Red Thorns (Thorns Duet 1)

The confession hangs between us in the thick air. But before Kai can say anything, the waitress returns with our orders. I clear my throat to release the knot that’s formed there. I always feel like the rejected little girl on Father’s Day at school whenever I talk or think about my father.

Stupidly, I know he could be way worse than what I painted him to be in my girlhood dreams, but the need to find him has never lessened. In fact, it kept growing over the years until I could no longer ignore it.

The waitress disappears with another smile.

Kai cuts his omurice in half and starts eating with leisurely finesse. The way he picks portions and chews is so refined and elegant that I feel a strange satisfaction just watching him swallow his food. “What do you know about your father?”

“Mom refuses to tell me anything except that we’re better off without him.”

“I assume you disagree?”

“Of course, I do. Or else I wouldn’t be here.”

He swallows another bite and meets my gaze. He never speaks with food in his mouth and I appreciate that. “Wouldn’t it be easier to ask your mother about his whereabouts instead of wasting your money on me?”

“If that were an option, I would’ve done it. Are you going to help me or should I search for someone else to give my money to?”

“Very well.” He places his utensils on the table and wipes his mouth, and that’s when I notice he’s finished his entire meal. “I need something to start with. Was he married to your mother?”

“No.”

“Is he American? Japanese?”

“I don’t know. But I think American.”

“Why?”

“Because Mom insisted on giving birth to me here.”

“She could have left him behind in Japan.”

I rummage through my bag and retrieve a picture I stole from Mom’s secret drawer. The only picture she has of my father. My fingers are unsteady as I slide it across the table.

Kai’s inquisitive eyes study it carefully. The date on the back is a few years before I was born. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen Mom laughing with so much freedom, her head tipped back as she holds on to a man’s arm.

Her hair was longer at the time, and her pink dress with provocative lace at the top.

The man is in a striped suit and has his arm around her waist, but his most important feature, his face, has been burned with a cigarette, leaving a hole in the picture.

After I found this frozen memento a few weeks ago, I had to do something about it. There’s no way I can keep entertaining the fantasy of finding my father without taking action.

Kai’s attention slides from the picture to me. “Why do you believe this person to be your father?”

“Mom kept all her pictures of her old friends, whether male or female, intact except for this one. She also hid it in a secret box that she shoved in the attic.”

“What makes you think he’s American?”

I tap the background of the picture. They’re leaning against a bar, but behind them, through the hazy window, there’s a Las Vegas sign and a blurred license plate. “That.”

“You’re merely speculating.”

“No, I’m not. Mom wouldn’t have come to the States or kept his picture for no reason.”

“Burned picture.”

“It still counts. The fact that she burned it means it has value, even if it’s negative.”

“I’ll see what I can find.”