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“It’s when a person looks Asian but acts white.” Enzo is doing his best, but I am lost. Is that an actual thing? I mean, I wasn’t fully aware of the Blasian thing or Afro-Asian, as Enzo always called himself.
“So, what are you, a chocolate twinkie? No, wait, Like a banana chocolate twinkie. That doesn’t sound half bad. Wait, is that right? Or maybe it would need stripes.” I really like food, especially dessert. “How are Asians supposed to act?” I scratch my head, trying to solve a problem I didn’t know I had.
“Not like we do, I guess. My mom talks about growing up in Japan, how their generation, aside from my mom being a black sheep, they were eager to please their parents.” It’s all fun and games until things get personal. “Have you ever met your Japanese grandma before?”
“Only once.” I step away from him, not because the question makes me uncomfortable; I just don’t see a point in making a comment.
“And how did she act?” Enzo stands up behind me, rubbing my shoulders.
“Like I ruined her son’s life. Like her son could do no wrong, and it was my fault I was born. Defaming him from having a full-blooded Japanese child.” I remember that memory the most; I think about his mother when I think about my dad. How she treated me like I wasn’t good enough. Somehow, I knew I would never be good enough.
My mother wasn’t with us. This is strange because she wanted to be next to him wherever he was. My grandmother’s couch was covered in that thick plastic old people had. She wanted me to call herBaa-Baa; she didn’t think I could sayObachan.“It’s whatmy grandchildrencall me,” she said. As if I was not one of them.
“Don’t let it hurt your feelings. My Japanese grandmother wouldn’t even speak to my mom until she had me. She thinks my mom betrayed her by even marrying an American, a black one. I was the first son in four generations. So I guess my grandmother thought I was lucky enough to forgive my mom.” He taps his chest, and I swear his cocky side comes out of the blue.
“How chivalrous of you to be born and build those bridges back up.” I twirl and tighten my arms around his torso.
“I am just doing my duty to humanity, babe.” Enzo kisses me just as his sister yells dinner is ready.
We all squish together on a table fit for four people. Enzo and his brother fight over a few more gyoza; Kumiko sits on her husband’s lap. But Enzo’s father doesn’t look at me once, and if I catch his eye, he soon finds something else that suits his attention better.
You know when you just fit with someone? That feeling of belonging grows itself onto what you believe is true. Enzo puts an arm around my chair and brings me closer. He and his siblings are fighting over who was the one who named their childhood dog. And I can’t help but smile. I can’t help but love the noise of a family bonding over their bloodlines.
Kumiko leans her head against Enzo’s father’s shoulder. Her smile is grateful as her table is complete with all her children brought together. When she finds me staring, she winks at me. As if I am the reason I provided her son back to his home. But Enzo’s father doesn’t feel the same; I can sense his blame. I may have been the reason Enzo is home this weekend, but I am the one who made him stay away. I was the one to allow him to explore. It was my hand offering him freedom he never knew.
I shield my eyes from his stern expression. It doesn’t make me cower like it would have when I was a child. There is nothing I can change, nothing I can do without switching his mindset. I’ve known a grandfather just like him. But it does make me curious; I must look like his wife share similar features to his daughters. Yet, he views me as an outcast.
It might be the love for his son and his expectations for him. But I wonder if Enzo’s dad is only critical because he doesn’t want history repeating itself. No matter what the past has told us.
Enzo’s father, Benji, which I learn is his name when Kumiko slaps his chest when he comments about her reaching something off the middle shelf in the pantry. Benji’s skin is pure. It is smooth as Enzo’s is. The depth of shade on his flesh has made him a strong man. There isn’t much else to say, except everything about him is intense. His Navy mindset, his clenched jaw, the way his wedding band on his finger makes the skin underneath a little lighter.
You learn a lot when you don’t interact; instead, just observe. I see a family reminiscing and rejoicing in the claims of familiarity. Two brothers, two sisters, daughters and sons, a loving mother and respected father. It might bring a tear to my eye if I was alone, among strangers instead of my boyfriend’s family.
Before we say our goodbyes, we spend the weekend there and head to Montana to take pictures of Yellowstone National Park.
At the end of our last day, Kumiko embraces me; the sisters do as well. I even get a side hug from Kage, but there goes the family farewell. Kumiko makes Enzo promise to come back for the holidays. She is still holding onto his hand as we walk out the door. He is loved. He is wanted. He is adored.
When we get to the hotel near the airport, Enzo is withdrawn. He goes into the bathroom and turns on the shower. I give him his space; I turn on the TV and flip through the channels. It’s thirty minutes, and he hasn’t made a noise. My fingers knock on the door, and when he doesn’t respond, I open it to find him on the toilet, staring at the lines on the tile.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” Enzo laughs when he says it is a mistake. “Sometimes, you aren’t here like you live in your head. You know I can’t be a part of that. Sorry, it’s been a weird weekend. Can we just go to bed?” Enzo’s voice is exhausted.
But I don’t know what changed from the ride from his parents’ house to our hotel. He has collapsed into a man who wants no part of loving in less than an hour.
Words are not enough to express when you feel defeated and defied by all odds. I don’t let Enzo continue. I sit on his lap, bring my fingertips to curl underneath his shirt, and undress us until we are both naked and vibrating, vulnerable to each other.
The steam from the shower fogs up the mirror. Enzo stares at me, and I look at him until he starts coming back to life, until we are on the same page again, not running in separate directions to save ourselves.
“I love you, Enzo.” My hands shape his face. “I love you. Not Kenzo, son of Benji or Kumiko. I love you right now. Sweaty in a steaming hotel bathroom we can’t afford, but I figured we earned it. I love you, with everything inside of my spirit.” I whisper it, hoping his heart listens.
It isn’t my moans echoing on the walls; it’s Enzo’s. He bear hugs me, tight to his chest, as he flexes himself up into me. A cry for release begging on his lips, a plea for freedom from the negative thoughts in his head.
We focus on each other because that is the only thing in front of us right now. It is the only thing that matters. Not the words Enzo’s father put in his head that make him think differently. Or the guilt he feels for being away from home. He is an adult, and whatever choice Enzo makes, I will support it. Even if we are the last ones standing, especially then.
We shower and renew, the mood a little lighter as we crawl into bed. A few hours of sleep before we are up to catch our flight. I lay my head on his chest as Enzo runs his fingers through my hair. The view is unbeatable. I have seen towering skyscrapers, endless mountains rising above the clouds, green seas, and blue oceans.
But my eyesight sees the dips and curves of a man I love. The way he is toned with hip bones, angling a V down to those majestic precious jewels and undeniable dick between his legs.
I laugh, my mouth burrowing into his peck as I think about it.
