Queen of Love

Chapter 22

Theworstofthe overnight rain had passed by the time Aya met Genevieve at Shibuya Station two days later. While they had spent the night together in Genevieve’s hotel room, Aya had woken up and ducked out early to change at home.

“Very conservative.” That was the first thing Aya said when she welcomed Genevieve outside of the JR Yamanote gates. “Perfect.”

Genevieve walked with Aya to the ticket machines. “I picked the outfit most likely to go with meeting your girlfriend’s parents.” Her silk pants were white with black flowers, and her black pussy-bow blouse was short-sleeved but perfectly in line with secretary work at a fashionable executive’s office. Except I know this outfit probably cost more than that secretary makes in a month. Aya felt the quality the moment she put her hand on the small of Genevieve’s back and directed her to the next available machine.

“I really like what you’ve done with your hair.”

Genevieve almost missed the prompt in Japanese for selecting her destination. To her credit, she didn’t need Aya’s help selecting the kanji for Ikebukuro. “Thanks. Thought I’d do something different today.”

Aya pinched the low ponytail hanging on the back of Genevieve’s head. She kept the length of her hair while promising that her bangs would be out of her face – perfect for meeting someone like Rika Sugiya, who would analyze every worthy (or unworthy) inch of her daughter’s girlfriend. Genevieve being rich and coming from a super posh background isn’t enough. She has to be perfect. Aya honestly couldn’t tell how Genevieve’s ethnicity would go today. Her being non-Japanese could actually be good for swaying Aya’s parents over to acceptance, but that was only if Genevieve were American. Or maybe European.

I get it now. The politics always came home.

As soon as Genevieve had her paper ticket, they walked through the gates and joined the line of people heading up to the Yamanote Line. There, they would transfer to the suburban line heading out to Saitama, where – God willing – meeting Aya’s parents and sister would go off without a hitch. You know it’s serious when Mari sends the kids away so she can meet my girlfriend in peace. Aya had told Genevieve all about Mari over dinners, drinks, and late-night pillow talk. She hadn’t said much about her parents, besides, “My mother can be traditional. My father is more go with the flow.”

“Have I mentioned you don’t look so bad yourself?” Genevieve asked as they boarded the train and stood by the doors. “You’re casual, but put together very nicely.”

The train lurched forward. “I’ve had a lot of practice. My mom complains the least when I don’t wear T-shirts.” That’s why she wore one of her work tank tops with a black and purple plaid button-up. Do my hair up like for work, and bam, my mother’s lesbian daughter is much easier to digest. The few times Aya had no choice but to roll back through her childhood home in jeans and a T-shirt with mussed hair? Oi. Not worth it. Not for all the free meals in the world! “By the way, isn’t this your first time riding the train in Japan?”

“Not ever,” Genevieve said, “but the first time in a while, sure.”

“You look very nice without a big burly bodyguard looming over you.”

She laughed. “I only hire one for when I’m doing a lot of traveling by myself. You saw me back in Singapore. I go anywhere I want there without companionship. Although Wesley does double as a bodyguard in a pinch.”

“I’d say you stand out here, too, but I think you stand out wherever you go, don’t you?”

Genevieve curled her hair around her hand. “You like it.”

“I love it.”

The train car became increasingly too packed for conversation, and Ikebukuro Station was a nightmare to navigate. The only reason they made it through to the next train in one piece was because Aya knew the way with her eyes closed and because Genevieve held on to her girlfriend’s hand, so they were never separated.

That small gesture was lovely in and of itself.

More breathing room awaited them on their final train. Aya texted her mother that they’d arrive on time. Genevieve craned her head over the shoulder and watched as they rode through the northwest core of Tokyo and expanded out into the suburbs. When Aya looked around, she certainly discerned that Genevieve received more curious looks than anyone else. People want to know who she is and where she’s from. That was true in rural Japan, and it could be true in the urban center as well.

“Dou?” Aya asked as the passengers thinned out the farther into suburbia they traveled. “What do you think of where all the workers live?”

Genevieve turned around in her seat and folded her arms against the window. “Lovely.”

That’s one thing to call it, I guess. Maybe Aya was jaded, though. She had grown up in the bedroom communities of Tokyo’s majestic shadow. Another prefecture. Another life. Her father used to get up earlier than her so he could commute by the time she ate her breakfast. He wouldn’t get home until well after dinner. Aya never understood it. Not until she was an adult staying in the office until seven and wondering if she wanted to lose another hour of her life to the train. Wasn’t that why she bought an apartment in Meguro as soon as she could afford it? Great way to sell it to my mom, too. If Aya were any less successful, she’d still be living at home with her parents. Not exactly great for her love life. Or her sanity. Not at forty!

“I love how you can imagine the people going about their lives,” Genevieve said with a sigh. “You see the grocery stores, schools, and all of that… plus all the laundry hanging to dry and the cars running up the roads. I love it. It feels much more authentic than Singapore.”

“What about Taiwan?”

Genevieve considered it for a moment. “A different kind of authentic.”

Aya looked out the window, shielding her eyes against the sunlight. To her, it was all the same. The same schools teaching the same curriculum and offering the same extracurriculars. The same grocery store chains. The same shoe stores and pharmacies. The same Western fast food and izakayas. Occasionally, a tower or a castle illuminated the distance, but to Aya, those were the same too. She was too jaded to appreciate what she had seen her whole life.

“What do you think about Singapore?” Genevieve asked. “In comparison.”

“Comparing Singapore to Saitama?” Aya almost lost her breath laughing so hard. “You’re kidding, right? It’s like night and day.” She cocked her head. “Maybe they’re both the same level of clean, though. Definitely fewer food stalls and exotic décor.”

“I guess Singapore can be overwhelming compared to a place like this, but like I’ve told you before, that’s why I like to travel outside of my home. Maybe I’m not as jaded as you are about this place, but I never felt very at home in Singapore. People can be so fake you wonder who they were at birth.”“People hide themselves here.”