7 Months (Time for Love 8)

She got quiet and kind of looked at me from the corner of her eye, and I guessed, “I’m probably not part of their plan, huh?” Suddenly uneasy.

“No, it’s not that,” Ming said quickly. “Once they get a chance to meet you, it’ll be great, they just tend to get an idea in their head and have a hard time navigating from it. I’ll talk to them tomorrow, explain everything…”

“You didn’t, ah, I mean, did you want me to go with you?” I asked, the thought turning my blood cold. I was just getting used to the idea of us being a couple, and Ming saying she loves me. I didn’t know if I was ready to throw strict parents who probably wanted their only daughter to end up with someone like Brandt, into the mix.

My panic must have been visible, because Ming laughed and placed her hand over mine.

“No, don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that to you, not before I had a chance to talk to them first.” She picked up her wine and added, “You can breathe, Brady.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding and said the first thing that came to mind, “This is good. Us. Easier than I thought. You’re easy to talk to, and you don’t make me feel like I’m some Neanderthal moron.”

Ming smiled beautifully in response, then we dug in and ate in comfortable silence.

Chapter Thirty ~ Ming

I looked around my parents’ immaculate house and allowed the comfort of my childhood home to wrap itself around me. I’d been nervous all day, and on the drive over, but now that I was here, my nerves were settling.

My mother was shorter than me, with a razor-cut bob, and perfect skin. She’d taught me everything I needed to know about grooming and looking my best when I was younger. Exercise to keep your body healthy, moisturize nightly to keep your skin smooth, and use Aragon oil in your hair every morning to keep it soft and shiny.

We’d always had a good relationship. Yes, she was strict, and yes, I’d gone through stages where she drove me crazy and I went out of my way to do the same to them. Like when I was about fifteen and I tore my room apart every morning, throwing clothes around and leaving crap everywhere. Every day when I got home, my room was back to being clean. This went on for weeks, but my mother never said anything, just kept cleaning.

We were both stubborn, but I guess in the end she won, because my loft is always clean.

“Ming,” my mother called as she came down the stairs.

“Konbanwa, ha-ha,” I replied in Japanese. “Ogenki desu ka?”

My mother was Chinese, but had been raised in Japan. I know she’d had a rough childhood because of her heritage, but she never talked about it. Never acted like being different had affected h

er. Instead, she’d grown up as if she were Japanese. Learning their language, accepting their culture as her own, following their traditions.

Still, when I was born, she’d stuck to her guns and got my father to agree to naming me after her mother.

"Genki desu," she replied as we walked back toward the formal dining room. “Everything here is the same. Your father’s job has kept him busy.”

“That’s good,” I replied. My parents had been together for over fifty years. I’d never thought about how significant that was until recently. The time, effort, patience, and understanding that would have to go into a relationship to make it endure that way.

I had a newfound respect for them.

My father was just getting settled when we entered the room.

I crossed over to him and pressed my lips lightly to his cheek.

“Konbanwa, chichi,” I said in greeting.

He gave me a small smile and nodded, indicating I should take my seat. My father had always been a hard man to get to know. Always working, and often reserved when he was home, but I’d always loved him fiercely.

I sat down at the table and placed the napkin over my lap. The food was brought out and bowls of rice, braised bok choy, grilled fish, and miso soup were placed in front of each of us.

We all placed our hands together in prayer position and said, “Itadakimasu.”

“How is work?” my father asked after a few moments.

“Very good,” I replied, picking up my rice bowl. “I won my last big case, and there’s been talk of them making me a partner. It hasn’t happened yet, but I think it’s just a matter of time.”

“That’s good,” he replied, then my mother chimed in with, “Are you dating anyone?”

Well, crap, I thought. I’d been hoping to ease in to this conversation, but it looks like my single status has been weighing on my mom’s mind.