12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Chi
For now, at least, I seem to have somehow found enough pieces of myself to function. I truly think I can push myself to see two family members who I haven’t spoken to in nearly a decade, and also through the near-Herculean task of my father and Daiki’s funeral. As long as Andy’s at my side, I can at least try.
He rubs his nose against mine. “You ready for this?”
I groan into him. “I don’t know. It’s gonna be really hard.”
“I’ll help you. Whatever you need. And remember, you don’t have to do anything. Nothing you don’t want to do, okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, giving his stubble one last peck before stretching and breathing out a long, wary, worried sigh. “Let’s go greet the fam.”
I don’t know much about my mother, but I do know one thing: She is definitely not the type of person who puts on a big show. She is just what a traditional Japanese woman should be: demure, gracious, and proper.
I get a glimpse of her from the grand entrance where we stand to greet her, and a pit forms in my stomach. I didn’t think I could possibly feel anything over the uncontrollable grief assaulting my mind and body the past few days, but it appears I can. I am determined to push whatever emotions try to surface way back down, underneath the pain of the deaths I just witnessed days ago.
She has cut her hair since the last time I saw her, but her silky, shiny black hair mirrors my own. Her eyes are also the same dark shade as mine, the same slightly rounded, almond shape, and we each have the dark red lipstick that is our trademark. As fortune would have it, apparently, I look even more like her as a young woman than as a teenager. We are even wearing similar black kimonos, which I remind myself to switch out for a dress before dinner tonight.
We both know we need to hug, so we put one arm around the other stiffly as she gives a perfunctory, “ Konbanwa , Chichi,” greeting me in Japanese.
“ Konbanwa , Chichi,” my brother parrots after her with a bow. He looks the same as he did last time I saw him, too: shaggy black hair, deep brown eyes, and a serious air hanging over him like heavy cologne. It’s easier to dismiss him than my mother. My brother might be trying to take my crown; he is nothing but a stranger who may even be an enemy. But my mother allowed the daughter she birthed to be taken from her at only four-years-old. No matter how much of a stranger she is to me, it’s hard to reconcile that.
“Good evening, Mother. Akihito,” I say nodding to each of them serenely, the very picture of a good host, aside from the fact that I’m speaking in English. “Please come in. Riku will escort you to your suite. When dinner is ready, we will send for you. We would love for you to join us.”
“Yes, of course,” my mother says, knowing that although she is the elder here, I technically outrank her and can tell her what to do. She might as well follow the rules.
“I hope you will enjoy your time with us, even though it is under such terrible circumstances. Please go unpack and relax after your long flight.” I step slightly to my right and put an arm out for them to begin walking behind Riku. I don’t actually care if they unpack or relax; I just don’t want them anywhere near me. Being around them for this long has already sapped all of my energy. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through a full dinner conversation with them.
I sit on my bed as Andy catches up on the last season of The Mandolorian , and I ponder what I’m going to say at dinner tonight, how I’m going to say it, and why I give a shit at all. Andy pauses the episode halfway through and looks over at me. “Wanna talk about it?”
I shrug, my feelings starting to fade into apathy. “I don’t think it’ll matter either way.”
Andy thinks for a moment, gnawing on his bottom lip, and then sits behind me and massages my shoulders.
I tense up at first, but as he works his way down my back, I let out a sigh and a breath. “Ohhh man, that is nice,” I say, sinking down into the mattress.
“Why are you so contemplative, Chee-chee? I’m sure you’re thinking about dinner.”
I know what he’s doing — trying to disarm me into talking about it. It’s working. “Yeah. I guess.”
“So, try me. I know my family life was different, but I’ve sat through my share of awkward dinners.” He kisses me directly under my ear, and I might as well be a thawed block of ice in a puddle on the floor.
“Fine,” I sigh, closing my eyes. “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to them in years. Of course, there’s the fact that we’re blood related, and I don’t even know them. But it never really bothered me before. I… I don’t know what it is.”
Andy continues to move down my back, and I feel the knots there loosening. “Hmm. Do you think it’s because you’re the host this time? Last time, you were only sixteen. You said you didn’t speak much. But this time, you can speak as much as you want. Is that what it is?”
I consider that idea. “Yeah, maybe. It’s definitely a little nerve-racking.”
“I’m guessing that’s part of it,” Andy says, pushing me facedown onto the mattress as he continues to work his magic. “But I wonder if them being… them is also part of it.”
“Like, them being family members?” I ask breathily.
“Yeah. I know you try to play it off like you couldn’t care less about them, but that’s your mother and brother in there. There has to be some feeling for them, even if it’s just curiosity about what could’ve been and what could be in the future.”
I nod into the pillow. To be honest, I think he’s just hit the nail on the head, but I don’t feel ready to fully accept it yet. “I think that’s also part of it,” I say quietly.
“Well, do you want to ask some questions? Let’s think of some. Dinner will be at least an hour.”
I think about that. “Hmm. Custom dictates that I make small talk as much as possible so as not to seem too invasive. Especially with an older male.”
“I’m an older male,” he says, nipping the top of my ear.
I shiver before I’m able to speak. “But you’re white. And you technically work for me.”
He responds with a hostile breath in my ear. I give a little laugh as he grinds his fingers underneath my shoulder blades. “What? I don’t make the rules.”
“Fine,” he says, attempting to steer us back on course, “but you’re the boss now, baby. You can do whatever you want.”
I bite my lip in thought. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe I’ll have to test the waters.”
“So, let’s think up some good, not-too-invasive questions.”
I mull this over for a moment. “Maybe I can ask what he likes to do and be specific. And then I can ask if he ever goes out to do the things he enjoys doing. Because honestly, those two are like hermits.”
Andy nods. “That’s good.”
I think a bit more. “Honestly, that would be a great path to take for the conversation. I’ve always wanted to know what they do for fun, if anything. Or just what they do , period. Papa…” It’s like the breath has been knocked out of me when I say his name, but I breathe deep a few times and recover. “Papa said they never go out, but I can’t imagine that’s true. They must do something. Imagine just never leaving the house? And why? If they never left the house, it would be because he was forcing them to stay there, and he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that.”
I’m immediately second guessing my assuredness about whether Papa would have done something like that or not. I can’t possibly say that out loud, but I’m pretty sure Andy already knows. If he would do something like that, I’m certainly not going to find out from my brother and my mom.
“Okay, so I can ask them if they get out and do things. What else am I supposed to ask? Why did you abandon me when I was four-years-old? What do you think of Papa’s—” my breath catches again, and I realize I’m really pushing myself by trying to discuss his death so casually. I can’t even say that it happened out loud. I’m not sure what I was thinking would happen, but a few tears squeeze out of my eyes.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I say, feeling the impending wave, trying frivolously to hold it back. “I can’t do this again. I can’t let it… I can’t break down again.”
Andy covers me with his body and shushes me. “You’ll do whatever you need to do, Chee-chee.”
“Why is it back? What did I do?” I hate this feeling, so unwanted and sudden, over a stupid sentence choice. I remember something Mara said to me the other day, while she was sitting with me, trying to calm me down as I leaked tears onto the bedspread at the safehouse. She told me that grief is not linear but messy and jagged. That it would cut her at the strangest times, even when she thought she was safe, even when she thought it was over. She told me that it’s never really over. That it’s something you have to carry with you forever, and figure out how to accompany it, rather than hide it away or fight against it.
“You didn’t do anything, Chi. This is just—”
“Okay, I know, just the way it is. I know, I just… I hate this. When will it feel better? I can’t always end up this way; I can’t stand it.”
Andy finally seems at a loss for words. He just holds me as I lose myself to the tears again.
“Time to get ready, sweet Chee-chee.” Andy nudges me awake with a slight push to the shoulder, before putting a mug of green tea in my face. “I have one of the black dresses waiting for you to change into, and I think the black shoes you were wearing should be fine.”
I look down at myself. “Okay,” I say, trying to get my bearings, feeling as hungover as I did the day I actually drank a quarter of a bottle of vodka. But at least I don’t immediately burst into tears. At least I can push myself out of bed and begin to dress for dinner.
“Remember, we can talk about anything you want. Try to stay away from the topic of your father, though. We can talk about that as much as you want, away from people who will use it to hurt you. They might bring him up, but change the subject as fast as you want if you don’t like it. Don’t try to muscle through—”
“I’m not stupid, Andy,” I say, even as a blush pushes its way into my cheeks. I’m not sure what I’m embarrassed about: the fact that I tried to talk about his death to Andy, or the fact that I wasn’t able to. “I’m not going to try to talk about it in front of people I barely know. I’m going to treat them as strangers.”
Andy gives me a nod as I go to put my hair up in a bun. “You should keep it down,” he says, pushing my hands away.
“I’m going for formal here. I need to put it up.” He goes to argue again, and I just shoot him an exasperated look. “Andy, I’m already not going to be taken seriously anywhere I go. I think we both know that. The least I can do is try my best to seem imposing, even if I’m really not. Fake it till you make it. Or at least until you convince everyone else of it.”
He backs off immediately. “I didn’t think of that. Well, I have thought of that, but I didn’t think about it in this situation. I just want you to be able to look however you want to look.”
I sigh wistfully. “Maybe one day.” I give him a knowing, side-long glance. “And I think you mean to say that you want me to look however you want me to look.”
“You like it down, too!” he protests, but I see the humor behind his expression.
I can’t help but smile along with him as I twist my hair on top of my head. “Just a tip: every woman would rather wear their hair in a bun. Maybe not this type, but a messy bun or a messy ponytail is the easiest and most comfortable hairstyle. You think we want hair all over us all the time? We keep it like that to look pretty.”
He grabs me from behind and bear hugs me. “You always look beautiful.”
There’s just something about him — his reassurances, his touch, his full acceptance of the things that are important to me — that gives me strength and resolve for what I have to do. I feel myself smile genuinely as I close my eyes to revel in that feeling of security. “Thank you.”
Before we enter the large ballroom that we’ll be eating in this evening, I mentally prepare myself the same way I always do for a tense meeting. It feels good to put my skills to use again after being stuck in the seemingly endless loop of crying, and crying, and crying — trying to keep my grief from killing me. But it seems I can do it. It seems I’m able to slip into this ice princess shell that I’ve always donned. Ice queen. You’re the queen now , I correct myself, with a half-smile.
I draw myself up straight and tall, smooth down the blazer I’ve put over my dress, and walk through the doors with my chin up, breath held, surveying everything as if from a mountaintop instead of my five-foot stature. I sigh the breath out slowly as the familiar openness and natural light of the ballroom hit my senses first, feeling strength just from that.
My mother and Akihito already wait — early, like good guests should be — and they stand as I walk into the room. I bow slightly to them before I take my seat at the head of the table. “I am so glad you could join us. Please, sit.”
They both nod to me as well before sitting at the other end of the table. My mother sits across from me, and my brother at her right hand. At my right hand is Mara, and there is an empty seat for Andy, who I’m sure will be here any moment.
“We are so glad to be here, Chichi,” my mother says, her eyes on the tablecloth. “We are heartbroken at your father’s passing. If you require anything of us, please let us know.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat at the mention of my father. I’m going to have to get used to this quickly; there will be a lot of people here tomorrow. I give a simple nod. “Thank you,” I push out, barely above a whisper.
I deftly change the subject. “I hope you will enjoy your time here as much as possible. We have the tennis court and the indoor pool. It’s a bit small, but you can exercise or practice diving. We have multiple instructors on call at a moment’s notice. I can arrange for a fencing or karate sparring match. What kinds of things do you like to do?”
I think I might be speaking a bit too fast in my hunger for more knowledge about them, but I don’t think it’s obvious, and even if it is, I don’t care. Anyone would want to learn more about mysterious, estranged immediate family members.
“That is so generous, Chichi.” My brother dips his head in gratitude. “However, I believe Mother and I are quite tired from the trip and the jet lag. I imagine it will be hard for us to do much before we go back tomorrow.
I’m almost positive my brother is trying to skirt the question, so I try again. “Oh, that’s okay. But I’m curious; what are some things you like to do? Do you like karate? I think it is quite an art.”
My brother swallows, looking uncomfortable, and seems to pass to my mother without speaking. She also looks uncomfortable, folding her hands together in front of her and gathering herself before she speaks. “I enjoy watching martial arts, but I don’t practice it,” she says.
I decide I might as well push; I am queen now, and she is a woman. I’m glad my brother punted to her, because it would be a little more difficult to question him the way I’m about to question my mother. “Which martial art do you prefer, Mother?”
She fidgets with her plate and napkin, straightening them out. “I enjoy Tai Chi.”
“Oh, I love Tai Chi! I just like practicing karate better. I have a Tai Chi master too, though, if you’d like me to call him?”
“That won’t be necessary,” my brother says, cutting in and apparently saving my mother from having to make any sort of small talk with me at all.
I internally roll my eyes, but instead of doing so outwardly as well, I give him a hard look. “How about you, brother? Would you accept my hospitality?”
He looks at me, finally, like I am skirting on the edge of going too far. And I like it. All I’m doing is asking a question. Am I not allowed to ask questions of these two complete question marks? I should know them like the back of my hand. And I would know them if they had been a true mother and brother to me.
“As we said, Chichi, we are jet-lagged. Perhaps next time.”
“Very well, brother. At least make conversation with me. What do you enjoy practicing? Karate? Tai Chi? Jui Jitsu?”
“Ninjitsu,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Like Daiki.”
I lose my breath, and my expression falters. Mara grabs my hand under the table and squeezes, her eyes boring into me, saying, You’ve got this . I recover, to some degree, relatively quickly. “Well, we have plenty of guards around who, I imagine, are well versed in that particular study. And we have plenty of prop weapons in the sparring room. You know, if you change your mind.”
Our first course comes out: a traditional onion soup. Andy comes in as the chef does, and walks past him to the seat on my left. He greets my mother and Akihito with a small head bow before he sits down. My poor chef tries to stand as poised as possible while he serves us himself. I’m certain my mother and brother realize this is not the norm — having the chef come out to serve while he nervously jitters upon setting each plate down on the table, but I don’t really care about that. Let them realize that I’ve taken these measures because I think they might poison me. Perhaps then they’ll be even less apt to try anything.
“I hope you enjoy the soup,” I say, as they wait for me to take the first bite. This is another custom we have set at our table: that the host enjoys first. However, I feel a more urgent reasoning in their gaze. I’m almost positive they want to make sure I’m not poisoning them. Of course, I could have had someone put it in their soup after they scooped it into the bowls, but I see them visibly relax anyway after I take my first bite, and they cautiously sip their own.
“How do you like what we’ve done with the place since the last time you saw it? It’s been a long time. Ten years or so?”
The longer they’ve been away, the less frequently we have visited with each other. I’m not sure how or why eight years went by without me being in on their meetings, but I do know that Daiki saw them more in Japan than my father or I ever did. That was partially my doing, too. I wasn’t interested in Japan. I just thought I’d have more time with my father to show me… Don’t think about that.
“The rugs are very nice,” I catch my mother saying as I come back to the conversation.
My breath catches as I think of my father, who chose the rugs himself although they are obviously the ugliest part of this mansion. Every time I think about them, a thrum of grief strikes my heart. Maybe Mara was right. Perhaps I should have had them put away for now.
The only thing that saves me from showing my distress is that the level of small talk and false flattering happening right now hurts almost as much as the mention of the rugs. Outwardly, I give a cloying smile and say, “I’m so glad you think so. I was talking more about the staff, the guards, the updated technology and such?”
“I have certainly noticed the extra cameras,” Akihito pipes in.
My eyes dart to his. Out of all the new items here, it’s too strange of a coincidence that he mentions this before anything else.
He puts down his spoon carefully. “I have been trained to notice them, of course.”
I have no appetite, but I take a lingering sip of soup anyway. “Of course,” I repeat, hoping that he feels the burn of my eyes.
He clears his throat. “I also do love the sparring rooms.”
“Mmmhmmm,” I say, with another sip off my spoon.
A moment later, the servers come out, Cas hulking around behind them, watching each intently as they serve us. Andy also seems to have eagle eyes on them. They’d need to have a death wish to hurt someone at this table. If there was so much as a whiff of suspicion, they’d be killed on the spot.
With that in mind, I allow the servers to load my plate up with my favorite foods, even though I doubt I’ll be able to taste the special Udon noodles that Kenji makes.
“So, tell me about Japan,” I say as the servers leave. “How are the pachinko parlors? Wisteria Games? The clubs?” I search my brain for everything we own in Japan, but all I remember are the little gambling rooms and a gaming company. I’m certain we own a few clubs, but for the life of me, I can’t even remember what they’re called.
My mother nods and says in a meek voice, “They continue to keep our family prosperous.” She takes care of all of the finances, or, in other words, she checks all the books over to make sure no one is stealing from us by skimming off the top.
I turn to my brother and decide to be bolder than I’ve been all night — perhaps bolder than I’ve ever been before in my life. “You must enjoy the clubs, brother, don’t you? I go out to the ones we own here all the time. Which do you frequent most often?”
His gaze back to me straddles the line of politeness. It’s almost downright insubordinate. “I prefer to keep up with my studies and help Mother take care of the finances and run the businesses. Remember, Chichi, someone is always managing these small details behind the scenes.”
“Keep up with your studies?” I laugh. “I’m the 24-year-old here, and I don’t take college courses anymore.”
Akihito inclines his head, but I know it’s all a false concession. “Certainly, Chichi. Some of my studies are life-long, unfortunately.”
I observe him thoroughly for a long moment as I try to savor a piece of squid. I usually like the smooth, chewy texture, but today it just feels like too much work for my mouth. Still, I’m happy to have something to occupy myself with, since I’m at a loss for what to say. I don’t think I should bring up the Ninjitsu again because it’s a topic that hits a little too close to home, but I feel the need to know what studies he’s talking about bubble up inside of me.
Finally, as I finish chewing and swallow, I can’t hold it in any longer. “You’re right; I still study fencing and karate. What do you still study? Ninjitsu?”
He holds my gaze for a moment before nodding slowly. At least he isn’t lying.
I pick up a skewer of Chicken Yakitori and slide a piece off the end with my teeth. I see Andy watching me out of the corner of my eye, and although I enjoy the fact that this is likely seducing him, it’s not my intention. I’m really just having a hard time with this food that I’ve always loved but tastes like sawdust to me right now. “I’d love to see your skills sometime. I wonder if they could hold up against me in the sparring room.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a full twenty seconds while the table falls silent. Finally, I crack a smile and give a light laugh. “I’m kidding, of course. How inappropriate that would be! But it would be a funny sight!”
Akihito tries to hide it, but the laugh he makes next is uncomfortable, to say the least.
“No, but really, I’d love to see your skills. I’m so interested to see what you can do.”
He clears his throat again, for the third time tonight, and looks down at his nearly empty plate. “Yes, sister. Perhaps one day.”