Epilogue
Ren
“So help me God.”
After adding his religious affirmation to the end of the oath, my best friend is now officially the president of the United States.
President Darcy Fitzwilliam Marshall.
I watch the scene unfold as "Hail to the Chief" plays. The crowd roars with applause as American flags wave in the chilly D.C. air, Darcy and Hayden walk to shake hands with the former administration, and then Darcy prepares for a speech with Hayden standing brilliantly at his side.
The young man who once hid in corners to escape the public eye because of the reputation of his father has taken the family name back while giving the United States their most handsome and intelligent president yet. Sorry, Reagan. You will have to take a backseat to my best friend. I have no doubt Darcy will lead this country well.
He found his purpose, his drive. More importantly, he found a woman who keeps him in check and calls him out on his grumpy moods. Hayden Sarah Marshall is going to fulfill her duty well—being the real brains behind the president.
I tug at the hairs flying out of mychonmagefrom the slight wind,and then I tuck the thin strands behind my ear futilely.
Like my hair that refuses to stay put, I wonder what’s in store for me now? Will I be like the flying hairs around me, having no direction for my future? As Darcy begins his speech, I can’t think of anything else other than everyone around me seems to have found their purpose in life.
I’m thirty-eight.
Darcy is president at forty.
My dad became the ambassador at thirty.
I’m… only a shadow of my dad.
Is this all there is to my existence? Am I only called to be the son of a wealthy businessman and Japanese ambassador to the U.S., the son of a sweet, gentle woman who only wishes to have grandchildren from her only child, and the best friend to the president of the United States?
Am I only good enough to complete side business ventures for my father while he tends to his ambassador duties? Am I not able to stand on my own outside of my father’s shadow and create my own path?
“Musuko, what’s wrong? You look like your friend lost the presidency instead of being inaugurated just now.” My father, Chikara Sato, places a hand on my shoulder. I smile at the aging man, who is slightly shorter and pudgier than my five-nine, slim frame. Hisgray hair complements his olive skin, and his dark brown eyes, the same as my own, shine with concern.
While Darcy’s father was a complete tool, my dad has always provided for me, had my back, and loved me fiercely. He’s had his moments of being “too busy” like any politician, but ultimately, my momalways brought him back down to earth to focus on the most important things in life: family and responsibility to others. Mom grew up in Okinawa, a small island off the larger island of Japan. She often spoke of the concept ofikigai, which I roughly translated to life’s purpose. Though when I told her I had purpose in life—I was their son and good at helpingDad with business—she would sigh and say, “You need to spend time in Okinawa.”
“Ren?”
I shake my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts. “I’m fine. Just thinking about what’s next for me.”
Dad chuckles. “I have an idea.”
“Hmm?”
He begins to talk, his words flowing quickly as if he has to get them all out at once. “There’s an opening for an U.S. ambassador to Japan. I’m already in the process of getting you the job. You leave for Japan in March. The embassy is in Tokyo, but the appointment doesn’t begin until August. Until then, you can explore Okinawa where your mother grew up. You know she’s wanted you to spend time there for more than one week a year. This is the perfect opportunity. They are already readying themselves for your arrival.”
When he finishes, my heart is beating double time, and Darcy’s speech has effectively faded into the background. I stare at Dad;his eyes are hopeful while I’m sure mine are screaming a very Americanized message, “What the heck, Dad?!”
“Oto-san, you can’t just spring this on me without asking me about it.” Panic ensues as I think of moving to Japan. Yes, I’m Japanese, but really, I’m nothing more than a few customs Mom has taught me, the language, and yearly visits to the embassy in Tokyo with the occasional week-long visit to Okinawa.
Dad swats a hand through the air. “Baka ei.I can and I have. You are too Americanized.”
I start to interrupt, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
“I know it’s my fault because I didn’t spend adequate time teaching you our traditions and things of cultural importance. I should have had you spend more time in Japan growing up, but we can change that now.” Dad reaches into the pocket of his dark gray suit jacket and pulls out a plane ticket. As he holds it out to me, I eye it as if it will bite my hand if I reach out.
If I take this ticket, my entire life as I know it changes. It’s not so much the ambassador position that bothers me as it is the idea of moving to Japan. It may as well be a foreign country to me, even though I’ve spent a little time there every year. I never bothered to learn proper customs and adhere to cultural norms. After a week, I would be back in America, so what was the point?
Japanese may be my ethnic make-up, but I’m all American.
