Queen of Love

Aya was grateful her sister was there to mitigate the mood. Her father always deferred to his wife, and Rika was her usual self as she probed Genevieve with revealing questions and made the occasional comment that could either be flattering or rude, depending on who was asked. I’m the one being asked, and I’m telling you, it’s not great. Yet Aya kept those thoughts to herself, not wanting to give the wrong impression to her girlfriend, who was here meeting the parents and being her usual gracious self.

In a way, Aya was envious. Genevieve was so easy to get along with, and even if she was surrounded by people who might want something from her, she knew how to make them feel content. That was a skill Aya didn’t have. She wasn’t convinced she could ever have a skill like that. What was it? Nature? Nurture? Culture? Rearing? Was Genevieve such a natural at conversation and getting people to like her because it was a key skill where she came from and how she was raised? Or was that… her?

Seeing her dodge every question, pay compliments with suave expertise, and sit there dressed prettily in her fashionable blouse and pants was almost too much. Aya was simultaneously jealous of her… and in love with her. The ol’ “I want to be her, but I also want to bang her.”

One of those words continued to haunt her as dinner pressed on and the conversation continued in multiple languages and in different directions.

Love.

She had toyed with the idea since she first spent the night with Genevieve, high up in that Shibuya hotel room where they had shared more than a passionate moment. Many, many moments. Strung together into one unforgettable night.

I taught her the difference between ai and koi, and I still don’t know what I feel right now. A million songs had been written on that subject, some of them as timeless as The Beatles and others so obscure that they hit Aya like a truck when they came on in her earbuds. She supposed people had been fretting over their feelings for others for as long as humans had been alive. Why should she be so different?

Perhaps she still questioned the veracity of their relationship. A part of her couldn’t believe she was breathing the same air as Genevieve Liu, let alone outside of a conference room or a Tokyo nightclub where one wined and dined the client.

After dinner, Rika insisted on doing the dishes by herself and her husband took Aya on a tour of the living room, teaching her how to say everything in Japanese while she told him the same words in English and Mandarin, depending on the moment. Mari took the opportunity to sit by her sister and whisper, “She is unbelievable. Like a magazine cover model. Like she should be in some Hollywood movie, breaking barriers and making everyone love her. Can’t you see it? Oh my God. She makes me want to be gay! Like, could I get a girlfriend like that?”

Aya regarded her sister with disbelief. “You have a crush on my girlfriend?”

“Like a big bomb of a girl crush!”

“I’m glad you like her. Not that I doubted you would.”

“What? You talkin’ about Mom? Ha!” Mari laughed so loudly that Aya nearly went deaf. “Mom loves her!”

“You’re kidding, right? She wouldn’t stop asking such invasive questions. I almost expected her to get out the medical gloves and proctor a colonoscopy on this table.”

“Hey, for a lesbian girlfriend, Mom’s smitten with her. I spend more time with her now, you know. I can tell.”

“Can you, now?”

“She’s loving that look Genevieve is wearing. The shoes she wore into the genkan were so quality that Mom might as well have been drooling. Oh, and she’s really smart, well-traveled, and polite. She dodged those questions like spring rain! She must be used to dealing with people like Mom. Because if you can handle that barrage and still have Mom feeling like they’re on equal footing, oof. Don’t let that one go away. At the very least, so I can look at her. She’s so pretty. Did I mention that?”

Over by the TV, Genevieve laughed at something Aya’s father said. The two of them never touched, but the closeness between them was already palpable. Granted, between the two parents, Mr. Sugiya was like the bluebird song to his wife’s wasp sting. Aya could have brought home someone like Mari and her father would have loved her.

Rika? Not so much.

By the time the sun started to go down, Aya and Genevieve departed to make it back to Shibuya before it was much later. Genevieve unleashed a loud yawn as they sat on the train, and two minutes later, her head was on Aya’s shoulder, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted.

Her perfume was strong enough to make Aya remember the first time they were close.

“Let’s go to my place,” Aya said when they reached Shibuya. “You still haven’t seen my apartment in Meguro.”

Genevieve’s face lit up with renewed energy. “I’d love to finally see where you live.”

“Let’s take the train. It’s only a couple of stops, but it beats walking after a long day.”

Aya was nervous, and she didn’t know why. Her apartment was clean, and in a nice part of town. While it wasn’t very big, it reflected her fashionable sensibilities, much like Genevieve’s Singaporean bedroom.

Perhaps it was the vulnerability of it, but Aya figured she had already exposed some of her darkest parts by taking Genevieve to Saitama to meet the rest of the Sugiyas. What was taking her home, too?

“What a quaint neighborhood,” Genevieve said as they walked from the train station to Aya’s building. “I can imagine you picking things up at the convenience store and eating at that curry shop.”

“It’s not bad. Maybe we’ll have a late-night snack there later.”

Genevieve laughed. “I’m so stuffed from your mother’s hotpot that I might burst.”

She made no comment about the plain building they entered, the cramped elevator ride, or the slight scent of must in the hallway leading to Aya’s apartment. Genevieve said nothing as they entered the dark dwelling and Aya flicked on the lights to reveal minimal furniture to make up for the half-Western style kitchen and a separate bedroom. That was a hot commodity in this part of Tokyo.