Chapter 31 #2
There are a few aunts, uncles, and cousins in the crowd, but it’s mostly businesspeople.
The third person Cynnie introduces me to, a bald man built like a Sumo wrestler, she calls her “number one client.” He’s effusive with his praise of her, and if he has any criticisms about her ability to get projects submitted on time, he certainly doesn’t air them.
That’s a pattern that’s repeated all around the room.
There’s nothing but smiles and praise as we circulate.
Until we get to her immediate family.
Her grandmother and stepmother are standing together with two much younger family members, whom Cynnie introduces as cousins.
Cynnie’s grandmother is wearing an impossibly stiff and complicated outfit that’s a cross between a skirt suit and a kimono, with the jacket sleeves trailing to the ground.
The silk of it is so white I’m afraid to even breathe near it for fear of marring all that whiteness.
It’s thickly embroidered with red and gold phoenixes that glare at me with jeweled eyes.
Cynnie’s stepmother, in contrast, is wearing a simple black dress.
It showcases her hourglass figure without being suggestive.
With her black hair piled high on her head, her long neck, and the simplicity of her dress, the focus is on a collar of pearls and diamonds that looks like an heirloom.
She’s maybe mid-forties and could be Cynnie’s older sister rather than her stepmother.
Cynnie introduces her as Harmony, which is good because although Cynnie’s mentioned her stepmother once or twice, I don’t know her name.
Cynnie’s grandmother introduces herself as Baachan. She makes it sound like a title. She doesn’t offer to shake my hand and I give her a bow instead, which softens her imperious expression slightly.
After a few minutes of slightly tense chit-chat, Cynnie’s father makes his way over to us.
I’m prepared for another stiff introduction, but he shakes my hand warmly.
After asking me to call him Ken, he tells me how pleased he is to meet Cynnie’s “very special friend” and asks questions that tell me Cynnie’s talked up my work with Logan.
When I express my admiration for his family business, he gives me a long explanation of the business’s history, the way-back of which was hand-carved anatomical models.
He shows me his hands, which are crisscrossed with small white scars, and laughingly tells me how relieved he was when they switched over from chisels to keyboards.
Although the rest of the group looks distinctly bored with the direction of our conversation, I ask him about 3-D printed models and he launches into another comprehensive explanation of that aspect of their business.
Cynnie chimes in on the programming behind the printing, and we draw off a little from the rest of the group when he pulls out a smartphone and shows me schematics for what look like very advanced printers.
Once Cynnie’s grandmother, stepmother, and cousins give up on our conversation and move away, Cynnie’s father tucks his phone away and holds his hand out to me again. “I know you understand what a special girl Cynnie is.”
I glance from him to her. She’s blushing furiously. “Papa.”
“Cynnie is very special,” I agree, smiling at my bumble. “She’s talented and smart. Wiser than I’ll ever be. And she spreads joy wherever she goes. I’m very lucky to be her friend.”
She blushes brighter, but a shy smile lights her face. “Thank you, Max.”
“Good,” her father says. “You understand.”
“I do. I’d never do anything to dim her joy.” I take her hand and squeeze it. “It’s precious and should be protected.”
Her father nods his gray head. “Cynnie is the flower of our family. A rare orchid. She should not be transplanted from the soil in which she grew. Do you understand me?”
I don’t. Not immediately. Did Cynnie tell him I asked her to move in with me? I can’t tell anything from her expression. Her eyes are on her father’s face. Her expression’s guarded.
“I’m not much of a gardener,” I admit. “But I know that flowers need space and sunlight, as well as good soil. I wouldn’t want to transplant Cynnie, just make sure she has the space and sunlight she needs.”
Her father smiles slowly. “We understand each other. You should come for dinner soon so you can get to know the whole family.” His eyes move from me to Cynnie. “You’ll arrange that with Baachan.”
Cynnie nods. “Yes, Papa.”
He touches her cheek with his scarred, gnarled hand. “You look especially beautiful tonight, Chinnichan. Dance with your friend and have a good night.”
Cynnie goes up on her tiptoes to brush a kiss across his cheek before she squeezes my hand and pulls me to the dance floor.
There are a few other couples dancing. No one’s doing anything fancy like waltzing, so I feel confident just pulling Cynnie into my arms and swaying to the slow, classical piece the quartet is playing.
“He likes you,” Cynnie says, smiling up at me.
“He loves you.”
She nods. “Love’s never been the problem.”
“When did he retire?”
“Officially? Five years ago. But he was still working every day until Christmas.” She takes her hand off my shoulder to tap her chest over her heart.
“He had a scare. The doctors said he had to reduce stress. So he stepped back some. He even took a vacation with Harmony in May. Two whole weeks. He’s never done that before. ”
That means asshole brother Jun has only been running the show for nine months. His tight grip is a little more understandable.
“Did your grandmother ever work in the family business?”
Cynnie nods. “She used to make models with my grandfather. When Mama died, she retired to take care of Hiro.”
She nods at one of the other couples dancing.
The people I’ve been introduced to tonight are beginning to blur, but I’ve tried to commit her immediate family to memory.
Older brother Jun has his father’s strong jaw and Cynnie’s deep eyes, but there’s no warmth in them.
Younger brother Hiro’s the most stylishly dressed man I’ve seen tonight, his brocade suit in silver and powder blue, his oval face easily splitting into Cynnie’s familiar grin.
Although he evidently aspired to be an actor when he was at school, now that he’s graduated, he’s been sucked into the family business like his siblings.
“You’ve never mentioned your mom before,” I say gently.
Her smile turns sad. “She had cancer. She had it for a long time. I remember when I was ten, she wore a bright red wig for months. I thought she looked so pretty. I didn’t understand then it was because of the chemo.
She died when I was away at college. She knew it was coming.
She called me the day before and said goodbye.
She told me it was okay to be sad but that she wanted me to stay at school, study hard, and be happy.
She said Papa would remarry and I should be kind to his new wife. I’ve tried to do everything she asked.”
“Do you get along with Harmony?”
Cynnie nods. “She’s nice. She loves Papa. She’s very quiet around Baachan and Jun’s wife, Erika. I don’t think she feels like part of the family sometimes, but I’ve tried to include her in things. She had her hair and nails and makeup done with us today.”
“That’s good. Big age difference between your dad and your stepmom,” I observe.
Cynnie giggles. “It was a big deal for a while.”
“I bet. Then everyone got over it?”
“Not Baachan. Not Jun. But I think Harmony’s good for Papa. She makes him try new things.”
“She even got him to go on vacation.”
“She did.” Cynnie leans in to whisper. “I think it was more the doctor. But she got him to leave his phone at home. That was huge.”
I chuckle.
“Does she know, about your littleness?”
Cynnie shakes her head. “She knows about the fairy kei. She doesn’t understand it, but that’s okay. She goes shopping with me sometimes. She tries. I picked out her dress for tonight.”
“It’s perfect. Puts all the attention on her necklace. Is that a family heirloom or something?”
“Yes. It’s over two hundred years old. Baachan was furious when Papa gave it to Harmony, but I think it suits her, don’t you?”
“It does.” I trickle my fingers up her arm and tickle the base of her throat. “I have something that will suit this beautiful throat. You haven’t asked me about it since I mentioned it. Are you sure you even want it?”
She swats my shoulder. “Oppa,” she whisper-hisses.
“Maybe you’re still interested in it.”
“I’z very interested in it.”
“Well, then, maybe I’ll show it to you tonight when we go home.”
“Show it me now.”
“I can’t, my demanding bumble. I don’t have it with me.”
“Bet you’z got a picture.”
“Maybe I do,” I admit.
“Show’z me!”
I grin and twirl her. “After the song’s over.”
She growls her tiny growl at me, lost in the music. I know I’m grinning at her like an idiot—and not at all like a friend—but I love playing with her so much I can’t help it.