Right Down The Line 4/9
+part three
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A couple weeks after doing all those charity dinners with a scrounged-up bunch of cooks on loan from the restaurants of several friends, Kame's back in Washington, addressing some issues brought up recently in the Kayakuya email roundtable while Sanjay stands next to him with his arms crossed over his chest.
When he's done, Sanjay says: "All right, folks. Are we all set here? Anyone have anything else they want to talk about?" He waits, glances around, and when he's satisfied that everyone's had their say, he waves them off.
"That does it, then. Let's have a good evening, everyone. Cat, I'll be there in just a minute," that last to his second-in-command, a tall black Dutch woman of Moroccan descent.
Sanjay uncrosses his arms and taps out a note on his pad. Without looking up, he reminds Kame that they have Los Penetratos tickets at The Bayou on U in April. "So make sure you're free," Sanjay says in a low voice as Kame watches the Sesamo kitchen and wait staff disperse after the pre-dinner service meeting.
"I don't know-" Kame begins, gathering up his notes.
Sanjay rounds on him, dropping his pad into one of the pockets of the apron neatly tied on over his crisp and pristine chef's coat. "You know what? You've been working like a dog these last few months. I shouldn't have to tell you that you can take a night off once in a while. And don't you even give me any bullshit about this, Kame. If you're trying to avoid me, just come out and say it. I bought those tickets four months ago for us. Because you asked me to. So what is this? If I didn't know better, I'd say you're acting like we're not friends anymore."
Sanjay's pissed, that's easy enough to see, and Kame feels a stab of regret. He opens mouth and then closes it. The seconds tick by.
"I'm sorry," Kame says at last. "I didn't mean to-" And he didn't, but somehow that's what's happened. After a crazy month where he hasn't been able to get down to DC as much he would have liked, Kame's been vesting Sanjay with more and more responsibility at Sesamo and while he hasn't been ignoring him - that would be unprofessional and unproductive for business - he has been avoiding a lot of the friendly personal interaction they'd had before the Takizawa party in February.
Kame rubs a hand across his mouth and looks away. "I was just trying to give you your space. I didn't-" He flicks his eyes back to Sanjay. "I didn't want to be unfair."
"Space, my fucking ass," Sanjay mutters, but the frustration in his eyes is already fading. "I appreciate that thought," he says, "but I'm not a delicate wilting flower - and we're both adults. If you don't mind, I'd like my fucking friend back."
Kame laughs when Sanjay winces. "Gee," Kame says. "When you put it like that..."
"Shut up," Sanjay says gruffly.
"Don't worry," Kame grins. "You're right. I'll make sure I'm free."
--
It's an unseasonably cold evening in late April when Kame meets Sanjay for dinner at a hole-in-the-wall in the Atlas district of D.C.. After the crazy, snowy winter, spring has taken its sweet time in appearing. The cherry blossoms only just showed up a week earlier, bizarrely-late after the last several years of mid- to late-March cherry blossom festivals. Dinner is pleasant enough, deep-fried soft-shelled crab sandwiches on soft white bread with vinegary bowls of colorful slaw, stewed black-eyed peas and collard greens on the side. Sanjay wants to see the opening act, so they head over to The Bayou on U and queue to get in to the sold-out show.
It's about three beers into the show before Kame relaxes into the music, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, nodding his head. All the tightness he didn't realize he'd been carrying around for weeks has somehow dissipated. He's in such a good mood, he isn't even irritated at Sanjay for disappearing on a beer run halfway through the Los Penetratos set, and he's feeling pretty generous towards people who keep bumping into him as they lurch through the crowd. When someone stands close enough to press up against his shoulder, he doesn't even recoil.
Kame turns his head, slow, ready with a friendly nod. Only it's Jin, holding out a bottle of beer, another one cradled to his chest. Kame feels that sensation again, like warm water rinsing over him, head to toe, but this time he's mellow enough that his reaction is muted, his shock muffled by alcohol and sound. Jin looks at him for a long moment, before he presses the bottle against Kame's chest. Its chill and dampness seep through his t-shirt. Jin leans in and yells over the music, "Are we going to pretend we don't know each other?"
Jin's eyes are bright; sweat-dampened hair sticks to his forehead. His expression is uncertainty mingled with hope, and Kame's too bemused to do anything more than accept the beer. The crowd shifts and Jin ends up pressed into his right shoulder. The music is deafening, so when Jin speaks again, his lips brush Kame's ears.
"What are you doing here?"
"I live here," Kame replies with a trace of irritation, irrationally expecting Jin to know. He makes a face when he realizes how it sounds. "You know what I mean. What are you doing here?"
"Actually," Jin yells, "I don't know what you mean. "
Kame shrugs helplessly, and points to an ear to pretend it's too loud to hear. When Jin doesn't try to speak to him again, Kame goes back to watching the show. At first he's self-conscious and too aware of Jin squashed up against him, but eventually the music makes him forget himself. It's been ages since he last saw a show; Sanjay was right to convince him to come. After a while, Kame blinks and realizes he's lost track of time and space. Muzzy, he discovers the bottle still clutched to his chest. He tips his head back and empties it in several long gulps. Kame feels his spine bow as he sways with the crowd.
When it's over, after forty minutes-worth of three encores, the lights come up, and Kame blinks owlishly. The crush of bodies eases around him. Kame is almost sorry that Jin's no longer a warm presence against his right shoulder. Without the cover of darkness and heat and too-loud-to-think sound, discomfort crawls over his skin. He half-turns; Jin's moved away to lean up against the wall of the sound booth, and just then Sanjay emerges from a cluster of bodies swarming the merch booth. Kame freezes.
"Hey, Kame," Sanjay says when he's near enough and his face is contrite. "There you are. I'm so sorry, man. I didn't mean to ditch you like that. I got stopped by some people I know and then it got too crowded to get back here." He pauses and his expression brightens with surprise.
"Jin Akanishi!" He offers a palm to Jin, who clasps it and nods at him. "Dude, how the hell are you? What're you even doing here? Thought you were in New York."
Jin shrugs. "Had a meeting in Alexandria," he says, "I might get some decent equipment out of it for cheap."
"Not bad, not bad," Sanjay says, nodding his head in approval. "Didn't know you'd be into this show. Shoulda told me you'd be around. We could've hooked up."
Kame looks between them, bewildered. "You know each other?"
Sanjay's face splits into wide grin. "Yeah. We met at the Takizawa party, what was it - two months ago?"
Now Kame feels like he's had ice-water dumped over his head. Sanjay smiles at both of them. "How do you guys know each other?"
"I need another drink," Kame mutters.
"So why don't we get out of here?" Sanjay suggests, not picking up on Kame's tone. "Jin - you're coming, right? We can hit another bar-"
Jin's expression is wary. He darts a glance at Kame.
"Or we could go back to my place," Sanjay offers. "Either way." He claps his hands together, rubbing them in anticipatory fashion, his gaze swinging between the two of them. "Come on, you guys, what do you say?"
"I'm gonna hit the head," Kame says, "And get my coat."
"Oh, could you get mine?" Sanjay asks, digging into a front pocket of his jeans. Kame shifts his weight as he accepts Sanjay's check tag and turns to Jin with what he hopes is a polite expression. "You?"
"If you don't mind," Jin says. Kame struggles to keep the flash of impatience off his face. He plucks the laminated cardboard square from Jin's fingers and turns on his heel.
He takes his time in the men's room, washing his hands carefully and avoiding his eyes in the mirror. He can feel the flush riding high on his cheeks, and it's not just the beers that have left him unsteady. Kame ducks his head over the sink and splashes cold water onto his face. The paper dispenser is empty, so he finds himself ducking his face into his sleeve before he wipes his hands on his jeans.
When he gets back, he's ten bucks lighter; the two guys running the coat check looked like they'd seen better days. He finds Sanjay and Jin leaned against the bar near a pitcher of water, looking very chummy. His stomach rolls. Sanjay's face brightens when he sees Kame approach, and he pushes off the bar, a hand extended for his coat.
"Thanks, man. You're coming, right?"
"What'd you decide on," Kame asks, still hedging. He passes the other coat to Jin and begins to pull on his own.
Sanjay exchanges a glance with Jin. "I think we're gonna head to my place and get delivery from New Big Wong. I could definitely go for some duck feet right now. You in?"
Kame wavers.
"Sure," Kame says, surprising himself, and he studiously ignores the disbelief that crosses Jin's face. "I'm in."
--
"Dude, this so does not go together." Jin is laughing after chasing a mouthful of cartilaginous duck feet with a swallow of brew. Chinese food cartons litter the table interspersed with large bottles of Belgian beer. An open bottle of red is perched near an edge, breathing.
Kame turns back to the bookshelf by the front window, fingers tracing down Sanjay's haphazardly-filed collection of cookbooks and magazines. Kame has one, too, back in New York, but Yamapi's collection is larger: his modern condo has the room for walls of bookshelves while Kame is still making do with his minimally-furnished closet of a one-bedroom flat in the East Village.
Kame barely registers Sanjay's amiable "Shut up and eat" as he aimlessly studies the book spines, finds a copy of the now-infamous July 2016 Esquire. He snags it and pages through to smirk at the article and accompanying spread of Yamapi cooking for a high-profile DNC fundraiser. There's only one photo of them together, a small one in a box on the side: Tomohisa Yamashita (right), chef-owner of Manhattan restaurant Sesamo, with chef-partner Kazuya Kamenashi.
Kame dimly registers the stereo volume creeping up; someone must have their hand on the remote.
"Wait, wait, you gotta listen to this," Sanjay says.
It sounds like Jin answers "Listen to what," with his mouth is full, "You need to join the twenty-first century, man. Who listens to records?"
"I do," Sanjay retorts. "Now shut up and listen."
It's Pink Floyd, "Wish You Were Here." Kame hears Jin's protesting groan. With an uncomfortable itch between his shoulders, Kame's inclined to agree.
"Everyone should know this song," Sanjay's saying with a grin in his voice. "Everyone should drink to this song."
Kame can't resist sneaking another look over his shoulder.
"Everyone does know this song. What's wrong with you," Jin asks in eye-rolling mock-disgusted tones. He leans to grab a fortune cookie off the table and pelts it at Sanjay.
"It's a classic, old man," Sanjay protests, catching the fortune cookie against his chest. "Listen and weep."
"No kidding," Jin says, "Weeping is all it's good for."
Jin used to like the band, Kame thinks, once upon a time. Kame remembers. He stays very still, looks away from them and angling his head to peer at the lower shelves, he reflexively tightens his grip on the edge of the bookshelf. When Gilmour gets to that line, did you exchange a walk-on part / for a lead role in a cage, Kame's mouth floods with saliva and he swallows. He wishes they would keep talking right over the whole damn song. Anything so he doesn't have to hear it.
"Hey," he hears beside him. Kame looks up. He accepts a glass of red with a half-smile and murmured thanks.
"Hey, man," Sanjay says in a low voice. "Act like you want to be here." He smiles awkwardly, like he's making a joke, but his eyes are faintly defiant, hurt even. "Or don't. But, come on, you know? Don't stand over here like you're allergic to me." Sanjay lifts a hand to scratch the back of his head, and he looks embarrassed. Kame can't help the involuntary glance over Sanjay's shoulder to where Jin's now cross-legged on the floor near the records, riffling through them and pulling a few out.
He tries to head Sanjay off with an apologetic shake of his head. "Sorry," he says, and he means it. "It's not you. I'm just tired." He offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile before following Sanjay. Kame falls into one corner of the long couch, stretches his legs out in front of him. Sanjay lands in the armchair nearby, props his socked feet up on the edge of the coffee table.
"Don't you want anything to eat?" Sanjay asks him. Kame surveys the open cartons speculatively.
"There are chopsticks under the bag," Jin says without looking up from a record he's flipping over in his hands. Kame glances over at him briefly, but Jin is studiously examining a gatefold album.
"So how do you guys know each other?" Sanjay asks after a couple long pulls at his bottle. Kame's eyes dart toward Jin who's lifted his head to look at Kame.
Kame says, "Kitagawa Restaurant Group," at the same time Jin's saying, "-went to school together."
Jin cocks his head, and he pins Kame with an impenetrable look. "And it's been a while."
"Ten years," Kame says without missing a beat, softening his tone only at the last second. He bites his lip as Sanjay starts laughing. "Oh, my god. Wait. Kitagawa Group and you went to cooking school together? What school? I thought Yamashita was the only one who knew this motherfucker that long."
Kame snorts softly. "Not exactly."
Jin smirks then with a surprising flash of mischief. "And the things I know," he says unexpectedly, mischievous good humor tugging at his lips. There's a glitter in Jin's eyes that Kame finds unsettling.
Kame takes up his wine glass and empties it.
"Oh, man," Sanjay says with a big pleased smile, as though he's hit some kind of jackpot, "I have to hear this."
"You really don't," Kame says, pouring himself another glass. "It's not that interesting." It isn't. It wasn't.
Jin clears his throat. "It wasn't cooking school. We went to an international school in Madrid."
"Wait-" Sanjay tilts his head at Kame. "You met in high school?"
"Middle school," Kame interjects.
"It's actually a funny story-" Jin says, looking back down, his tone deceptively absent, as though he isn't dangling bait. "-how we met."
Kame glances at Sanjay whose face is lit up and greedy. "And?"
"And nothing," Kame says, not quite managing to keep the exasperation from his tone. He relents. "We were young." Kame stabs his chopsticks into a randomly seized carton. "Just a couple kids."
"And?" Sanjay has his eyebrows lifted now.
Jin looks up from another record. "Kame, you should tell it. It's funnier when you tell it."
“Ha-ha." Kame pulls a face and turns to Sanjay. "The first time we met, that guy,” Kame jerks his thumb toward Jin. “-gave me a concussion.”
Sanjay starts laughing again.
"I'm so glad my head injuries amuse you," Kame says.
"So tragic," Jin says dryly. "You gave me a concussion, too."
"What the fuck were you guys even doing?" Sanjay asks when his mirth subsides.
Kame sighs.
--
It isn't much of a story. Kame explains how he and Jin ended up together on their school's soccer team in Madrid. Jin was new and during his first practice scrimmage, they both went up for a header. Crashed their skulls together so violently they were both sent home with concussions. It hurt like hell. End of story.
What Kame doesn't describe is what happened after. How Jin didn't go home that day because his parents and brother were both away and there was no one else to keep an eye on him. How Kame brought him back to his parents' cavernous flat where the cook and the housekeeper doted on them, kept Kame's brothers away, and brought them their dinner on trays. How they'd ended up spread out on the floor of Kame's bedroom with their heads close together, listening to the Rolling Stones on Kame's rug. How Jin wouldn't stop talking about wanting to become a rock star because he'd gotten a guitar for his birthday.
Kame was twelve when they met, and for various reasons, they were the same year in school; after that day, they were inseparable.
Sanjay says, "but-" His mouth opens and closes as he studies Kame. "You don't even like soccer."
Kame shrugs. It's not true, but he isn't about to admit that. "The school didn't have a baseball team. I was unlucky. There wasn't enough interest the year I started, so they told me to try for something else. It was Madrid, you know? So of course soccer was the most popular sport; it was the most competitive, and - I wanted a challenge."
"You must have noticed," Jin says, "Kame is very competitive."
Kame shoots Jin a sour look and turns to Sanjay. "Don't believe everything you hear."
"No way, man, this is awesome. Jin, please. Feel free to share any and all dirty childhood secrets."
"And you're just going to believe him," Kame protests. "You don't know him like I do." It pops out unbidden; Kame bites his tongue.
Sanjay shrugs, tilts his head and eyes Jin speculatively. "I don't know. He has a trustworthy face."
"I could tell him about that time you spilled squid ink all over a tray of these little bowls of crema catalana-" Jin's mirth is barely suppressed and his eyes have a wicked glint to them.
"He did not," Sanjay says in awed tones.
"-he did, too. Boss was furious but wouldn't let us throw them out, so we had to pour the ink out, clean the dishes out as best we could, and then put more sugar on top of what was left of the crema. Kame was freaking out while he was torching the sugar, and I swear, we all thought the customers were gonna murder us after that, but-" Jin dissolves into laughter. "They ate it all."
"Augh, no way," Sanjay groans, still laughing. "They actually ate custard and squid ink? Ugh." He pulls a face and shudders.
"They were really drunk." Kame flicks a chopstick at Sanjay, hitting him in the arm, but Sanjay's too far gone to notice. Kame stands abruptly. "Anyone need anything?" Wipes his hands on his jeans.
Sanjay's crinkled-up eyes pop wide open. "Yeah. I think we need to celebrate." His words are coming out slower now, his usually-slight Virginia accent deepening.
"What are we celebrating?" Jin asks. Kame's head swivels to see Jin get to his feet.
Sanjay chuckles, squinting across the coffee table at Jin. "Does it matter? Wait, where are you going?" The last to Kame who's edging away.
"See a man about a horse," Kame says, "is that okay?"
"Of course." Sanjay subsides back into his armchair with a wide smile. "Just. You can't leave yet. Or you, Jin. We have to have a toast."
"Sure," Kame says, not bothering to argue, "and then I'm going home. It's late." He's careful not to look at Jin when he says it, but Sanjay grabs his upper arm as Kame nearly trips on his own feet in the narrow space between the couch, armchair and coffee table.
Sanjay doesn't say anything as he looks up at Kame, and his fingers fall away almost immediately. Kame has to hold himself steady, righting himself without flinching back, without a backward glance over his shoulder. He's drunker than he'd realized. He splashes cold water to shock himself back to good judgment, lifts the bottom of his t-shirt to dry his face. He doesn't need to look in the mirror to see his flushed cheeks.
When Kame makes his way back to the living room, there are shot glasses lined up on the coffee table and an unmarked bottle half-full of something clear.
"Oh, no," Kame groans, shaking his head vehemently. "No, no, no. No way."
Jin looks up from where he's pouring. His smile is sheepish. "Too late," he says. He stretches out his arm to Sanjay who accepts his glass with relish.
"Now that's what I'm talking 'bout," Sanjay says in tones of distinct satisfaction.
"Do you even know what it is?" Kame demands, eyeing the bottle as he would a dangerous viper. He hangs back behind Sanjay's armchair.
"Good old boy Virginia moonshine," Sanjay pipes up with a cheeky grin. "I told him."
"That stuff will kill you," Kame warns, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders inside his hoodie. He watches Jin shrug easily. "I promise you. You will hate life tomorrow. Are you sure you-"
"Shut up and sit down, will you?" Sanjay cuts in. "Jin, don't listen to him. It's awesome."
Kame reluctantly returns to his place on the couch. Jin, now on the wide cushion beside him, pushes the third glass toward Kame.
"There are worse ways to die," Jin says. "What are we toasting?"
Sanjay leans forward in his chair. He holds out his glass and waits for them to do the same. "To old friends," he says.
Kame coughs, startling himself, before he repeats the toast. Jin has to lean past him to clink Sanjay's glass. It's bad luck to toast without looking into everyone's eyes, at least that's how Kame was raised. He pushes aside a thin veil of reluctance to look at Jin when he clinks Jin's glass.
"To old friends," he hears Jin murmur, and meets his eyes-
Kame looks away and knocks back the homemade liquor, clinging to the white hot burn all the way down.
Sanjay is already pouring another. "Give me your glasses." Kame's will power melts away in the heat warming his insides. He doesn't flinch when Sanjay says, "To old lovers."
Kame pours the next round.
At some point, Jin gets his hands on Sanjay's phone and finds the remote app for Sanjay's digital music library and murmurs, "So you aren't a complete vinyl traditionalist - you're just a poser," and ducks when Sanjay throws a cushion at his head. After a moment, he looks up and flashes a wide white grin. "Hey, Kame, remember this?" Jin drops his head back onto the couch back and turns to face Kame. Guitar strumming comes on over the speakers.
"Oh, man," Kame feels a grin spread across his face despite himself.
"Stones," Sanjay says approvingly. "Nice." He sings along to the first line of the song. Kame joins in a beat later, unable to stop grinning, and Jin is right behind him.
Lets drink to the hard working people
Lets drink to the lowly of birth
Raise your glass to the good and the evil
Lets drink to the salt of the earth
When it's over, Kame feels compelled to explain. "One summer, when we were kids," he begins, looking at Sanjay, "we worked for this old guy in Madrid, he had a little tapas place. Popular spot, so it was always busy and we worked really fucking hard for that guy. He was crazy about the Stones, and he'd play that song every night after all the customers were gone. We'd be back there in that tiny shitty kitchen mopping floors and scrubbing pots, and it was horrible, you know? Standing for like twelve or fourteen hours, and everything - your back, your feet, even my fucking tailbone would hurt. That place was brutal. But it felt so good to be done, you know, not just done but to have survived. Without any major catastrophes-"
"-oh, we had our share of catastrophes. Remember when I burned my eyebrows off?" Jin interjects.
"Oh, man," Kame laughs, unable to help himself. "I do. I still don't know how your hair didn't catch on fire." Kame remembers it took forever for Jin's eyebrows to grow back, all except this one little streak on the tapered end where hot oil had splashed and left a shiny white burn scar. He sneaks a look over at Jin but doesn't dare stare long enough to find the scar tissue he knows must be there.
"I still don't know how I didn't melt my eyeballs," Jin says. He shakes his head.
"So we'd get to the end of the night," Kame goes on, "And - and our boss would be shit-faced, and he'd play 'Salt of the Earth.' By then you knew you were almost done, and we'd all be singing along at the top of our lungs. For about five minutes, I actually liked the guy. You'd forget about everything and life was beautiful. Fucking exhilarating."
"It was awesome," Jin nods, smiling. He knuckles tiredly at his eyes. "Man, I hated that guy, though. He was an asshole. Paid next to nothing and never on time. Hijo de puta." Jin curses him softly in Spanish.
"But he loved the Stones," Kame reminds Jin, turning to meet Jin's eyes.
"Only good thing about him," Jin answers, blinking slowly and tilting his head toward the ceiling. "That, and he could cook."
"He could cook," Kame agrees.
"Another toast," Sanjay says. Jin pours refills all around and waits with his glass lifted. Kame follows suit and watches Sanjay who just leans forward to clink their glasses. "To good memories," he says.
Good memories. Kame swallows them down.
--
When Kame blinks awake, he's curled up on the corner of the sofa, with his knees drawn up and his arms crossed over his chest. His cheek is pressed into the courduroy of the couch-back. It takes him several seconds to register the music, more Stones, and it sends a ripple through him.
I've been traveling
but I don't know where
He stays still, afraid to breathe. Jin is in profile on the couch nearby, head flung back and his long legs stretched out in front of him, the picture of relaxed repose. Kame wonders if he can leave without waking either of them. It's another minute or so before he realizes that Jin isn't asleep.
Kame's instinct is to flee before he lets something dangerous slip - but his head is cottoned-over and his limbs are untrustworthy. Goddamn Sanjay and his goddamned moonshine. It figures they would have finished the bottle.
He watches the rise and fall of Jin's chest as Jin breathes in deeply and lets it out, a heavy sigh. Jin's head rolls to face Kame. He blinks, slow.
"You must really hate me," Jin says at last, an exhalation. Not a question; it's matter-of-fact, devoid of hope.
There's a torrent seething just behind Kame's set teeth, his chest buzzing with angry bees, and worse, there's something painful clamping his throat tight.
"I guess I can't blame you," Jin goes on, his voice quiet, resigned. Kame feels his searching gaze like the scrape of a shovel, excavating ancient remains. He says nothing, but he squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds, careless of what that might betray. He won't speak. He can't speak. If he opens his mouth, he isn't sure what will come out. He jerks his head in what-? Protest? Agreement? Kame pushes himself upright, his lower lip caught by his teeth, but he doesn't look away.
Jin returns his gaze unflinchingly. The song ends, another begins, a pointed, purpose-built soundtrack that Kame is now certain Jin must have assembled when he was playing with Sanjay's remote. It's all music they used to listen to and cook to, the ones they used to love. Kame still does.
In that moment, he wants to hate Jin.
"You need a hand?" Jin asks.
Kame doesn't understand.
"With Sanjay," Jin says, jerking his chin towards where Sanjay is softly snoring in the armchair. "Should we leave him there? Or..." Jin trails off.
"Yes," Kame nods his head, thinking would serve him right, the bastard. Then: "No. Should probably put him to bed."
When Jin stands up, he doesn't look any steadier than Kame feels, but nonetheless, Kame tracks Jin's progress around the coffee table to Sanjay's other side. Together, they get him to his feet and hook Sanjay's arms over their shoulders so they can lurch his dead weight down the shadowy hall. The bedroom door is open, so Kame gets them through sideways and with some awkward shuffling, they both collapse onto the bed as they get Sanjay flopped down on his back. Kame pulls away and makes it back to his feet. He watches Jin try to disentangle himself from Sanjay's limp form, and he can't help the chuckle that escapes.
Jin pulls loose and uses his elbows to push himself off the mattress to stand. His face is creased in a lopsided smile, just visible in the light thrown by the hall lamp.
"Where are you staying?" Kame asks, his voice a rusty croak, as he turns away and heads back toward the living room. He bends over the table and begins gathering up the remains of their late-night meal, stuffing trash into the paper sack and attempting to close carton flaps.
"Shit," Jin says.
"What?" Kame asks absently. Jin clutches a bouquet of empties. He follows Kame toward the kitchen.
"It's four-thirty," Jin says with a groan.
"Is it." Kame yawns. He opens the refrigerator and throws the half-eaten food inside. "Is that a problem."
"Maybe," Jin mumbles. He's slumped over the counter beside the empties, his head in his hands. He sounds half asleep.
"Where are you staying?" Kame asks again.
"House."
"House where."
Jin pushes himself up, braces himself against the counter. "I should call a taxi."
"I'm." Kame yawns again. "I'm gonna-" -another yawn- "go out to U Street. Walk will do me good."
Jin turns to face him, his expression etched with puzzlement. "You - you're walking home? Now?"
Kame slowly shakes his head. "Nah. Cab. On U Street. Faster. You can - can. We can - split a cab."
Jin is silent. Kame turns, one hand gripping the counter's edge, and he presses the heel of his hand hard against his left eye. Kame feels Jin's frown behind him. Kame's lips are numb when he bites down.
"If you want," Kame says. He sways, held by an invisible cord, and then stumbles forward and away.
--
Kame's phone alarm goes off in his jeans pocket at eight. He ignores it for a while, but eventually he shifts, squints at the daylight coming in through his blinds, and squeezes his eyes shut again. Inhales deeply and lets it out in a long sigh. Covers his eyes with his forearm.
Jin, in what Kame could only imagine was a fit of drunken guilt, had insisted that the taxi drop Kame off first. Kame remembers trying to protest, but, too tired to fight, he'd let himself slump back against the vinyl seat for the short taxi ride. Allowed the car's sway and momentum to lull him into a peaceful state.
It ended rather quickly. When the cab pulled up in front of Kame's house near Logan Circle, Jin was fast asleep, and after wrestling with himself for several seconds, Kame paid the driver and tugged mightily at Jin until Jin roused enough to stagger out.
"Where am I," Jin asked, his words slurred more by exhaustion than anything else, but Kame wasn't in any shape to accurately judge. "Is this - this isn't-"
"No," Kame had replied. Turned and trudged up the iron steps leading into his townhouse, holding tight to the rail. Hadn't bothered to see if Jin was following until he was inside. He'd turned in the open doorway and there was Jin, still standing at the bottom of the steps, frowning up at him in confusion. Kame stood aside, held the door open, hoping the tacit permission would penetrate Jin's fogged brain. While he waited, Kame leaned his head on his forearm where it was propped against the door's edge, and closed his eyes. He opened them again when he heard Jin's shoes on the steps. Kame waved up the stairs directly in front of them.
"Just-just crash on my futon. Okay. I'm - I'm gonna get some water. Go up. First door on the left."
Last he'd seen, Jin was passed out in the upstairs office; he hadn't even pulled the futon out, just stretched out, face-down and fully-dressed. Kame had thrown a folded-up blanket at Jin's unresponsive body and left a glass of water on the floor.
Now he's wondering if Jin has already left or if he's still asleep when Kame hears a creak in the hallway floor, and the sound of the toilet seat being lifted from the hall bathroom.
Kame rolls over again, face pressed into the mattress, and blindly finds a pillow to pull over his head.
He wonders if he doesn't move, if Jin will just let himself out and be on his way.
He wonders how he feels about that.
He pushes himself up on his elbows. Says: "Fuck," before he deflates and hides his face in the sheets.
--
Kame showers before he pads downstairs in his socked feet, and in an eerie replay of the incident a couple months earlier, he finds Jin sitting at the large wooden table in his kitchen with his head cradled on his crossed arms. An empty glass is nearby.
Kame brings the water pitcher to the table with a glass for himself and pulls out a chair. Jin's head slowly lifts, his gaze bleary and unfocused.
"Hi," Jin says.
Looking away, Kame busies himself with pouring water into both glasses. Slides Jin's glass back toward him.
"Morning," Kame says.
Jin clears his throat and tries to sit up straighter. His eyes are bloodshot, and he's rubbing his face with both hands.
"Do you, um. Have eyedrops? Or." Jin sighs. "I left my contacts in and-"
Kame nods. "Yeah. Yes." He pushes himself up and leaves as Jin makes a sound of protest. When Kame comes back, Jin is mumbling inaudibly, his eyes half-closed, shaking his head a little as though he's lost an argument with himself.
"You didn't have to-" Jin begins, but he stops himself and finishes with a heartfelt "Thank you." He uncaps the small bottle Kame's left on the table, tilts his head back, drips moisture into his eyes and blinks rapidly. Tears streak down his face. Jin grimaces. "I can't see without-" He gestures vaguely. "My glasses are back- I wasn't planning to - for-" His chair scrapes back as he pushes himself to a stand. Kame watches Jin's Adam's apple bob, and Jin appears less than steady. "I should get going. I just-" He pauses, his hand white-knuckled where it grasps the chair back. "I didn't want to leave without thanking you."
Kame frowns. "For what?"
"Letting me crash here last night."
Right. Kame leans forward slightly and slides the glass toward Jin. "Drink your water."
Jin sways for several seconds before he surrenders, slumping back down into his chair. It creaks in protest. He reaches for and finishes half the glass of water in one long draught.
"I tried to warn you," Kame say, barely avoiding a hint of smugness mingled with horrifying sympathy. He doesn't feel much better than Jin looks, but Kame's done battle with this particular demon before, so he is somewhat familiar with the effects.
"Ugh, I feel like I've been run over by a train," Jin moans. He ineffectually tries to straighten. "Where does it come from?"
It takes a few seconds for Jin's question to register, and when it does, Kame freezes. That's professional interest, not idle curiosity.
Kame tells him. He tells him about the Virginia farm from which Sesamo in Washington sources a lot of its produce; he talks about the moonshine, but also about the pigs and the chickens and the eggs. Kame is sure he doesn't need to explain to Jin how most non-chain restaurants now always partner with small farms: ten or twenty years ago, farm-to-table was a faddish trend or a marketing point, but now, after what everyone still thinks of as the global food crash of 2016, it's a commonplace necessity. When Kame mentions his long-time involvement with the Yale Sustainable Food Project, Jin's face brightens in recognition.
Jin explains that he spent eighteen months in Vietnam running a noodle shop for an older man he'd befriended. "Most of our produce came from a farm about ten kilometers away. I worked with them to implement some of the recommended practices that came out of that Yale sustainability symposium in 2017."
Kame is taken aback, although a second later he doesn't know why he should be surprised. "You did?"
Jin nods. Kame notes the pride in Jin's voice as he discusses the farm work - but he also detects the strain in Jin's voice when he talks about his friend and the friend's shop. Kame drops a hand into his lap and digs his fingers into his thigh as hard as he can, his pulse beating in his palm to the throb of his aching head. There's so much he doesn't know. So much he missed out on.
Kame forces himself to smile. He has a thousand questions, and yet - nothing comes out.
"I've never been to Vietnam," he says at last.
Jin nods, a tiny rocking motion. "You should. The food is amazing. Different, you know?" He shakes his head, his expression tinged with regret. "I enjoyed it there."
"Why'd you leave?" Kame asks, curiosity getting the better of him.
A shadow crosses Jin's face. "My friend died."
"I-I'm so sorry."
Jin's expression is bleak. "It was sudden. Something with his heart. He wasn't even that old - late fifties, I think. Took us all by surprise." He's silent for a moment.
"I learned a lot from him," Jin says. "He'd had an interesting life. He and his family fled to Australia during the war, but he went back to Vietnam in the nineties. He'd gone to cooking school in Australia and his parents were also cooks. He told me they thought the quality of food in Vietnam had really gone down after the war, probably because all the best chefs had fled or died. And there were so many problems with the food supply system."
Jin shifts, and his expression grows earnest.
"He wanted to change things, you know? He wanted to help rebuild the food culture. He spent all that time in Vietnam trying to make a difference, bringing some things back, but especially he worked on the food supply issues, with farms. I think he did make things better - it's because of him that the farms around his town even survived. But...after he died, his son and daughter decided to sell the place. I - I thought about buying it, but in the end, I didn't want to run it without him, not when-" He laughs breathlessly, without mirth. "He was my friend, you know? It was - it was damn hard after he died. In the end, I figured it was better if I moved on."
"Did someone take over the shop?" Kame asks as Jin subsides into silence, trying to cover his surprise at Jin's frankness.
Jin shakes his head, regretful. "Nope. Not as far as I know. But it's been a long time now, so who knows, maybe-" He shrugs. "I'd like to think so. I hate thinking everything he worked for died with him."
Kame isn't sure what he should say that would be adequate.
Jin clears his throat and rubs the back of his hand against his forehead. "So-" he begins in a different tone. "This is what you meant."
"Huh?"
"Last night, at the show," Jin says, as though it's obvious. When Kame continues staring at him without comprehension, the corners of Jin's mouth lift. "You said you live here. I didn't know what you were talking about."
"Oh," Kame breathes. "That." He frowns. "Yamapi didn't tell you?"
Jin shakes his head. "Yamapi doesn't talk about you. He's made that very clear."
"Oh." Kame considers that for several seconds. "He, um." Kame squirms. "He's told me the same thing," he admits at last, feeling sheepish.
"Really?" Jin almost looks relieved. He glances around consideringly. "It's a nice house. Comfortable. And-" He pauses. "I love the kitchen."
Kame feels the hint of a smile tug at his mouth. "I have a flat in New York," he says, "but it's - you know what they're like - really fucking small. The kitchens are terrible." Kame rubs his temples. "I took on this house a couple years ago. I was spending so much time down here working on - you know - opening the restaurant. I've been renting but the owner's interested in selling if I want it. I'm thinking about it." Kame looks around. "The kitchen is good - came with the range and that refrigerator. And there's so much counter space..." He trails off.
"I was thinking," Kame begins, stops. He clears his throat, begins again: "Anyway, Washington has its problems, but it's all right. I like it here."
Jin looks faintly shocked. "Better than New York?"
Kame shakes his head. "No-o, not better. It's different. I like them for different reasons."
"Do you think you'd move down here?" Jin's tone is hesitant.
Kame shrugs. "You mean give up the flat?" He shakes his head. "I work in New York most of the time. But you know me," he says before he can think about it: "I've never been, you know, jacked up about being a New Yorker." Kame breaks off as it occurs to him that Jin doesn't know this. Has never known this. They were in New York for only a few years before Jin took off. Kame rushes to continue. "This is like, this house is my-" He breaks off and ducks his head. "-I don't know, it feels like my getaway. Even if I work here, too - it just feels different, somehow. It's an extravagance, I know, but right now it's worth the extra money to have it. And man, it beats having to stay in a hotel. I hate not having a kitchen."
Jin hums in response."Your parents?" he asks, abruptly changing the subject. "How are they?"
"Fine," Kame says. His favorite subject. "They were in London and Germany for a while. Finally went back to Spain."
"Do you see them?"
Kame shakes his head. "Not in a while."
"Why not?" Jin asks.
Kame bites his lip and shifts. "Their grandchildren are all in Europe," he says tightly.
Jin frowns at him. "But-" He turns that over. "You don't visit?"
Kame winces. "Not lately," he says, "It's...complicated. There are-" He takes a breath and squirms before opting for honesty. "My parents used to visit, years ago. But they'd come and I could never get away to spend enough time with them. And then my father realized-" He feels himself speeding up, just to get it over with faster. "Let's just say he figured out I was never going to give him a grandchild, not the way he wanted one. They stopped coming." He huffs a mirthless laugh. "I can't say I was surprised."
Jin's face is a mask. "I'm sorry," he says.
"What about your family?"
"They're fine," Jin says. "My brother's been in L.A. last couple years, so that was nice. Dad's back in Tokyo, Mom's in Italy."
"Doing what?" Kame asks, more surprised that Jin's mom is in Italy than that his brother is in California.
"She does agroturismo work now. She lives on a farm and she's the marketing director for an agroturismo group in Emilia-Romagna." Jin smiles. "She's pretty happy. She gets to garden - you remember her flowers? And she's doing something she cares about. Not like before."
Jin means before his parents split up - Kame remembers. It started around the time Kitagawa sent the two of them to New York. Jin's family was falling apart while he was moving up in the world. Made for a fairly confusing period.
"I'm glad to hear that," Kame says, and he means it. He hesitates before asking: "You want something to eat?"
Jin digs his phone out of his jeans' pocket and alarm flashes across his face when he glances at it.
"Shit," Jin says. His chair scrapes when he stands. "I need to go. I have to catch a bus back to New York. Need to get my stuff first."
"Of course," Kame says, trying not to feel crestfallen. Then comes the start of surprise that he's disappointed. Jin is here, sitting in his kitchen, talking to him as if - not as if no time had passed, but almost as if they're on speaking terms. Almost, Kame thinks, if he squints. And it's weird, but the weirdness is all mixed up with how familiar it feels.
Another time he wants to say; it's there on his tongue, a nascent desire for things to be different. But he doesn't, because they aren't. Pride is his dubious armor, the old hurts calloused-over and unyielding.
"Rain check?" Jin says, and Kame feels the air go out of him.
Jin's eyes measure him. There's so much Kame wants to know. So much. He has questions. Jin holds himself stiffly, poised to flee.
And yet, he's waiting.
Kame stands.
Kame says: "Wait."
+part five
::::
::::
A couple weeks after doing all those charity dinners with a scrounged-up bunch of cooks on loan from the restaurants of several friends, Kame's back in Washington, addressing some issues brought up recently in the Kayakuya email roundtable while Sanjay stands next to him with his arms crossed over his chest.
When he's done, Sanjay says: "All right, folks. Are we all set here? Anyone have anything else they want to talk about?" He waits, glances around, and when he's satisfied that everyone's had their say, he waves them off.
"That does it, then. Let's have a good evening, everyone. Cat, I'll be there in just a minute," that last to his second-in-command, a tall black Dutch woman of Moroccan descent.
Sanjay uncrosses his arms and taps out a note on his pad. Without looking up, he reminds Kame that they have Los Penetratos tickets at The Bayou on U in April. "So make sure you're free," Sanjay says in a low voice as Kame watches the Sesamo kitchen and wait staff disperse after the pre-dinner service meeting.
"I don't know-" Kame begins, gathering up his notes.
Sanjay rounds on him, dropping his pad into one of the pockets of the apron neatly tied on over his crisp and pristine chef's coat. "You know what? You've been working like a dog these last few months. I shouldn't have to tell you that you can take a night off once in a while. And don't you even give me any bullshit about this, Kame. If you're trying to avoid me, just come out and say it. I bought those tickets four months ago for us. Because you asked me to. So what is this? If I didn't know better, I'd say you're acting like we're not friends anymore."
Sanjay's pissed, that's easy enough to see, and Kame feels a stab of regret. He opens mouth and then closes it. The seconds tick by.
"I'm sorry," Kame says at last. "I didn't mean to-" And he didn't, but somehow that's what's happened. After a crazy month where he hasn't been able to get down to DC as much he would have liked, Kame's been vesting Sanjay with more and more responsibility at Sesamo and while he hasn't been ignoring him - that would be unprofessional and unproductive for business - he has been avoiding a lot of the friendly personal interaction they'd had before the Takizawa party in February.
Kame rubs a hand across his mouth and looks away. "I was just trying to give you your space. I didn't-" He flicks his eyes back to Sanjay. "I didn't want to be unfair."
"Space, my fucking ass," Sanjay mutters, but the frustration in his eyes is already fading. "I appreciate that thought," he says, "but I'm not a delicate wilting flower - and we're both adults. If you don't mind, I'd like my fucking friend back."
Kame laughs when Sanjay winces. "Gee," Kame says. "When you put it like that..."
"Shut up," Sanjay says gruffly.
"Don't worry," Kame grins. "You're right. I'll make sure I'm free."
--
It's an unseasonably cold evening in late April when Kame meets Sanjay for dinner at a hole-in-the-wall in the Atlas district of D.C.. After the crazy, snowy winter, spring has taken its sweet time in appearing. The cherry blossoms only just showed up a week earlier, bizarrely-late after the last several years of mid- to late-March cherry blossom festivals. Dinner is pleasant enough, deep-fried soft-shelled crab sandwiches on soft white bread with vinegary bowls of colorful slaw, stewed black-eyed peas and collard greens on the side. Sanjay wants to see the opening act, so they head over to The Bayou on U and queue to get in to the sold-out show.
It's about three beers into the show before Kame relaxes into the music, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, nodding his head. All the tightness he didn't realize he'd been carrying around for weeks has somehow dissipated. He's in such a good mood, he isn't even irritated at Sanjay for disappearing on a beer run halfway through the Los Penetratos set, and he's feeling pretty generous towards people who keep bumping into him as they lurch through the crowd. When someone stands close enough to press up against his shoulder, he doesn't even recoil.
Kame turns his head, slow, ready with a friendly nod. Only it's Jin, holding out a bottle of beer, another one cradled to his chest. Kame feels that sensation again, like warm water rinsing over him, head to toe, but this time he's mellow enough that his reaction is muted, his shock muffled by alcohol and sound. Jin looks at him for a long moment, before he presses the bottle against Kame's chest. Its chill and dampness seep through his t-shirt. Jin leans in and yells over the music, "Are we going to pretend we don't know each other?"
Jin's eyes are bright; sweat-dampened hair sticks to his forehead. His expression is uncertainty mingled with hope, and Kame's too bemused to do anything more than accept the beer. The crowd shifts and Jin ends up pressed into his right shoulder. The music is deafening, so when Jin speaks again, his lips brush Kame's ears.
"What are you doing here?"
"I live here," Kame replies with a trace of irritation, irrationally expecting Jin to know. He makes a face when he realizes how it sounds. "You know what I mean. What are you doing here?"
"Actually," Jin yells, "I don't know what you mean. "
Kame shrugs helplessly, and points to an ear to pretend it's too loud to hear. When Jin doesn't try to speak to him again, Kame goes back to watching the show. At first he's self-conscious and too aware of Jin squashed up against him, but eventually the music makes him forget himself. It's been ages since he last saw a show; Sanjay was right to convince him to come. After a while, Kame blinks and realizes he's lost track of time and space. Muzzy, he discovers the bottle still clutched to his chest. He tips his head back and empties it in several long gulps. Kame feels his spine bow as he sways with the crowd.
When it's over, after forty minutes-worth of three encores, the lights come up, and Kame blinks owlishly. The crush of bodies eases around him. Kame is almost sorry that Jin's no longer a warm presence against his right shoulder. Without the cover of darkness and heat and too-loud-to-think sound, discomfort crawls over his skin. He half-turns; Jin's moved away to lean up against the wall of the sound booth, and just then Sanjay emerges from a cluster of bodies swarming the merch booth. Kame freezes.
"Hey, Kame," Sanjay says when he's near enough and his face is contrite. "There you are. I'm so sorry, man. I didn't mean to ditch you like that. I got stopped by some people I know and then it got too crowded to get back here." He pauses and his expression brightens with surprise.
"Jin Akanishi!" He offers a palm to Jin, who clasps it and nods at him. "Dude, how the hell are you? What're you even doing here? Thought you were in New York."
Jin shrugs. "Had a meeting in Alexandria," he says, "I might get some decent equipment out of it for cheap."
"Not bad, not bad," Sanjay says, nodding his head in approval. "Didn't know you'd be into this show. Shoulda told me you'd be around. We could've hooked up."
Kame looks between them, bewildered. "You know each other?"
Sanjay's face splits into wide grin. "Yeah. We met at the Takizawa party, what was it - two months ago?"
Now Kame feels like he's had ice-water dumped over his head. Sanjay smiles at both of them. "How do you guys know each other?"
"I need another drink," Kame mutters.
"So why don't we get out of here?" Sanjay suggests, not picking up on Kame's tone. "Jin - you're coming, right? We can hit another bar-"
Jin's expression is wary. He darts a glance at Kame.
"Or we could go back to my place," Sanjay offers. "Either way." He claps his hands together, rubbing them in anticipatory fashion, his gaze swinging between the two of them. "Come on, you guys, what do you say?"
"I'm gonna hit the head," Kame says, "And get my coat."
"Oh, could you get mine?" Sanjay asks, digging into a front pocket of his jeans. Kame shifts his weight as he accepts Sanjay's check tag and turns to Jin with what he hopes is a polite expression. "You?"
"If you don't mind," Jin says. Kame struggles to keep the flash of impatience off his face. He plucks the laminated cardboard square from Jin's fingers and turns on his heel.
He takes his time in the men's room, washing his hands carefully and avoiding his eyes in the mirror. He can feel the flush riding high on his cheeks, and it's not just the beers that have left him unsteady. Kame ducks his head over the sink and splashes cold water onto his face. The paper dispenser is empty, so he finds himself ducking his face into his sleeve before he wipes his hands on his jeans.
When he gets back, he's ten bucks lighter; the two guys running the coat check looked like they'd seen better days. He finds Sanjay and Jin leaned against the bar near a pitcher of water, looking very chummy. His stomach rolls. Sanjay's face brightens when he sees Kame approach, and he pushes off the bar, a hand extended for his coat.
"Thanks, man. You're coming, right?"
"What'd you decide on," Kame asks, still hedging. He passes the other coat to Jin and begins to pull on his own.
Sanjay exchanges a glance with Jin. "I think we're gonna head to my place and get delivery from New Big Wong. I could definitely go for some duck feet right now. You in?"
Kame wavers.
"Sure," Kame says, surprising himself, and he studiously ignores the disbelief that crosses Jin's face. "I'm in."
--
"Dude, this so does not go together." Jin is laughing after chasing a mouthful of cartilaginous duck feet with a swallow of brew. Chinese food cartons litter the table interspersed with large bottles of Belgian beer. An open bottle of red is perched near an edge, breathing.
Kame turns back to the bookshelf by the front window, fingers tracing down Sanjay's haphazardly-filed collection of cookbooks and magazines. Kame has one, too, back in New York, but Yamapi's collection is larger: his modern condo has the room for walls of bookshelves while Kame is still making do with his minimally-furnished closet of a one-bedroom flat in the East Village.
Kame barely registers Sanjay's amiable "Shut up and eat" as he aimlessly studies the book spines, finds a copy of the now-infamous July 2016 Esquire. He snags it and pages through to smirk at the article and accompanying spread of Yamapi cooking for a high-profile DNC fundraiser. There's only one photo of them together, a small one in a box on the side: Tomohisa Yamashita (right), chef-owner of Manhattan restaurant Sesamo, with chef-partner Kazuya Kamenashi.
Kame dimly registers the stereo volume creeping up; someone must have their hand on the remote.
"Wait, wait, you gotta listen to this," Sanjay says.
It sounds like Jin answers "Listen to what," with his mouth is full, "You need to join the twenty-first century, man. Who listens to records?"
"I do," Sanjay retorts. "Now shut up and listen."
It's Pink Floyd, "Wish You Were Here." Kame hears Jin's protesting groan. With an uncomfortable itch between his shoulders, Kame's inclined to agree.
"Everyone should know this song," Sanjay's saying with a grin in his voice. "Everyone should drink to this song."
Kame can't resist sneaking another look over his shoulder.
"Everyone does know this song. What's wrong with you," Jin asks in eye-rolling mock-disgusted tones. He leans to grab a fortune cookie off the table and pelts it at Sanjay.
"It's a classic, old man," Sanjay protests, catching the fortune cookie against his chest. "Listen and weep."
"No kidding," Jin says, "Weeping is all it's good for."
Jin used to like the band, Kame thinks, once upon a time. Kame remembers. He stays very still, looks away from them and angling his head to peer at the lower shelves, he reflexively tightens his grip on the edge of the bookshelf. When Gilmour gets to that line, did you exchange a walk-on part / for a lead role in a cage, Kame's mouth floods with saliva and he swallows. He wishes they would keep talking right over the whole damn song. Anything so he doesn't have to hear it.
"Hey," he hears beside him. Kame looks up. He accepts a glass of red with a half-smile and murmured thanks.
"Hey, man," Sanjay says in a low voice. "Act like you want to be here." He smiles awkwardly, like he's making a joke, but his eyes are faintly defiant, hurt even. "Or don't. But, come on, you know? Don't stand over here like you're allergic to me." Sanjay lifts a hand to scratch the back of his head, and he looks embarrassed. Kame can't help the involuntary glance over Sanjay's shoulder to where Jin's now cross-legged on the floor near the records, riffling through them and pulling a few out.
He tries to head Sanjay off with an apologetic shake of his head. "Sorry," he says, and he means it. "It's not you. I'm just tired." He offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile before following Sanjay. Kame falls into one corner of the long couch, stretches his legs out in front of him. Sanjay lands in the armchair nearby, props his socked feet up on the edge of the coffee table.
"Don't you want anything to eat?" Sanjay asks him. Kame surveys the open cartons speculatively.
"There are chopsticks under the bag," Jin says without looking up from a record he's flipping over in his hands. Kame glances over at him briefly, but Jin is studiously examining a gatefold album.
"So how do you guys know each other?" Sanjay asks after a couple long pulls at his bottle. Kame's eyes dart toward Jin who's lifted his head to look at Kame.
Kame says, "Kitagawa Restaurant Group," at the same time Jin's saying, "-went to school together."
Jin cocks his head, and he pins Kame with an impenetrable look. "And it's been a while."
"Ten years," Kame says without missing a beat, softening his tone only at the last second. He bites his lip as Sanjay starts laughing. "Oh, my god. Wait. Kitagawa Group and you went to cooking school together? What school? I thought Yamashita was the only one who knew this motherfucker that long."
Kame snorts softly. "Not exactly."
Jin smirks then with a surprising flash of mischief. "And the things I know," he says unexpectedly, mischievous good humor tugging at his lips. There's a glitter in Jin's eyes that Kame finds unsettling.
Kame takes up his wine glass and empties it.
"Oh, man," Sanjay says with a big pleased smile, as though he's hit some kind of jackpot, "I have to hear this."
"You really don't," Kame says, pouring himself another glass. "It's not that interesting." It isn't. It wasn't.
Jin clears his throat. "It wasn't cooking school. We went to an international school in Madrid."
"Wait-" Sanjay tilts his head at Kame. "You met in high school?"
"Middle school," Kame interjects.
"It's actually a funny story-" Jin says, looking back down, his tone deceptively absent, as though he isn't dangling bait. "-how we met."
Kame glances at Sanjay whose face is lit up and greedy. "And?"
"And nothing," Kame says, not quite managing to keep the exasperation from his tone. He relents. "We were young." Kame stabs his chopsticks into a randomly seized carton. "Just a couple kids."
"And?" Sanjay has his eyebrows lifted now.
Jin looks up from another record. "Kame, you should tell it. It's funnier when you tell it."
“Ha-ha." Kame pulls a face and turns to Sanjay. "The first time we met, that guy,” Kame jerks his thumb toward Jin. “-gave me a concussion.”
Sanjay starts laughing again.
"I'm so glad my head injuries amuse you," Kame says.
"So tragic," Jin says dryly. "You gave me a concussion, too."
"What the fuck were you guys even doing?" Sanjay asks when his mirth subsides.
Kame sighs.
--
It isn't much of a story. Kame explains how he and Jin ended up together on their school's soccer team in Madrid. Jin was new and during his first practice scrimmage, they both went up for a header. Crashed their skulls together so violently they were both sent home with concussions. It hurt like hell. End of story.
What Kame doesn't describe is what happened after. How Jin didn't go home that day because his parents and brother were both away and there was no one else to keep an eye on him. How Kame brought him back to his parents' cavernous flat where the cook and the housekeeper doted on them, kept Kame's brothers away, and brought them their dinner on trays. How they'd ended up spread out on the floor of Kame's bedroom with their heads close together, listening to the Rolling Stones on Kame's rug. How Jin wouldn't stop talking about wanting to become a rock star because he'd gotten a guitar for his birthday.
Kame was twelve when they met, and for various reasons, they were the same year in school; after that day, they were inseparable.
Sanjay says, "but-" His mouth opens and closes as he studies Kame. "You don't even like soccer."
Kame shrugs. It's not true, but he isn't about to admit that. "The school didn't have a baseball team. I was unlucky. There wasn't enough interest the year I started, so they told me to try for something else. It was Madrid, you know? So of course soccer was the most popular sport; it was the most competitive, and - I wanted a challenge."
"You must have noticed," Jin says, "Kame is very competitive."
Kame shoots Jin a sour look and turns to Sanjay. "Don't believe everything you hear."
"No way, man, this is awesome. Jin, please. Feel free to share any and all dirty childhood secrets."
"And you're just going to believe him," Kame protests. "You don't know him like I do." It pops out unbidden; Kame bites his tongue.
Sanjay shrugs, tilts his head and eyes Jin speculatively. "I don't know. He has a trustworthy face."
"I could tell him about that time you spilled squid ink all over a tray of these little bowls of crema catalana-" Jin's mirth is barely suppressed and his eyes have a wicked glint to them.
"He did not," Sanjay says in awed tones.
"-he did, too. Boss was furious but wouldn't let us throw them out, so we had to pour the ink out, clean the dishes out as best we could, and then put more sugar on top of what was left of the crema. Kame was freaking out while he was torching the sugar, and I swear, we all thought the customers were gonna murder us after that, but-" Jin dissolves into laughter. "They ate it all."
"Augh, no way," Sanjay groans, still laughing. "They actually ate custard and squid ink? Ugh." He pulls a face and shudders.
"They were really drunk." Kame flicks a chopstick at Sanjay, hitting him in the arm, but Sanjay's too far gone to notice. Kame stands abruptly. "Anyone need anything?" Wipes his hands on his jeans.
Sanjay's crinkled-up eyes pop wide open. "Yeah. I think we need to celebrate." His words are coming out slower now, his usually-slight Virginia accent deepening.
"What are we celebrating?" Jin asks. Kame's head swivels to see Jin get to his feet.
Sanjay chuckles, squinting across the coffee table at Jin. "Does it matter? Wait, where are you going?" The last to Kame who's edging away.
"See a man about a horse," Kame says, "is that okay?"
"Of course." Sanjay subsides back into his armchair with a wide smile. "Just. You can't leave yet. Or you, Jin. We have to have a toast."
"Sure," Kame says, not bothering to argue, "and then I'm going home. It's late." He's careful not to look at Jin when he says it, but Sanjay grabs his upper arm as Kame nearly trips on his own feet in the narrow space between the couch, armchair and coffee table.
Sanjay doesn't say anything as he looks up at Kame, and his fingers fall away almost immediately. Kame has to hold himself steady, righting himself without flinching back, without a backward glance over his shoulder. He's drunker than he'd realized. He splashes cold water to shock himself back to good judgment, lifts the bottom of his t-shirt to dry his face. He doesn't need to look in the mirror to see his flushed cheeks.
When Kame makes his way back to the living room, there are shot glasses lined up on the coffee table and an unmarked bottle half-full of something clear.
"Oh, no," Kame groans, shaking his head vehemently. "No, no, no. No way."
Jin looks up from where he's pouring. His smile is sheepish. "Too late," he says. He stretches out his arm to Sanjay who accepts his glass with relish.
"Now that's what I'm talking 'bout," Sanjay says in tones of distinct satisfaction.
"Do you even know what it is?" Kame demands, eyeing the bottle as he would a dangerous viper. He hangs back behind Sanjay's armchair.
"Good old boy Virginia moonshine," Sanjay pipes up with a cheeky grin. "I told him."
"That stuff will kill you," Kame warns, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders inside his hoodie. He watches Jin shrug easily. "I promise you. You will hate life tomorrow. Are you sure you-"
"Shut up and sit down, will you?" Sanjay cuts in. "Jin, don't listen to him. It's awesome."
Kame reluctantly returns to his place on the couch. Jin, now on the wide cushion beside him, pushes the third glass toward Kame.
"There are worse ways to die," Jin says. "What are we toasting?"
Sanjay leans forward in his chair. He holds out his glass and waits for them to do the same. "To old friends," he says.
Kame coughs, startling himself, before he repeats the toast. Jin has to lean past him to clink Sanjay's glass. It's bad luck to toast without looking into everyone's eyes, at least that's how Kame was raised. He pushes aside a thin veil of reluctance to look at Jin when he clinks Jin's glass.
"To old friends," he hears Jin murmur, and meets his eyes-
Kame looks away and knocks back the homemade liquor, clinging to the white hot burn all the way down.
Sanjay is already pouring another. "Give me your glasses." Kame's will power melts away in the heat warming his insides. He doesn't flinch when Sanjay says, "To old lovers."
Kame pours the next round.
At some point, Jin gets his hands on Sanjay's phone and finds the remote app for Sanjay's digital music library and murmurs, "So you aren't a complete vinyl traditionalist - you're just a poser," and ducks when Sanjay throws a cushion at his head. After a moment, he looks up and flashes a wide white grin. "Hey, Kame, remember this?" Jin drops his head back onto the couch back and turns to face Kame. Guitar strumming comes on over the speakers.
"Oh, man," Kame feels a grin spread across his face despite himself.
"Stones," Sanjay says approvingly. "Nice." He sings along to the first line of the song. Kame joins in a beat later, unable to stop grinning, and Jin is right behind him.
Lets drink to the hard working people
Lets drink to the lowly of birth
Raise your glass to the good and the evil
Lets drink to the salt of the earth
When it's over, Kame feels compelled to explain. "One summer, when we were kids," he begins, looking at Sanjay, "we worked for this old guy in Madrid, he had a little tapas place. Popular spot, so it was always busy and we worked really fucking hard for that guy. He was crazy about the Stones, and he'd play that song every night after all the customers were gone. We'd be back there in that tiny shitty kitchen mopping floors and scrubbing pots, and it was horrible, you know? Standing for like twelve or fourteen hours, and everything - your back, your feet, even my fucking tailbone would hurt. That place was brutal. But it felt so good to be done, you know, not just done but to have survived. Without any major catastrophes-"
"-oh, we had our share of catastrophes. Remember when I burned my eyebrows off?" Jin interjects.
"Oh, man," Kame laughs, unable to help himself. "I do. I still don't know how your hair didn't catch on fire." Kame remembers it took forever for Jin's eyebrows to grow back, all except this one little streak on the tapered end where hot oil had splashed and left a shiny white burn scar. He sneaks a look over at Jin but doesn't dare stare long enough to find the scar tissue he knows must be there.
"I still don't know how I didn't melt my eyeballs," Jin says. He shakes his head.
"So we'd get to the end of the night," Kame goes on, "And - and our boss would be shit-faced, and he'd play 'Salt of the Earth.' By then you knew you were almost done, and we'd all be singing along at the top of our lungs. For about five minutes, I actually liked the guy. You'd forget about everything and life was beautiful. Fucking exhilarating."
"It was awesome," Jin nods, smiling. He knuckles tiredly at his eyes. "Man, I hated that guy, though. He was an asshole. Paid next to nothing and never on time. Hijo de puta." Jin curses him softly in Spanish.
"But he loved the Stones," Kame reminds Jin, turning to meet Jin's eyes.
"Only good thing about him," Jin answers, blinking slowly and tilting his head toward the ceiling. "That, and he could cook."
"He could cook," Kame agrees.
"Another toast," Sanjay says. Jin pours refills all around and waits with his glass lifted. Kame follows suit and watches Sanjay who just leans forward to clink their glasses. "To good memories," he says.
Good memories. Kame swallows them down.
--
When Kame blinks awake, he's curled up on the corner of the sofa, with his knees drawn up and his arms crossed over his chest. His cheek is pressed into the courduroy of the couch-back. It takes him several seconds to register the music, more Stones, and it sends a ripple through him.
I've been traveling
but I don't know where
He stays still, afraid to breathe. Jin is in profile on the couch nearby, head flung back and his long legs stretched out in front of him, the picture of relaxed repose. Kame wonders if he can leave without waking either of them. It's another minute or so before he realizes that Jin isn't asleep.
Kame's instinct is to flee before he lets something dangerous slip - but his head is cottoned-over and his limbs are untrustworthy. Goddamn Sanjay and his goddamned moonshine. It figures they would have finished the bottle.
He watches the rise and fall of Jin's chest as Jin breathes in deeply and lets it out, a heavy sigh. Jin's head rolls to face Kame. He blinks, slow.
"You must really hate me," Jin says at last, an exhalation. Not a question; it's matter-of-fact, devoid of hope.
There's a torrent seething just behind Kame's set teeth, his chest buzzing with angry bees, and worse, there's something painful clamping his throat tight.
"I guess I can't blame you," Jin goes on, his voice quiet, resigned. Kame feels his searching gaze like the scrape of a shovel, excavating ancient remains. He says nothing, but he squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds, careless of what that might betray. He won't speak. He can't speak. If he opens his mouth, he isn't sure what will come out. He jerks his head in what-? Protest? Agreement? Kame pushes himself upright, his lower lip caught by his teeth, but he doesn't look away.
Jin returns his gaze unflinchingly. The song ends, another begins, a pointed, purpose-built soundtrack that Kame is now certain Jin must have assembled when he was playing with Sanjay's remote. It's all music they used to listen to and cook to, the ones they used to love. Kame still does.
In that moment, he wants to hate Jin.
"You need a hand?" Jin asks.
Kame doesn't understand.
"With Sanjay," Jin says, jerking his chin towards where Sanjay is softly snoring in the armchair. "Should we leave him there? Or..." Jin trails off.
"Yes," Kame nods his head, thinking would serve him right, the bastard. Then: "No. Should probably put him to bed."
When Jin stands up, he doesn't look any steadier than Kame feels, but nonetheless, Kame tracks Jin's progress around the coffee table to Sanjay's other side. Together, they get him to his feet and hook Sanjay's arms over their shoulders so they can lurch his dead weight down the shadowy hall. The bedroom door is open, so Kame gets them through sideways and with some awkward shuffling, they both collapse onto the bed as they get Sanjay flopped down on his back. Kame pulls away and makes it back to his feet. He watches Jin try to disentangle himself from Sanjay's limp form, and he can't help the chuckle that escapes.
Jin pulls loose and uses his elbows to push himself off the mattress to stand. His face is creased in a lopsided smile, just visible in the light thrown by the hall lamp.
"Where are you staying?" Kame asks, his voice a rusty croak, as he turns away and heads back toward the living room. He bends over the table and begins gathering up the remains of their late-night meal, stuffing trash into the paper sack and attempting to close carton flaps.
"Shit," Jin says.
"What?" Kame asks absently. Jin clutches a bouquet of empties. He follows Kame toward the kitchen.
"It's four-thirty," Jin says with a groan.
"Is it." Kame yawns. He opens the refrigerator and throws the half-eaten food inside. "Is that a problem."
"Maybe," Jin mumbles. He's slumped over the counter beside the empties, his head in his hands. He sounds half asleep.
"Where are you staying?" Kame asks again.
"House."
"House where."
Jin pushes himself up, braces himself against the counter. "I should call a taxi."
"I'm." Kame yawns again. "I'm gonna-" -another yawn- "go out to U Street. Walk will do me good."
Jin turns to face him, his expression etched with puzzlement. "You - you're walking home? Now?"
Kame slowly shakes his head. "Nah. Cab. On U Street. Faster. You can - can. We can - split a cab."
Jin is silent. Kame turns, one hand gripping the counter's edge, and he presses the heel of his hand hard against his left eye. Kame feels Jin's frown behind him. Kame's lips are numb when he bites down.
"If you want," Kame says. He sways, held by an invisible cord, and then stumbles forward and away.
--
Kame's phone alarm goes off in his jeans pocket at eight. He ignores it for a while, but eventually he shifts, squints at the daylight coming in through his blinds, and squeezes his eyes shut again. Inhales deeply and lets it out in a long sigh. Covers his eyes with his forearm.
Jin, in what Kame could only imagine was a fit of drunken guilt, had insisted that the taxi drop Kame off first. Kame remembers trying to protest, but, too tired to fight, he'd let himself slump back against the vinyl seat for the short taxi ride. Allowed the car's sway and momentum to lull him into a peaceful state.
It ended rather quickly. When the cab pulled up in front of Kame's house near Logan Circle, Jin was fast asleep, and after wrestling with himself for several seconds, Kame paid the driver and tugged mightily at Jin until Jin roused enough to stagger out.
"Where am I," Jin asked, his words slurred more by exhaustion than anything else, but Kame wasn't in any shape to accurately judge. "Is this - this isn't-"
"No," Kame had replied. Turned and trudged up the iron steps leading into his townhouse, holding tight to the rail. Hadn't bothered to see if Jin was following until he was inside. He'd turned in the open doorway and there was Jin, still standing at the bottom of the steps, frowning up at him in confusion. Kame stood aside, held the door open, hoping the tacit permission would penetrate Jin's fogged brain. While he waited, Kame leaned his head on his forearm where it was propped against the door's edge, and closed his eyes. He opened them again when he heard Jin's shoes on the steps. Kame waved up the stairs directly in front of them.
"Just-just crash on my futon. Okay. I'm - I'm gonna get some water. Go up. First door on the left."
Last he'd seen, Jin was passed out in the upstairs office; he hadn't even pulled the futon out, just stretched out, face-down and fully-dressed. Kame had thrown a folded-up blanket at Jin's unresponsive body and left a glass of water on the floor.
Now he's wondering if Jin has already left or if he's still asleep when Kame hears a creak in the hallway floor, and the sound of the toilet seat being lifted from the hall bathroom.
Kame rolls over again, face pressed into the mattress, and blindly finds a pillow to pull over his head.
He wonders if he doesn't move, if Jin will just let himself out and be on his way.
He wonders how he feels about that.
He pushes himself up on his elbows. Says: "Fuck," before he deflates and hides his face in the sheets.
--
Kame showers before he pads downstairs in his socked feet, and in an eerie replay of the incident a couple months earlier, he finds Jin sitting at the large wooden table in his kitchen with his head cradled on his crossed arms. An empty glass is nearby.
Kame brings the water pitcher to the table with a glass for himself and pulls out a chair. Jin's head slowly lifts, his gaze bleary and unfocused.
"Hi," Jin says.
Looking away, Kame busies himself with pouring water into both glasses. Slides Jin's glass back toward him.
"Morning," Kame says.
Jin clears his throat and tries to sit up straighter. His eyes are bloodshot, and he's rubbing his face with both hands.
"Do you, um. Have eyedrops? Or." Jin sighs. "I left my contacts in and-"
Kame nods. "Yeah. Yes." He pushes himself up and leaves as Jin makes a sound of protest. When Kame comes back, Jin is mumbling inaudibly, his eyes half-closed, shaking his head a little as though he's lost an argument with himself.
"You didn't have to-" Jin begins, but he stops himself and finishes with a heartfelt "Thank you." He uncaps the small bottle Kame's left on the table, tilts his head back, drips moisture into his eyes and blinks rapidly. Tears streak down his face. Jin grimaces. "I can't see without-" He gestures vaguely. "My glasses are back- I wasn't planning to - for-" His chair scrapes back as he pushes himself to a stand. Kame watches Jin's Adam's apple bob, and Jin appears less than steady. "I should get going. I just-" He pauses, his hand white-knuckled where it grasps the chair back. "I didn't want to leave without thanking you."
Kame frowns. "For what?"
"Letting me crash here last night."
Right. Kame leans forward slightly and slides the glass toward Jin. "Drink your water."
Jin sways for several seconds before he surrenders, slumping back down into his chair. It creaks in protest. He reaches for and finishes half the glass of water in one long draught.
"I tried to warn you," Kame say, barely avoiding a hint of smugness mingled with horrifying sympathy. He doesn't feel much better than Jin looks, but Kame's done battle with this particular demon before, so he is somewhat familiar with the effects.
"Ugh, I feel like I've been run over by a train," Jin moans. He ineffectually tries to straighten. "Where does it come from?"
It takes a few seconds for Jin's question to register, and when it does, Kame freezes. That's professional interest, not idle curiosity.
Kame tells him. He tells him about the Virginia farm from which Sesamo in Washington sources a lot of its produce; he talks about the moonshine, but also about the pigs and the chickens and the eggs. Kame is sure he doesn't need to explain to Jin how most non-chain restaurants now always partner with small farms: ten or twenty years ago, farm-to-table was a faddish trend or a marketing point, but now, after what everyone still thinks of as the global food crash of 2016, it's a commonplace necessity. When Kame mentions his long-time involvement with the Yale Sustainable Food Project, Jin's face brightens in recognition.
Jin explains that he spent eighteen months in Vietnam running a noodle shop for an older man he'd befriended. "Most of our produce came from a farm about ten kilometers away. I worked with them to implement some of the recommended practices that came out of that Yale sustainability symposium in 2017."
Kame is taken aback, although a second later he doesn't know why he should be surprised. "You did?"
Jin nods. Kame notes the pride in Jin's voice as he discusses the farm work - but he also detects the strain in Jin's voice when he talks about his friend and the friend's shop. Kame drops a hand into his lap and digs his fingers into his thigh as hard as he can, his pulse beating in his palm to the throb of his aching head. There's so much he doesn't know. So much he missed out on.
Kame forces himself to smile. He has a thousand questions, and yet - nothing comes out.
"I've never been to Vietnam," he says at last.
Jin nods, a tiny rocking motion. "You should. The food is amazing. Different, you know?" He shakes his head, his expression tinged with regret. "I enjoyed it there."
"Why'd you leave?" Kame asks, curiosity getting the better of him.
A shadow crosses Jin's face. "My friend died."
"I-I'm so sorry."
Jin's expression is bleak. "It was sudden. Something with his heart. He wasn't even that old - late fifties, I think. Took us all by surprise." He's silent for a moment.
"I learned a lot from him," Jin says. "He'd had an interesting life. He and his family fled to Australia during the war, but he went back to Vietnam in the nineties. He'd gone to cooking school in Australia and his parents were also cooks. He told me they thought the quality of food in Vietnam had really gone down after the war, probably because all the best chefs had fled or died. And there were so many problems with the food supply system."
Jin shifts, and his expression grows earnest.
"He wanted to change things, you know? He wanted to help rebuild the food culture. He spent all that time in Vietnam trying to make a difference, bringing some things back, but especially he worked on the food supply issues, with farms. I think he did make things better - it's because of him that the farms around his town even survived. But...after he died, his son and daughter decided to sell the place. I - I thought about buying it, but in the end, I didn't want to run it without him, not when-" He laughs breathlessly, without mirth. "He was my friend, you know? It was - it was damn hard after he died. In the end, I figured it was better if I moved on."
"Did someone take over the shop?" Kame asks as Jin subsides into silence, trying to cover his surprise at Jin's frankness.
Jin shakes his head, regretful. "Nope. Not as far as I know. But it's been a long time now, so who knows, maybe-" He shrugs. "I'd like to think so. I hate thinking everything he worked for died with him."
Kame isn't sure what he should say that would be adequate.
Jin clears his throat and rubs the back of his hand against his forehead. "So-" he begins in a different tone. "This is what you meant."
"Huh?"
"Last night, at the show," Jin says, as though it's obvious. When Kame continues staring at him without comprehension, the corners of Jin's mouth lift. "You said you live here. I didn't know what you were talking about."
"Oh," Kame breathes. "That." He frowns. "Yamapi didn't tell you?"
Jin shakes his head. "Yamapi doesn't talk about you. He's made that very clear."
"Oh." Kame considers that for several seconds. "He, um." Kame squirms. "He's told me the same thing," he admits at last, feeling sheepish.
"Really?" Jin almost looks relieved. He glances around consideringly. "It's a nice house. Comfortable. And-" He pauses. "I love the kitchen."
Kame feels the hint of a smile tug at his mouth. "I have a flat in New York," he says, "but it's - you know what they're like - really fucking small. The kitchens are terrible." Kame rubs his temples. "I took on this house a couple years ago. I was spending so much time down here working on - you know - opening the restaurant. I've been renting but the owner's interested in selling if I want it. I'm thinking about it." Kame looks around. "The kitchen is good - came with the range and that refrigerator. And there's so much counter space..." He trails off.
"I was thinking," Kame begins, stops. He clears his throat, begins again: "Anyway, Washington has its problems, but it's all right. I like it here."
Jin looks faintly shocked. "Better than New York?"
Kame shakes his head. "No-o, not better. It's different. I like them for different reasons."
"Do you think you'd move down here?" Jin's tone is hesitant.
Kame shrugs. "You mean give up the flat?" He shakes his head. "I work in New York most of the time. But you know me," he says before he can think about it: "I've never been, you know, jacked up about being a New Yorker." Kame breaks off as it occurs to him that Jin doesn't know this. Has never known this. They were in New York for only a few years before Jin took off. Kame rushes to continue. "This is like, this house is my-" He breaks off and ducks his head. "-I don't know, it feels like my getaway. Even if I work here, too - it just feels different, somehow. It's an extravagance, I know, but right now it's worth the extra money to have it. And man, it beats having to stay in a hotel. I hate not having a kitchen."
Jin hums in response."Your parents?" he asks, abruptly changing the subject. "How are they?"
"Fine," Kame says. His favorite subject. "They were in London and Germany for a while. Finally went back to Spain."
"Do you see them?"
Kame shakes his head. "Not in a while."
"Why not?" Jin asks.
Kame bites his lip and shifts. "Their grandchildren are all in Europe," he says tightly.
Jin frowns at him. "But-" He turns that over. "You don't visit?"
Kame winces. "Not lately," he says, "It's...complicated. There are-" He takes a breath and squirms before opting for honesty. "My parents used to visit, years ago. But they'd come and I could never get away to spend enough time with them. And then my father realized-" He feels himself speeding up, just to get it over with faster. "Let's just say he figured out I was never going to give him a grandchild, not the way he wanted one. They stopped coming." He huffs a mirthless laugh. "I can't say I was surprised."
Jin's face is a mask. "I'm sorry," he says.
"What about your family?"
"They're fine," Jin says. "My brother's been in L.A. last couple years, so that was nice. Dad's back in Tokyo, Mom's in Italy."
"Doing what?" Kame asks, more surprised that Jin's mom is in Italy than that his brother is in California.
"She does agroturismo work now. She lives on a farm and she's the marketing director for an agroturismo group in Emilia-Romagna." Jin smiles. "She's pretty happy. She gets to garden - you remember her flowers? And she's doing something she cares about. Not like before."
Jin means before his parents split up - Kame remembers. It started around the time Kitagawa sent the two of them to New York. Jin's family was falling apart while he was moving up in the world. Made for a fairly confusing period.
"I'm glad to hear that," Kame says, and he means it. He hesitates before asking: "You want something to eat?"
Jin digs his phone out of his jeans' pocket and alarm flashes across his face when he glances at it.
"Shit," Jin says. His chair scrapes when he stands. "I need to go. I have to catch a bus back to New York. Need to get my stuff first."
"Of course," Kame says, trying not to feel crestfallen. Then comes the start of surprise that he's disappointed. Jin is here, sitting in his kitchen, talking to him as if - not as if no time had passed, but almost as if they're on speaking terms. Almost, Kame thinks, if he squints. And it's weird, but the weirdness is all mixed up with how familiar it feels.
Another time he wants to say; it's there on his tongue, a nascent desire for things to be different. But he doesn't, because they aren't. Pride is his dubious armor, the old hurts calloused-over and unyielding.
"Rain check?" Jin says, and Kame feels the air go out of him.
Jin's eyes measure him. There's so much Kame wants to know. So much. He has questions. Jin holds himself stiffly, poised to flee.
And yet, he's waiting.
Kame stands.
Kame says: "Wait."
+part five