Queen of Love

“It’s not much,” Aya said, unbuttoning her top and dressing down to her undershirt, “but it’s home, as they say in America.”

Genevieve approached a black and white print of the Golden Gate Bridge that hung on one of the only walls big enough to hold it. “It’s wonderful.”

Aya left the bedroom door open as she pulled down her pants and grabbed a pair of pajama shorts from her dresser. Her bra soon disappeared from beneath her tank top. “The walls are a bit thinner here, too.”

Laughter filtered in from the living room. Yeah, the neighbors heard that. “Where is this photograph from? It looks unique.”

Aya rejoined Genevieve in the living area, approaching her from behind and encircling her with tightened arms. “That was taken by one of my friends from college. She’s a big photographer in the States now. Lives in San Francisco, which is a hotter real estate market than this place, if you can believe it.”

They swayed together in front of the print. “We should go to America soon.”

Aya snorted right into her girlfriend’s shoulder. “We’re already going to Taiwan tomorrow.” She lowered her arms and stepped away to grab some water from the kitchen. “One trip at a time, Genny.”

“So we really are going?”

“Why do you think I wanted to come home? I apparently have to pack.”

“Darn,” Genevieve sighed. “Here I thought I would have time to snoop through every one of your drawers and get to really know you the old-fashioned way.”

“You could hire a private investigator for that.”

“That’s the kind of thing my parents would do,” Genevieve off-handedly said. “More reasons for you to be grateful there are no potential in-laws in your future.”

Aya filled two glasses with water. Eventually, Genevieve joined her at the kitchen counter. “You’ve never told me much about your parents.”

“What is there to say?” Genevieve sat on one of the stools. The pussy bow on her blouse was limp, much like the skin sagging off her face. One of the rare moments when she looks her age. Aya wasn’t intimidated by that. If anything, it was a nod to how much Genevieve already trusted her in their short relationship. “They were rich. Grew up rich. Dealt with all of those expectations. Both were only children of older parents, so I don’t remember my grandparents much, either, but I do know that my parents were together because of my grandparents.” Genevieve gazed over the rim of her water glass. “They never called it an arranged marriage, but my grandparents introduced them with the hope they’d get married. They seemed to get along well. That’s enough, sometimes.” She put down the glass. “Around the time I hit puberty, my mom started arranging parties where all of these well-to-do high school boys showed up. While they were out smoking and smuggling Jack Daniels, my mom would speak to their mothers about potential dates. You know the kind. The cycle was continuing with me.”

“That must have been a lot of pressure.”

“Not really. Maybe I was too young to understand it yet. Or maybe I knew, you know?”

“Knew what?”

Genevieve’s pink nails traced the body of her glass. “That my parents weren’t long for the world. In fact, when I got the news they had died in an accident, I didn’t really feel anything. No shock. No sadness. I wasn’t really numb or depressed, either. It was weird, but life went on. If anything, them dying meant I really got to be the person I was meant to be.” She looked up at Aya. “Does that sound horrible, or what?”

“No.”

“No?”

“You can’t help the way you respond to things. You were set up to take care of yourself anyway, it seems.”

“Do you think you would have responded the same to your parents dying?”

No way. Aya would have been a mess. Not to mention the lack of support for her and her sister. They would have either been shipped off to distant cousins or set up with a guardian to oversee their independent home life, depending on how old they were. “We all have different lives. We’re all set up to respond in different ways. Not much else to say about it.”

Genevieve’s nails traveled from her glass, across the counter, and to Aya’s hand. “I’m envious of your family. They’re so kind.”

“You didn’t really meet my mother, then.”

“You joke, but I think she’s also kind. She must be if she’s letting you bring your foreign girlfriends home.”

“Maybe you’re on to something, but my mom definitely doesn’t like it. We had a lot of fights when I was younger. For a while, I didn’t really talk to her, either. Everything was conveyed through my sister, or sometimes my father. My mom thought me being gay was a huge rebellion against her, like she had done something wrong. Or that she hadn’t been hard enough on me. There was a time when she believed that ‘letting’ me cut my hair made me gay.”

“Was it not letting up on it for over twenty years that got her coming around?”

“Oh, we made up years ago. She’s always been chilly toward my girlfriends, though. But I don’t doubt if I found something really long-term, like a kind of marriage, she would finally go along with it. Maybe she wouldn’t understand it, but I’ve never felt cut out or disowned. Which is more than some of my friends could say. Lots of sob stories in the girl bars.”

Genevieve pensively nodded. “It’s the same where I’m from. Ah, in Taiwan, I mean. People seem more open about it there. In Singapore… it’s much more underground, in my experience. To be fair, it’s still illegal for the men.”