by Lia London
“Uh-huh.” She upped the volume with her remote. “Big break for your career, or big break for your love life?”
“What do you know about my love life, Grammy?” asked Barth, shifting under her scrutiny.
“I’m only saying don’t go breaking hearts—yours or hers. Workplace romances don’t always—”
“Aw, Grammy. You don’t know.” He waved her words away, clenching his toes at the hint of panic rising in his stomach.
“She’s looking good, though,” said Grammy, pointing. “I ain’t never seen her so smiley up there. Could it be we got good news tonight?”
Chieko’s co-host, Ryan Tyler chose that moment to echo MarLee’s sentiment. “You look extra chipper today, Chieko. Have a good week?”
“Why yes, Ryan,” said Chieko, beaming at the camera. “The best I’ve had in ages.”
“You’ll have to tell us all about it in your next roving report.”
Barth frowned. Didn’t Ryan know she wasn’t doing those?
Chieko didn’t flinch, though. Tapping the pencil in her hand on the news desk, she shrugged. “I love it here in the Northwest.”
“Rain and all?”
Flashing her best smile at the camera, Chieko said, “We can make our own sunshine, right? Like these kids in Mrs. Flanders’ kindergarten class who …” She went on to report on a group of local children making Sunshine Boxes to send to people affected by the volcano eruption in Guatemala.
Barth watched her dreamily, his ears foggy to the words as he remembered their kiss at OMSI. He hoped coming back to work with her on Monday might be the start of an active second half—nothing risky, of course. His father, Grammy and Pappy had raised him right.
“You really like this one, Bartholomew?” Grammy MarLee stared at him, unblinking.
The screen went to an ad for acid reflux medicine, and Barth settled back. “Grammy, I really think I do.”
“She’s not too serious for you?”
“Serious?”
“She always been kind of stony-faced. Marble-like, you know?” She held up a hand. “Don’t go telling Amaya I said such a thing. I’m not judging. Just noticing she’s not the bouncy pup you are. What you see in her, anyway?”
“Aw, Grammy, how can you ask?” Barth gestured at the TV. “Didn’t you see how pretty she is?”
“Looks don’t always stick around, Barth. Not even mine.”
Barth chuckled and leaned in to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. “No, Grammy. Your looks keep expanding.” He patted her belly affectionately. “You still the belle of the ball—or maybe you are the ball.” He jerked back, escaping her playful backhand.
“You sass me like that and expect brownies for dessert?”
“Nobody loves you like I do, Grammy. You know that.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, pressing her waxy, red lips in a thin line. “One day you’ll fall in love for real, Bartholomew. I hope she’s ready to handle you.”
“I’ll make her happy, Grammy.”
Chieko’s face reappeared on the screen, greeting viewers and directing them to the weather report.
“It’s a two-way street, Barth. She got to make you happy, too.”
Looking at Chieko’s bright smile, Barth felt as though his whole body was filled with warm, summer beach sand. “She does, Grammy.”
“Take it slow, Barth.” Grammy patted his hand. “This ain’t the Rose Bowl.”
Barth stifled a grin at her choice of comparisons. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say.”
Squaring her shoulders, Chieko stared up at her parents’ over-sized Lake Oswego home. The street, lined with 5000-square-foot houses, screamed of conspicuous consumption.
“Who needs houses this big?” she grumbled to herself. People with large families.
But people with large families couldn’t usually afford them, so they packed into neighborhoods like Grammy MarLee’s.
Chieko’s smile returned at the thought of Barth’s big, boisterous family. They used to scare her, but now she enjoyed them. Maybe their acceptance of loud, messy feelings made it easier not to keep emotions bottled until they exploded.
Confident after her broadcast, she strode up the walk. Brice Jacobs had gushed over her work at the desk, saying she outshone Ryan Tyler.
“What got into you?” her producer had asked. “You’re off duty for five days and come back a new woman, laughing and radiant.”
She’d blushed, not at the compliment, but because she knew the reason for the glow of her smile: Bartholomew Jefferson had broken through her protective walls and let the sunshine in.
That and the anticipation of more of his amazing kisses gave her a bounce in her step. How could Barth’s fingers smooth over her skin, avoiding all the usual destinations for men’s hands, and still ignite her passions so completely? His touch made her feel wanted—but not merely in a physical sense. Like he wanted all of her, inside and out, the good and the bad.
Shimmying like Barth at the memory of the ball room kiss, she pressed the doorbell. A vision of the little boy who interrupted them made her chuckle right as her father opened the door.
“What’s so funny?” he asked. Hiroshi Makiguchi had two facial expressions: awake and asleep, with very little differentiating between them.
“Not ‘Hi, Chieko. Glad you made it,’?” Chieko raised an eyebrow and entered. He’d insisted she come for a late supper despite giving her no advanced notice.
“Well, of course, that, too,” he said. “But I’m not accustomed to answering the doorbell to snorting pigs.”
Chieko pouted and looked down at her elegant blue sheath dress beneath her stylish winter coat. “I’m a pretty pig, though. Don’t you think?” She peeled off her high heels and set them on one of the shelves in the entry way designated for shoes. Her disrespect deserved a reprimand, and she waited for it.
He cleared his throat but did not respond except to gesture towards the formal dining room.
Chieko’s mother, Mayumi, met her with a nod. “Oh good, you’re on time. Charles is not here yet.”
“Charles?” Chieko squinted and then deflated. “Charles Sato?”
“Of course,” said Mayumi. “He and Hiroshi have been playing tennis every Wednesday for months. They are very good friends now.” Her smile almost reached her eyes as she added, “He’s like family now.”
“It’s not bad enough I have to live in the same apartment building with him?” Chieko groaned and removed her coat.
Mayumi took this from her and bustled into a back room. “I’m glad you cleaned up, Chieko. It’s important to make a good impression, you know.”
“I came straight from work,” called Chieko after her. Under her breath she added, “If you ever watched me on TV like normal, proud parents would…” She rolled her eyes. “Mom, he stops by my apartment all the time. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me in sweats a billion times.” Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.
Her mother’s voice carried a frown. “Why on earth do you own sweats?”
Chieko entered the dining room and cringed. “Mom, I thought you said this was a nice family supper. Why all the fancy silver and crystal?”
But she knew the answer: Charles Sato, raking in pennies under seven figures a year, was her father’s pick for a husband. Like Hiroshi, Charles was first-generation American-born, but unlike her father, he could not control his mouth or his hands.
Chieko leaned on the arch to the kitchen and watched her mother with pleading eyes. “Do I have to do battle with the talking octopus, Mom? It’s been a long week. I’m tired.”
“You can be tired after you’re married,” snapped her father, entering from his private study. “It is the custom of women.”
Mayumi cast him a withering look which he did not see as he folded back the pages of Fortune magazine. “Chieko, you will read this.”
“I report on the news, Dad. I know what’s going—”
“Chieko, where is your respect?” scolded Mayumi, passing the magazi
ne from Hiroshi to Chieko like a baton. “Read the article, and hurry. Charles will be here any minute.”
With a heavy sigh, Chieko focused on the featured photograph and sighed. Charles, scrawny but smiling, pointed to something on a chart. The headline read, Eastern Star’s Marketing Strategy Breathes New Life from Old Japan.
“He’s not Japanese,” said Chieko.
“Of course, he is. Look at him,” said her father.
“He’s from Wisconsin.” She tucked the magazine under her arm and added, “That’s why he’s so cheesy.”
Mayumi pressed her fingertips to her eyelids and shook her head. “Chieko, please. This is important.”
“A late-night supper with a marketing exec from a tech company is important?”
“More than your silly escapades with a photographer in the desert,” said Hiroshi curtly.
“Esca—it’s a paying job, Dad. Parker is paying me more than KGW.”
“But it is not connecting you with the kind of people who will put you ahead in life,” said Mayumi, smoothing Chieko’s hair without an ounce of tenderness.
“We are trying to help you,” said Hiroshi. “Try to be presentable when he comes.”
Chieko dropped the magazine onto the table with a rebellious slap. “I presented myself to the entire Portland metro area less than an hour ago, and in fact got rave reviews from my producer and co-hosts tonight.”
“Neither of whom are eligible millionaires,” said her father with finality.
Mayumi held up a warning finger. “Best behavior.”
“Which means no behavior.” Chieko shook her head. “No reactions to anything but to suck up to—”
“Chieko, what has gotten into you?” demanded Hiroshi.
Chieko smiled sadly at the irony. The same question twice in one night, with the same reason each time. Barth.
But no. She couldn’t blame her angry reactions on him. Barth was always kind.
“You have spent too much time with that man on long trips.” Her mother’s disapproval reeked of something uglier than usual.
“I like him, Mom. Barth is probably one of the finest men I know.”
“Living on his grandmother’s couch in disgrace.”
Chieko flashed her father a fiery look. “I like him very much. We’re …” Did she dare say it? “We’re kind of dating.”
Mayumi frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s African-American, and you’re Japanese-American.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Chieko challenged. But she knew. Her parents believed in the adage stick to your own kind.
Chieko wanted to disbelieve her ears, but it was all too predictable. “Don’t I get to decide?”
The doorbell rang, and all three people stiffened.
Hiroshi narrowed his eyes at Chieko. “Blood and heritage are all that matter. You will not scorn them. They define you.”
Chieko’s pulse rose, and she thumped her chest. “What’s on the inside—in my heart—is who I really am.”
Hiroshi sneered. “Then you will train your heart to—”
“Dad, you are not even trying to understand me.”
“That’s enough. Answer the door for Char—”
“Barth is a part of me now.”
Mayumi gasped. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Chieko rocked back and let out a high-pitched laugh. “No, Mom. Not even close. Barth is astonishingly honorable about not pressing me into anything.”
“Then what?”
“I mean, he is part of what makes me feel alive and happy—really happy, not pretend.”
Hiroshi frowned. “You have always been too swayed by big muscles. It’s time you looked to big fortune and your future.”
Chieko grunted and stormed to the door. Swinging it open wide, she greeted the loathsome guest with a camera-worthy smile. She knew better than to dishonor her family in front of someone so notable and wealthy, but she would beg a corner of MarLee’s couch before she ever agreed to a union with him.
Charles grinned at her. “Chieko, you are as lovely as ever. I saw your broadcast this evening. You get better every weekend.”
“How kind of you to say so,” she said, stepping back to let him enter. “I’ve got a new coach helping me.”
Despite the adequate room, his arm brushed across her breasts as he extended a bouquet of giant hothouse irises and a small, colorful canister to Mayumi. She received them with a gracious bow, and Charles gave Chieko a leering wink.
“Mayumi, if your beauty is any indication of how Chieko will turn out in a generation’s time, then happy is the man who weds her.”
Chieko closed her eyes as both of her parents visibly brightened. Was it too late to gain 100 pounds and dye her hair lime green?
As he bowed to remove his shoes, Charles sidled closer to Chieko, his arm dangling at his side at the right length to tickle her thigh. “Do we get assigned seats?” he whispered. “I hope I’m next to you.” He gave her a soft pinch, and she jolted forward a step, barely restraining a yelp.
If Mayumi noticed, she gave no sign. Instead she clasped her hands and let worry dip her brow. She led them into the dining room and pointed. “I placed you opposite each other because we are only four, Charles. Will that be satisfactory, or shall I rearrange—”
“It’s perfect the way you have it, Mom,” said Chieko, scraping her chair back and sitting heavily before Charles could touch her again. If he sat across from her, she could keep her legs out of reach by tucking her ankles beneath her.
Her father visibly winced at her breach in protocol, but he and Charles sat in unison, Hiroshi at the head, and the guest only partially hidden from view by the hideous green floral centerpiece.
Mayumi brought in a rolling tray with the several dishes for a traditional Japanese meal. While Chieko did not mind the cuisine, it looked out of place on the pretentious table setting. Still, she was famished after work, so she smiled appreciatively at her mother.
“What a lovely meal, Mayumi,” oozed Charles. “And I am so glad to see the mugi. The barley makes the rice so much more interesting, don’t you think?”
Chieko watched the ritual deference his parents paid to him, turning down his compliments at least twice before thanking him profusely.
Charles turned to Mayumi. “Have you any need of the furikake I brought?”
Her mother pressed her lips together before nodding. “I am sure it is better than the seasonings I prepared. If you wish, I will open it and bring it out here?”
Chieko let her focus blur as Charles rattled on to her parents about the merits of sesame seeds versus nori. Who could get excited about seaweed?
Her mind wandered, and she wondered what Barth would think of the meal before her, so unlike MarLee’s comfort food feasts on Sunday nights.
Sunday nights.
She should be with Barth at MarLee’s right now.
But no, by this hour the Jeffersons would be done with the meal and on to the activities. She might be coerced into another swing dance with that crazy video game. Her lips quirked upward as she remembered how Barth tossed her so close to the ceiling. She wouldn’t mind trying it again if it meant having his powerful hands at her waist, and—
“Don’t you think so, Chieko?” Charles’ voice dripped like the miso soup on his chin.
Chieko blinked back into an awareness of her surroundings. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”
Hiroshi and Mayumi both made their frustration known without audible signals. Her father’s knuckles whitened, and her mother patted her linen napkin to her chin.
Such displays of angst. Chieko rolled her eyes but remembered to bring them to rest on Charles with a pleasant look of inquiry.
“Did you not hear anything I said?” he asked, clearly shocked she had tuned out his voice despite its rather strong sedative quality.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, summoning a penitent look.
Charles laughed and addressed Hiroshi. “She will be perfe
ct at business dinner parties. I can talk shop with no fear she would reveal any of my secrets to competitors or stock holders.” To Chieko, he asked, “Do you know how to pickle vegetables like this? Your mother is a very gifted cook. You are fortunate to be able to learn from her hand.”
Chieko stared at her own plate. She hated pickled anything. Not even relish on her hotdogs.
“I have not my mother’s many graces,” said Chieko steadily. She could compliment her mother while painting her self as humble and useless at the same time. Maybe Charles would give up and find some other Old World wifey to make him vinegar-drenched salads.
She took a bite and pondered whether Grammy MarLee might part with her cherry pie recipe. Raising her brows at her own meandering thoughts, she realized domesticity wasn’t so repulsive if it could mean warmth and laughter instead of this cold, calculating display. Things like marriage and family could have a different flavor—a different color—perhaps a unique blend of cultures, couldn’t they?
“Yes,” she muttered aloud, alarmed that her feelings for Barth had set so many other thoughts free. Was this what real love did to a person? “Yes.”
“There, see?” said Charles, straightening. “Chieko agrees. Young brides learn quickly enough.”
Chieko heard him for the first time and promptly coughed up a chunk of grilled fish. It landed in the ugly centerpiece as her face landed in her hands. Even so, she enjoyed a moment of triumph at the sound of Hiroshi’s gurgling rage and Mayumi’s whimpering defeat.
Emotions. At last. Bring ’em on, thought Chieko. Let’s blow ourselves up with feelings!
Yawning, Barth pulled on his socks and padded down the hall to investigate a knocking sound in the kitchen. He scratched his bare chest and squinted at the dishwasher, which often made odd noises when it ran, but its green light indicated the cycle had finished.
“Huh.” He tugged it open and removed a bright green tumbler. When he turned on the kitchen faucet to pour himself a drink of water, he heard the sound again, but this time it came from outside. Bending over the sink, he lifted the folding blinds a few inches and peered out into the darkness.
