I feel like I’m the one made out of paper.
We sit at the longest table in the world. There seems to be a hundred bowls of things I’ve never heard of before—katsudon and oyakodon and tempura and yaki soba—with plates of sushi and grilled fish and so much rice. Everyone seems to help themselves, piling food in their individual bowls and going back for seconds as often as they want.
Akane sits on my left, pointing out which dishes are vegetarian friendly and which aren’t, and Jamie sits on my right, literally trying everything. Their family and friends treat us like we belong just as much as they do. They smile and tell stories and pay attention to everyone in the room. It’s welcoming, and kind, and I don’t want it to end.
I think this is what acceptance feels like.
At the end of the meal there’s mochi and taiyaki and kakigōri, and after that Hiroshi announces they’re going to play a game called Tora Tora Tora. Everyone finds a seat at the other side of the restaurant. A paper screen is set up, splitting the front of the room right down the middle, surrounded by a collection of round tables and chairs.
Everyone begins taking turns going up, two at a time, each behind alternate sides of the screen, singing a song in Japanese and clapping while everyone in the audience sings along with them. At the end of the song they step forward, revealing themselves to their opponent while acting out a pose. Whoever loses takes a drink, laughing along with the rest of the people in the room.
Rei leans in to us, raising her voice over the growing noise. “It’s like charades meets rock, paper, scissors,” she says. “It’s basically Uncle Kenji’s way of getting everyone drunk.”
Jamie laughs. “What are they singing about?”
“Honestly? I have no idea.” She points to the two people playing—Mayumi and one of Rei’s cousins—and nods. “All you have to know is that old lady beats samurai, samurai beats tiger, and tiger beats old lady.”
I look up. Mayumi is crawling on the floor and scratching her fingers at the air. Rei’s cousin is pretending to hobble with a cane. When they spot each other, Mayumi raises her hands in the air and squeals in triumph.
And then she catches my gaze.
“Come, Kiko! You try.” She flicks her hands toward her chest, like she’s trying to coax me to safety.
But a stage is not safety. A stage is terrifying.
I stiffen, shaking my head quickly.
Jamie’s breath tickles my ear. “I’ll go up with you. It could be fun.”
Everyone is staring, still laughing from Mayumi’s win, waiting for me to make my way to the stage.
But I don’t move. It’s too many people. Too many eyes.
Before I have time to think, Akane grabs my hands and yanks me up, dragging me through the space between the tables and placing me at one side of the paper screen before ducking behind the other.
Everyone starts clapping and singing before I have time to breathe.
I feel like someone’s just set my body on fire, but I start clapping because Mayumi is urging me along in front of her, and at this point I’ll do anything just to blend in.
I hear the song coming to an end. I hold my hands in front of me like I’m carrying the samurai spear some of the others held. And I take a step forward.
Akane is crawling like a tiger, laughing hysterically.
Everyone claps, and somehow I can hear them over the beating in my chest.
Akane stands up, pointing to the alcohol. “Loser gets a drink, right?”
Mayumi swats her hand away. “No chance.” With a wink, she adds, “I drink for you.”
Everyone laughs even harder. They’re not paying attention to my fidgeting or my awkwardness. They’re not analyzing me the way Mom would.
I breathe.
When I find my seat again, Jamie is smiling. “I had a feeling you’d pick the samurai.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Because”—he shrugs—“you’re the strongest person I know.”
I rest my head on his shoulder.
When Hiroshi and one of his cousins take their turn, Hiroshi pretends to have a cane and his cousin holds an imaginary spear. Hiroshi acts like he’s whacking his cousin on the head, and everyone laughs.
When Jamie goes up with Mayumi’s mother, Jamie pretends to be a tiger and she pretends to be an old lady. When she sees Jamie, she starts to pet his head and then gives him a kiss on the cheek. Everyone laughs even harder.
Two more family members go up. One pretends to be a tiger and jumps straight through the paper screen, tackling his opponent without bothering to see what he was posing as.
I’m laughing so hard there are tears in my eyes.
? ? ?
Later in the evening, Hiroshi asks for the room’s attention. He wants to give a speech. His eyes pool with water before he even says a word, and when Mayumi takes hold of his hand, he doesn’t let go.
“To my daughter, Akane: You are kind, generous, and so determined. You have the strength of the ocean and the transparency of glass. You are honest. You love without stipulation. You chase your dreams, and you don’t apologize for living your life the way you want to. You are an inspiration. You aren’t afraid to stare life in the eyes and demand a break sometimes. You deserve everything good in this world. You are a third of my heart. And like Amaterasu, you shine as bright as the sun.” He clears his throat, wiping his cheeks with his fingertips. “Thank you for giving us the honor of being your parents. We love you so very much.”
Everyone claps. Everyone except me.
Because I’m not paying attention to the clapping, or Akane hugging her parents, or the fact that Jamie is squeezing my hand so hard I think it might crumble to ash.
I’m too busy crying myself, thinking of how it must feel to be loved so wholly, so unconditionally.
The tears burn my eyes and blur my vision, and by the time I manage to wipe them all away with the backs of my hands, one of Akane’s uncles is making jokes to Hiroshi across the table and everyone but me seems to have moved on from the speech altogether.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper to Jamie, slipping out of my seat and finding one of the doors to the balcony.
I take in the fresh air, hoping the breeze will help dry my tears. I don’t know why I’m so emotional. I mean, it’s a speech for Akane, not me. And I’m not family, or even a close friend, really.
But his words—and the place they come from—speak to everything deep inside me.
I know not every family is the same. We all have different personalities and names. Different colors in a box of crayons. Different shades in a box of graphites. And maybe love looks different to different people, the same way beauty looks different.
But the kind of love I need isn’t the kind I have. I guess I’m still trying to find a way to be okay with that.
“I wonder if this is going to be a habit,” Hiroshi says from behind me. “Having serious conversations on balconies while looking out at the ocean.” He holds up his hands like he’s framing a portrait around me.
I laugh and wipe my face one more time to make sure the tears are all gone. “Sorry. I’m just being weird.”