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“Ow-wa! Hi!” Miyoko rubbed at the back of her head. “Jeez, you psycho. Why would anyone ever trust you with a gun?”
“Mind your manners or I’ll use it on you.”
“Psycho!” she shouted.
Michiko led them farther into the house.
“Hey. Did you see that top I was telling you about? You promised you would check it out.” Miyoko was on her knees, looking over the back of the couch as they walked away, and Kimberly couldn’t help but be charmed by the precocious teen.
“Yes, Princess Koko, I did.” Michiko waited a beat and Kimberly thought the girl was going to fall off the back of the sofa if she craned any farther. Michiko dropped her duffle and kept going. “It’s in the bag, brat. You better ace this course or I’m returning it.”
With a squeal of delight, Miyoko bounded off the couch and sprinted for her sister’s bag.
As they rounded the corner, Michiko explained, “Miyoko struggles a lot in school. She has trouble staying focused. So, when she sees something she likes, she lets me know about it. If she passes a test or brings home a good grade, I go and pick something out from her wish list. It’s a good system so far. Kid’s got better grades this year than she ever has. I’m going to be broke by the time she gets through college, though.”
Now Kimberly was even more pissed. First the ho was stealing her place, and now she couldn’t even hate the woman because she loved her kid sister.
“You never did that for me,” came a singsong voice from the kitchen table. Another beautiful young girl sat there, painting her nails.
“Because you never have bad grades,” Michiko told her with an eye roll. “You got a graduation trip.”
The girl smirked at her fingers. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I forgot. Hey! Did you bring back my suit?”
“It’s in my duffle.” Michiko kept walking. She sailed out the back door and across a large square backyard dotted with trees and a huge picnic bench, and right into the next unit.
Here was the source of the amazing scent in the air. The kitchen in this unit was larger than the one they’d just passed through. There was a large granite island in the middle with a stove behind it that looked restaurant quality. Standing at the counter was the strangest and least expected sight Kimberly had ever thought to see.
“Ma,” Michiko said, and hurried forward to kiss her creased cheek. “This is Sam, Dean and Kimberly. Guys, this is my mother, Miwa.”
Miwa was barely over five feet and looked as thin and fragile as a hot house flower. She was also dressed like a cowgirl. A sparkly one. There was a dusky blue rhinestone-covered cowboy hat on her head, and she wore huge teardrop earrings of sapphire crystal that dragged at her lobes until the costume jewelry brushed her shoulders. She’d gone with a white cotton button-up adorned with an honest-to-goodness bolo tie and a blue bedazzled vest that even Liberace would’ve thought twice about wearing. She had a matching miniskirt to go with the vest, and Kimberly’s eyes popped at her navy alligator skin boots when she danced her way around the counter to greet them. She had rings on every finger and more makeup than Dolly Parton. She also looked about as friendly as the country singer, too.
Hellos were exchanged and Kimberly was gratified to see that the guys were just as mesmerized by Michiko’s mom as she was. The woman beamed at them as though surprise guests were a gift and spoke in heavily accented English as she told them about their dinner. Yakisoba, crab fried rice, gyoza, steamed cabbage, and fresh spring rolls. Kimberly’s knees almost buckled.
They were eating out on the picnic table tonight, so Kimberly and the guys helped bring out platters and set the table. Miwa beamed over them as her feast was laid out. She had her cell in her hands and spoke in rapid Japanese for her audience as she panned and took in the incredible meal she’d prepared. It was obvious how much she was enjoying herself—she was positively glowing. Kimberly could clearly see the beauty she’d passed on to her daughters in her wide wrinkled face.
The food was amazing. Kimberly had never in her life enjoyed a meal more. Damnit, now she’d have to make friends with the Kimbo just so she could keep coming over for dinner.
“Miwa,” Kimberly told her once her taste buds would allow her to slow between bites enough to talk, “thank you so much for this. It’s amazing. No wonder you run a cooking channel. The world needs your food in order to continue thriving.”
“God knows I do now,” Dean said, still shoveling ravenously. Miwa beamed.
“I’m going to have to start watching your channel,” Sam told her. “I love to cook but I’ve never ventured into Asian dishes before. You’ve inspired me.”
Miwa clasped her hands in front of her heart and positively glowed under the praise.
“Speaking of inspiration,” Kimberly said, “I just gotta say. Miwa, I love your look. Is that, like, your gimmick for your channel?”
The three sisters at the table snickered; Miwa only beamed brighter.
“No, that’s no gimmick,” Michiko said with affectionate resignation in her voice. “That’s Miwa’s everyday look. Ma thinks she’s a cowboy.”
Miwa nodded emphatically and slapped her hand on the table.
“I cowboy,” she told them proudly and struck a pose with one hand on her hat and turned sideways to lift her cowboy boot in the air. “My mother and my Japanese friends tell me, ‘dress proper. Dress like good Japanese lady.’ But I tell them, no! I cowboy. I left Japan because I want to be cowboy, and now I am.”
“She’s dressed like this my whole life,” Michiko said and shook her head at her mother with a tender expression. “Every time she came to one of our school functions, people always thought she was going to a costume party.”
“One of my teachers thought she worked in a western bar and those were her work clothes.”
