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“It is across from Tokyo, on the other side of Tokyo Bay. Sometimes we would take field trips and drive all around the bay to go to Kamakura. There you see the great Buddha Hall. When we were little, my sisters and I would chase each other and play tag. But our mother would always get after us to be respectful.” Kumiko covers her mouth as she giggles at the mischievous memories from her childhood.
“I have always wanted to travel to Japan.” It is on my list, but I put it off because I need it to be the best one yet. “Enzo and I have talked about it when I get some time off from other jobs.”
“So you shall, you see it. You experience it. It is half of you, but in your heart, it fills you up to be whole. If you grew up in Japan, they would call you Hafu, meaning half Japanese.” Kumiko purses her lips as she thinks about it. “It is better you are raised here in the States, and my children. My daughters call themselves Blasian. But I don’t know the lingo of the world today. So many things change, phrases, people, places. I had a friend when I was young after coming to the States; her name was Gay. Back then, it meant happy, but now it means. Do you want me to tell you what it means, Phoebe?” Kumiko leans in close, waiting for my answer.
I can only grin and nod.
“It means a person takes a lover with the same parts and gets together romantically.” Kumiko’s eyes widened, waiting for my shock. Her daughters laugh; I bite my tongue.
“My mother thought me marrying an American was the end of the world; if I did that, I might as well be dead.” She puffs out her cheeks and throws her hands at the idea. Kumiko laughs a little, making a shy joke for my convenience.
When I get my slight giggle under control, I try to steer the conversation somewhere safe.
“So you said you have sisters?” I soak my fingers to wet them as I outline the edges of the gyoza skins.
“Yes, three sisters. I am the second oldest. In Japanese tradition, the oldest daughter will live with the parents and take care of them as they become elderly. Thank goodness I was not born first. Or I would have stayed in the Japanese ways.” Kumiko is quiet for a few minutes, going through her mind of how she got here. “Excuse me.” She wipes her hands on her apron and walks out of the room.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset her.” I watch as Kumiko vanishes up the stairs.
“Don’t worry, it isn’t your fault. Mama loves to talk about Japan, where she grew up, her family. There isn’t much she loves more, except the family she has now.” Kanae smiles at me, and if I guess, I might say she is the oldest.
“Plus, her mom died last year. So, there is always a point when she is happy to tell stories, but she remembers she wasn’t there to share the last years with her.” Kasumi explains the real reason, and I see Kanae shake her head at her sister.
Family secrets are meant to be kept in the family. Maybe that includes me now.
“We’ve never seen Kenzo so happy.” Kasumi smirks at me, wanting to know my secrets. “The photos he sends our mother, he is a new person.”
“Traveling the world and having adventures does that to a person.”
“No,, this is different. It’s like he isn’t being controlled; he isn’t holding back who he is.” I find it strange on our first meeting she would divulge such tidbits to me.
But I brush it off because he is Enzo; fried calamari makes the guy grin.
“I guess we are both lucky then.” I smile as Kumiko comes back into the kitchen to finish dinner.
Enzo finally makes his reappearance after what feels like forever. He points to the backyard, and I follow through the backdoor. We sit on a picnic table, chipping with red paint. Enzo leans back, feeling the sun on his face, his elbows balancing on the table.
“You never told me your mom was born in Japan.” I poke him in the side, and he grabs my hand and tickles the lifelines on my palm.
“Why does it matter?” I love the laugh at the beginning of his voice.
“Um, your girlfriend is a travel junkie.” I point to myself. “And come on, Tokyo? Like how many times have we planned to go there together?” I start fanning myself from the pure possibility of witnessing our culture firsthand.
“You’re cute when you get like this.” Enzo leans forward, grabbing my hip to bring me between his legs.
“Like what? A total spazz trying to keep it together and not begging your mom to tell me every tiny detail of Japan?” My hands go smooth against his shaved sides.
“Like you don’t know everything in the world, but you will try and fuck anyone else if they get in your way. Because you want the stories, tears, death, birth. All of it. You want it.” He is proud of me, he has told me before. But his words always make it better to know he still thinks highly of me.
“Of course I do.” I bend my head down to kiss his lips. I close my eyes and hold us together, keeping our lips lingering on each other.
“Do you know what a Twinkie is?” Pulling away, I watch as he slowly opens his eyes again.
“Obviously.” I mean, I was a kid who was left home alone and survived on junk food; it is surprising I am not triple my size right now.
“No, I mean the slang term or the racial term. Like yellow on the outside, white on the inside.” This is out of the blue, or might be another fantastic history lesson.
“I haven’t heard it.”
