His mouth fell open, and I thought maybe he was going to start panicking, but the second he was on his feet I hustled him toward the shower. He was going with me one way or another because I’d meant it when I’d told him I had no plans to hide him—from anyone.
18
MICAH
I didn’t knowwho I was more afraid of, Yukio’s dad or mom. They both stared me down as if they wanted to murder me, and to say I was scared was an understatement. Yukio looked more like his mom. He had her kind eyes, and even though she was giving me a death glare, I could tell she had a sweet personality. Yukio also had her soft jaw and strong eyebrows, though he had his dad’s nose.
“What did you say you do for a job again?” Yukio’s dad—Jiro, Yukio had introduced him as earlier—studied me, the same way I suspected he would a bug he’d found in his soup.
We were having a meal at Manzi’s, an Italian restaurant that Yukio also enjoyed ordering from. I’d been relieved we were going somewhere with food I was familiar with. His parents sat on one side of the wide booth, with his little brother seated next to his mother, while Yukio and I sat across from them. To our right was a red-and-blue stained glass window, which was beautiful but had only been a conversational talking point for less than a minute.
Now here I was, struggling to breathe while the center of attention.
“I’m a history professor at the college,” I said, wriggling uncomfortably under Jiro’s hard stare. “I specialize in ancient Greek history.”
“Why not ancient Japanese?” He tapped the table in front of himself, and my gaze snapped to his finger, the sound grating on my nerves and making me more anxious. Yukio’s soothing hand on my back wasn’t helping.
“Uh....”
“Don’t you respect my son’s culture?” His tone went deeper, and I flushed, my anxiety ramping up ten notches.
“Of course I do! I found my love of history through Greek philosophy, and Yukio actually gave me several books—”
Yukio touched my shoulder, and I sent him a glance. He smiled, his face soft and calming. “It’s okay, Hanii. He’s messing with you.” He sent his dad a sharp glance. “Oyaji, karakaunayo.”
Jiro started laughing, and I slumped in my chair in relief. “I’m teasing you, Micah.”
His wife slapped him lightly on the arm and said something to him in a low tone. Jiro chuckled harder, and his wife—Sarah, I reminded myself—shook her head. “Forgive my husband, Micah. He enjoys making people uncomfortable.”
“No, I do not.” Jiro shrugged. “I wanted to know what my son’s boyfriend does as a job. It is important to have a good career. Yukio is to be an accountant.”
“And Micah’s a teacher.” Yukio gave me a proud smile, and the heat in my cheeks burned hotter. “And he’s great at what he does.”
“College teachers do not make much money, correct?” Jiro pursed his mouth as the server who’d taken our order earlier came back with a basket of ciabatta bread. She was pretty, with long black hair back in a braid and rosy, apple cheeks, and she gave me a sympathetic frown, like she knew exactly what was happening, then left again.
“Jiro, enough.” Sarah poked him on the arm, and he waved his hand at her.
“Fine. I will stop.” He said something in Japanese, and Sarah spoke back to him, and whatever was happening, it sounded like a small argument.
Yukio leaned against my side. “Ignore them,” he whispered. “They mean well. They like you.”
I chuckled quietly. “It doesn’t seem like it.”
“They do, trust me. If they hated you, they wouldn’t sit around and have dinner with you.” He kissed me on the cheek, and I gave him a small, shy smile. I noticed his little brother watching us with curious brown eyes, and when he caught my stare, he grinned and waved at me. I winked in return, and he giggled.
“I like you, too,” he said, and I hadn’t realized he’d heard what Yukio and I were talking about.
“And I like you.” I pointed at him, and he giggled again, mimicking me. “Can you speak Japanese, too, Asuka?”
He shook his head timidly.
“We’re trying to teach him.” Sarah reached over and caressed her thumb over Asuka’s rounded cheek. “His ojiichan doesn’t speak English well, and it’s hard for him to communicate with Asuka. So, we’re trying.”
“When I was a kid, Dad was still learning English. I think I told you that. So, I grew up speaking both languages.” Yukio stole a piece of sliced ciabatta and dipped it into the small bowl of herbed oil that came with it. “Now he speaks fluent English.”
“That’s because I learn fast.” Jiro smirked, and in that moment, he reminded me a lot of Yukio.
Sarah rolled her eyes and murmured something in Japanese, and whatever it was must have been funny because Yukio and Jiro both laughed.
