Sea Salt and Shells

“You want me to take my shoes off? I’ll get wet.” Yako dismounts and takes a handful of the skirt to lift it up enough that the seafoam can’t reach it. 

Kanetsugu already holds his own sandals in one hand and offers to carry hers. “My lovely wife, we can’t bring civilization to the beach! It’s free and wild. You’ll like it.” 

“I’m only doing this because you wouldn’t leave me alone, husband.” 

“You suggested we come here, as I recall.” 

Yako purses her lips and turns away from his smirk. She slips her shoes off and leaves them behind in favor of walking towards the shore. 

The water, still cold from springtime, washes over her toes. A breeze pulls strings of dark hair from her updo and blows them in every direction. But she’s not annoyed by it: the wind is free, just like he had said. Yako tucks the strands back behind her ears and peeks over her shoulder. 

Really, she thinks, she could do better without the painful stench of raw fish. However, any complaint to come from her lips would go over Kanetsugu’s head. 

He paces around, using his loose shirt as a net to hold shells he finds. With every step, the edges clatter together. 

The breeze brings his faint floral scent wafting forward. She likes it, the smell, and how it contrasts from the sharp salt of the air. There’s also the crispness of the forest clinging to her clothes and the humidity of the ocean hanging in her hair. 

Yako takes off, walking along the edge of the water and land, suspended on the wet shore. She goes without much idea of where, but she figures she’ll find her way. Kanetsugu can entertain himself a bit longer with his search for shells. 

It’s only been a few minutes and she already has droplets of seawater crowning her hair. Yako had planned on bathing (with Kanetsugu) anyways and, if anything, she has all the more reason to do so now. It would be the perfect chance for her husband to rinse the sand off her feet and perhaps also massage her muscles from the horse ride.

From the corner of her eye, Yako sees a beautiful clam shell. The blues and purples look unrealistic almost, and it seems perfectly whole. She thinks about picking it up – that Kanetsugu might like it for his amateur collection. Instead, she simply dusts the sand from its surface with her toe and then continues walking, knowing he will find it now.

Yako squints against the dense fog. It wasn’t like this when they set out on the beach, so she supposes the wind must have blown the humidity to land. It’s not nearly the end of the beach, for it stretches endlessly in either direction. 

“Are you thinking about anything in particular?” 

Yako turns her attention from the white-topped waves and gives Kanetsugu her attention. “Perhaps.” 

“You’ve been silent for a long time. It’s a nice change.” 

To this, Yako reaches into her sleeve to draw her fan out and smack Kanetsugu with it. “You love the sound of my voice!”

He extends a hand and offers to embrace her. His skin is wet with dew from the sea, but Yako tips her head against his neck without a care. “Tell me what is on your mind.” 

  Yako inhales. 

A tiny crab skitters across the sand in front of her. Then, Yako hears a flock of birds overhead and tips her chin up to watch them fly. But then, her attention turns to the soft sound of faraway waves crashing breaking against each other. Everything sinks into her skin as she inhales slowly... 

  She turns around suddenly, as though a miraculous clarity has set upon her mind. The sun is brighter, the water feels colder, her lips taste of salt but she knows that he will kiss her regardless. “Are you collecting those for the nursery, Kanetsugu?” 

“Why, yes, I do think so.” 

Yako’s smirk fades as quickly as it had appeared. It is now replaced with a scowl, and she nearly pouts. Kanetsugu approaches, a grin stretching across his own features. She’s already smacked him earlier today, so she won’t do it again, despite the painful urge to do so. 

“You’ve known as long as I have, haven’t you?” 

“Perhaps even before you.” 

She swallows her words and almost feels disappointed with herself until Kanetsugu takes her hand. It’s warm, unlike the spray of the sea. “I was rather hoping to surprise you.” There’s more sadness in her voice than she intended, and it spurs Kanetsugu to cup her face with that hand. 

“Hearing you say it plainly brings me great joy.” 

“I would hope so.” 

She cranes her head a bit to the right and wonders what lies beyond the ocean, there in the distance where the fog obscures her current view. If Yako squints hard enough, she can see the glow of the late afternoon sun pressed against the line where the sky meets the sea. 

“We should start heading back.” 

But neither of them move for a moment. 

Yako tips her head down and notices the white ringlets of seawater painting the edge of her kimono. She smells like roe and her hair is in disarray, but she still can’t bring herself to leave. 

Kanetsugu produces one of the shells he had found – it is the brilliant purple one she had discovered earlier. “We will come back to explore the beach further one day. And if not us, then our child will.” He places the treasure into her palm. “This will be our gift to them.” He smiles, his hair backlight by the sun that has finally appeared through the dissipating clouds. 

Yako smiles back. 

Taking a deep breath of the salty air, she makes her last wish: Yako hopes, in the distant future, that someone will love their child as much as Kanetsugu loves her. And maybe, their lover will bring them to the beach as well. 

“You can carry me back now.” 

“I thought you’d ask me earlier.” 

Kanetsugu shifts to put the other shells into his pocket, but Yako holds her hands out, offering to carry them. With the shells in her skirt, He lifts her with ease and makes sure to hold her close. 

Yako presses her head against his chest, and she begins to play with the string from his shirt while she sorts through the shells. None of them are as beautiful as the purple one, though. It winks at her, almost teasing her for being so secretive about her affection, even if she can’t help it. 

Lifting it to the light a bit, Yako supposes, that indeed, the shells would look good in the nursery.