingers came to a halt. Dropping her pencil and holding her head in her hands, she again shrugged off Alfred moving in to comfort her.

“Hey hey, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” His breath hitched in the back of his throat as his hands were bumped back into his face.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be mad.” Yuko snapped back. “You don’t think I want to work? I hate being in here all day.”

A wave of shock and, interestingly enough, gratitude crashed over Alfred at Yuko’s outburst. Finally, she was showing some more transparency regarding her discontent. It wasn’t just her father. Alfred knew, despite the rehearsed smiles, despite the motherly waves as Lucy trudged out the door in the mornings to meet with Kazuma, Yuko wanted some freedom of her own instead of standing by and caring for others who took it for granted.

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“Well, if you wanna work-”

“It’s not that easy.” Cutting him off again, Yuko raised her head to meet Alfred’s worried eyes. “The one interpreting session I had with Mister Kamoi - there was a man who kept staring at me and I can only assume he knows my face from somewhere. It’s too much of a risk for all of us.”

She couldn’t stand to relive the memory. Two weeks ago, at a table with three Canadian missionaries and a group of local bankers, Kazuma had called upon Yuko for a trade: two hours of her time for ten-thousand yen. A flood of confidence fired up within her the moment she gained her footing in the dealings, until it all dried up the instant one of the bankers refused to look anywhere else but straight into Yuko’s eyes.

“But he didn't say he knew you, right?” Alfred questioned.

Yuko nodded. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t say anything to me.”

“So for all we know, he just thought you were a looker, which would be right! No need for you to worry, but me on the other hand, I’m afraid my girl’s too popular.”

He thanked the stars as Yuko actively snuggled underneath his arm, perfectly satisfied and foolishly content with their current state on the floor.

“Either way, we don’t want to risk it. Osaka is smaller than it looks.” Yuko picked at her nailbeds until Alfred’s hand captured her twiddling fingers.

“You know.” Alfred laughed as he rested his head atop Yuko’s hair, “I remember a night like this one where you said we shouldn’t worry about your dad, but seems to me like you’ve changed your tune.”

“I know,” Yuko moaned. “But a part of me wonders if maybe you were right. About him, and us.”

“‘Us’? What do you mean?”

“We’re still not married, don’t you understand?” Yuko’s tone was sharp and blunt. “I don’t want to keep playing house when I can’t even be in public with my family.” Her quip ended in a small whisper, fingers returning to their assault on her nail beds despite Alfred’s tight grip.

“Is…is that what this fear is all about? The whole ‘living with your boyfriend and not your husband’ deal?” Alfred wanted to laugh, it sounded so ridiculous to his ears, but he forced himself to view it from a woman’s lense, for Yuko’s sake.

“It’s perfectly natural to feel that way. People talk. And you were the one who told me we have to be married to get settled.” Yuko blushed, looking down at her drawing still in her lap. “I’m still worried about my father too.” Placing her paper on the table, she patted Alfred’s arm. “He’s a man very set in his ways, Alfred. I don’t know if you two would get along.”

“Hey, I’m marrying you, not him!”

“‘You marry the family when you marry the girl,’ isn’t that an expression?”

The two continued their back and forth as Alfred rose them up from their seats, plucking his fingers over the candle flames and leading them towards the stairs.

“I’ll marry you, Yuko, and I’ll talk more with Kazuma, get a steady job, then we can meet your dad and you can go out and do whatever you want, okay? No more babysitting us.”

“Well you had better hurry along, Al."

Yuko used all of her strength to force a smile, hands again interlocked with Alfred’s as they climbed the stairs and slugged their way into their bedroom.

Beyond the wall, Lucy lay on her side, running her hand over the tatami floor while the pair's voices flowed from the other room.

Great, lost my spot.

Lucy rolled over and placed her pillow above her head. No sweet dreams greeted her as she hit the futon over an hour ago. So far the night had passed with nothing but memories of disappointed shop owners, broken Japanese, and failed interviews - always ending with Kazuma trailing ten paces ahead of her with no words of comfort.

How could God have allowed this to happen? How low had she fallen to desire praise from her captor?

Is this it? Is this life from here on out?

She let out a slow breath, repositioning herself on her back as she fell again into prayer.

Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive us our debts,

As we also have forgiven our debtors.