The Winter Quarters

by Anna Veriani

  Kai blinked.

  “I’m too old for these kids,” Hiro said to Kai. “They know better than to try to party with me.”

  “Sorry,” Kai said. “I’d love to come, but I’ll probably be busy with work.” He flinched. He could never have a night like this, kicking it back in some miraculous hole-in-the-wall, in New York.

  “That’s a shame.” There was a mischievous glimmer in Ryohei’s eyes. It made Kai uncomfortable. Ryohei—good-looking, gay—was living right here in Kaga, apparently routinely dining at Asada-owned restaurants, while in a couple of weeks Kai would be thousands of miles away from Hiro.

  It seemed so obvious. Of course Hiro would have gay friends. And it wasn’t like Kai wanted him to be alone at the inn, but….

  Why did Ryohei have to be handsome?

  “Chicken and the first round of endless beef, coming right up,” Shinsuke announced, emerging once more from the kitchen.

  He distributed the dishes on the table and then sat down himself, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Hiro gave him a dull, unimpressed stare.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You forgot to light the grills, man,” Hiro said.

  “Fuck!” Shinsuke jumped up and ran to get the lighter. When he lit the two grills, he turned them up too hot, so that blue flames erupted a solid foot into the air.

  Hiro put his arms out instinctively, protecting the people on either side of him, Risa and Ryohei. Kai felt an absurd pang of hurt, as if Hiro should have been able to reach him from two seats away.

  Why did he feel so weird? It’d been over a week since their massage session, and it seemed like every small thing Hiro did just stung since his rejection. Like Kai was now reading rejections into all of Hiro’s words and actions, whether intended or not. Kai had offered himself up, and Hiro had refused, and now every moment that they weren’t kissing—which was every moment—was a reminder that Hiro didn’t want him.

  Once the grills were hot, they loaded them with raw strips of beef and chicken, letting the meat crackle against the heat. Kai’s stomach growled, and he downed more beer.

  “You know, Kai,” Ryohei said, “I work for the local news, and we’re trying to put together some stuff promoting queer-owned businesses in the area.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Hiro looked up in interest. Kai realized he might not yet be out to everyone in the room.

  “Maybe you could give me some tips? Because of your show and all,” Ryohei said. “You’re the TV expert.”

  Kai had never so much as touched a camera in his life; he just did what the producers told him to do, and then they filmed it.

  Hiro came to his rescue. “Why don’t you ask Shinsuke?”

  “Yes,” Shinsuke said. “Please consult the real expert.”

  Kai must have looked confused, because Risa leaned forward and said, “My little cousin thinks he’s Instafamous because he has twenty thousand followers. Can you please tell him that’s like a drop in the ocean?”

  Kai had millions, and Kimi had over a hundred million, the last time he checked, but they also had their own TV show.

  “That’s pretty impressive,” Kai said.

  “Thank you,” Shinsuke said.

  “Don’t feed his ego!” Risa insisted, but she took out her phone, opened Shinsuke’s Instagram, and passed it to Kai.

  He actually had thirty thousand followers, which really wasn’t yawn-worthy for someone who worked part-time at his parents’ yakiniku restaurant and had spent most of his life in a back corner of Japan.

  “This is actually seriously good stuff,” Kai said.

  Most of Shinsuke’s pictures weren’t of him; he was blessedly sparing the world from his horrible hair. He took pictures of the Asadas. Risa in full makeup, face powdered, playing the shamisen beneath a glowing light; Obaachan pouring a cup of tea, fingers graceful around the Wajima lacquerware. “You’re an actual photographer.”

  “Gee, don’t sound so surprised,” Shinsuke said.

  “He studied film and photography in LA,” Hiro said.

  “No,” Kai said, “I mean, this is your job? When you’re not working here?”

  Shinsuke frowned. “No. I’m stuck here until I find something better.”

  “You don’t like working for your family?”

  Shinsuke crinkled his nose. “Too hard. We’re always, like, building new inn additions and stuff. My dad’s all like, ‘Shinsuke, you’re useless, you can’t do anything with your hands,’ and I’m all like, art, you know?”

  Kai quirked an eyebrow.

  “I can shoot you, if you want,” Shinsuke offered.

  “No pictures of me, please.” He paused. “What about Hiro?”

  He would love to take photographs of Hiro home with him.

  “Yeah, sure.” Shinsuke laughed, clicking away at his phone just as Hiro stuffed his mouth with meat. “There you go.” He flashed Kai a blurry picture of Hiro, cheeks fat like a chipmunk’s.

  Kai shook his head.

  “Aw, shit,” Risa said. “It’s almost nine o’clock!”

  “Past your bedtime?” Shinsuke suggested.

  “It’s almost time for Kimi and Kai!”

  “It’s running on reruns until after New Year,” Karin spoke up, some of the others nodding as if they all knew the exact schedule of Kimi and Kai airings. Mortification rushed hot down Kai’s skin, and he distracted himself by taking up grill duty and flipping the meats.

  “Still,” Ryohei said, “we have to see it while the star is here!”

  Hiro frowned, and he and Kai made eye contact, but then Shinsuke turned on the TV, and a commercial blasted through the room. Ryohei picked up his chopsticks and took a cooked strip of beef off the grill, passing it onto Hiro’s plate.

  “That’s mine,” Kai growled, fortunately too quietly for anyone to hear.

  But suddenly everyone was looking at the screen.

  Kai hadn’t seen a full episode of his own show in so long that he’d forgotten how they all began: with a rapid, collage-style preview of what was to come. This episode had been shot earlier in the year, when Kimi had started dating Carlos. The preview showed James Duffy being interviewed, going, “He doesn’t speak English? I just don’t really see how they’re going to work,” to a shot of Kimi in a bikini running toward Carlos on the beach, to Kai diving off a boat. This must have been filmed during their vacation in Greece last summer. He’d been determined to enjoy that trip, avoiding the cameras as much as possible.

  “Damn, Kai, you look good,” Ryohei said as the camera zoomed in on Kai doing a backstroke, the sun reflecting white on the water, making his bare chest glimmer. Kai groaned in embarrassment, his stomach suddenly too fluttery to eat.

  “Why don’t we watch a movie?” Hiro suggested, the saint.

  “Shh,” Risa said. “I love this episode.”

  The episode began properly, and Kai was startled to see his own apartment. A subtitle appeared on the screen, reading KAI’S ASSISTANT’S APARTMENT. Kimi had thought it would look bad if anyone knew Kai lived in what she called “a hovel.”

  Kimi was sitting on a kitchen stool, which seemed more like a throne with her in it. It was odd: the camera was equally focused on Kimi and Leslie, but somehow Leslie seemed to fade in the background while Kimi was in crisp focus. It had nothing to do with Leslie; the dynamic was like this with anyone who had to share a shot with Kimi.

  “My son is leaving for Greece next week,” she told Leslie confidentially, in the loud, clear voice meant for the cameras, “and he doesn’t have swim trunks.”

  Leslie gasped comically, as if it actually mattered. Dramatic music started to play. Kai thought of Leslie quitting and how that was conflict that wouldn’t make it on the show—a real problem, something that actually hurt—and then the scene changed and Kai was trying on a pair of swim trunks.

  “They’re all the same to me.” On-screen Kai shrugged, his trunks falling below his hipbones. James Duffy air humped him in the background, an
d even though he literally wasn’t in the focus, he was somehow more entertaining than Kai staring completely indifferently into a store mirror.

  “Oh my God,” Kai blurted. “I have no screen presence, do I?”

  He knew the show was stupid and his life was a joke, but having eight very real, solid, not-joke people eat grilled meat and watch him try on swim trunks somehow drilled it in. Not only was the show idiotic, but he wasn’t even good at being an idiot.

  “This is the episode where you almost drown, isn’t it?” Risa said.

  “No, that’s the next one!” Karin said.

  How could they watch this? How could they bear it?

  The room was too hot.

  “I just remembered,” Kai said, standing up. He slipped on his shoes. “I mean, I forgot….” He stopped again. Couldn’t think of an excuse. He waved and left the restaurant, trying not to run.

  His heart was pounding. He didn’t want to be on television. He didn’t want to try on swim trunks for millions of people. He didn’t want Risa’s high school friends to memorize the inane, imaginary plots of past episodes of the show.

  The snow was still falling. The sky was the strange, light purple it sometimes became during nighttime snowfall. The inn lights shone into the darkness, and Kai shivered as he followed them.

  “Kai!” Hiro jogged up beside him. “You’re heading back?”

  Kai didn’t want to be around Hiro. He was embarrassed and ashamed, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how Ryohei was going to be here long after Kai left. Hiro was going to get married, probably sooner than later, and he was clearly going to have his pick of men when he decided to choose.

  He thought of Ya-san’s old photographs and how she could point to the moment when she and Obaachan fell apart. We’ll never be as we once were.

  When Kai looked back on his life, would tonight be the moment he’d felt he’d lost Hiro? He couldn’t stop thinking about the glimmer in Ryohei’s eyes, and how many more men might approach Hiro with the same look once Kai was gone.

  “I was just cold in there,” Kai lied. The grill had been keeping him warm. “I’ll grab a sweater and come back.”

  Hiro cocked his head. “Yeah? Okay.”

  Kai was pretty sure Hiro could tell he was lying. But after a moment, Hiro turned back around. Kai hoped they’d find something more interesting on TV.

  HIRO ate another plate of beef and then headed out early. There was something about having watched Ryohei flirt shamelessly with Kai, then seeing James Duffy with his arm around Kai on TV, that ruined his mood. He endured all the necessary teasing about him and Kai being the grumpy old dogs who left early, and then he slipped on his shoes and coat and left.

  He’d heard of musicians who had trouble listening to their own music, and even actors who didn’t watch their own movies, but was it really normal to seem as pained as Kai had? To almost run from a room when you saw yourself on a screen?

  Hiro headed back to the Winter Quarters to change into clothes that didn’t reek of residual cigarette smoke from the yakiniku restaurant. If Kai was there, he would slip out again and let Kai clear his head.

  The room was empty when he got back. He pulled off his sweater and pulled a fresh one over his head. The garden light was on. Hiro stepped toward the doors, looking for Kai.

  “I have a favor to ask you.”

  Obaachan’s voice stopped him. For a confused moment he thought she was behind him, but then he heard Kai, too, from the garden.

  “What’s that?” Kai said.

  “I still haven’t told my family about Ya-chan.” Obaachan and Kai were sitting on a stone bench, their backs facing Hiro. She looked extra small, wrapped in several thick blankets, while Kai tilted his head upward, letting the snow melt onto his cheeks.

  Hiro froze, rooted to the spot.

  “You want help telling them?” Kai asked.

  “I want her to be here when I tell them. We need to see each other, but I can’t make the trip all the way north, and Ya-chan can’t drive so far south in the winter.”

  Hiro wracked his brain. The only Ya he could think of whom both Kai and Obaachan would know was Tokuda Ya—and she lived far north. But why would Obaachan be referring to the inn’s chosen rice supplier in such a familiar way, using the honorific chan?

  “I’ll find a way to bring her here,” Kai said. “I’ll make sure it happens before I go.”

  Obaachan reached out and rubbed his arm. “Thank you, Kai. Have you told Hiro about it?”

  “No,” Kai said. “It’s your secret to share.”

  Secret? That Kai knew about Hiro’s grandmother and Hiro didn’t?

  “You’re wise beyond your years, Kai. I appreciate you keeping some things to yourself until I’m more comfortable sharing.”

  Kai bowed his head to her.

  Hiro had no idea what was going on, but this obviously wasn’t a conversation he was supposed to hear. He stepped back, intending to retreat and ask both of them about it later, when Obaachan said, “Now. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Why did I find you here standing alone in the snow?”

  Hiro frowned. Obaachan shouldn’t have to be out in the cold comforting Kai—that was Hiro’s job. He’d thought Kai would need to be alone, but clearly he was wrong. He slid open the door, but neither Kai nor Obaachan turned, apparently not hearing him.

  “Do you know Oe Ryohei, Miyu’s older brother?” Kai said.

  Hiro stepped out, frowning. Kai had had a problem with Ryohei?

  “Tall, handsome, sweet on my grandson?” Obaachan said.

  “That’s him.”

  Hiro tried to put on an outdoor clog, but it slipped off the rock he was standing on and fell into the snow. Sweet on Hiro? Ryohei had been flirting with Kai all night.

  “You’re jealous,” said Obaachan.

  Hiro could only see the outlined profile of Kai’s face, but he looked so gently sad that Hiro ached.

  “I’m leaving in a couple of weeks, while Ryohei is….”

  “Staying,” said Obaachan. “You’ll be in New York, and Ryohei will be here to charm my grandson, who wants to get married soon.”

  “Kai,” Hiro blurted, loud enough to be heard. Obaachan and Kai turned around.

  Hiro stepped into the snow, one clog on and one foot bare, the ice hitting his skin almost painfully. His eyes met Kai’s, and Kai was clearly startled, lips parted, silently asking what Hiro had heard.

  I don’t know what I heard. He just hated that Kai hated leaving this much. And the idea of him being jealous of Ryohei was ridiculous—what, exactly, was he jealous of? What did Kai want from Hiro, when Kai was the one who would soon be going?

  Hiro swallowed. They were both waiting for him to say something, maybe to ask about their conversation.

  “It’s cold,” he said. “Come inside. Please. I turned the heater on.”

  Kai helped Obaachan through the snow as Hiro retrieved the fallen clog and went back inside. He poured cups of hot tea for himself, Kai, and Obaachan while Kai shivered, his cheeks red from the cold.

  “I didn’t know you knew Tokuda Ya, Obaachan,” Hiro said while they sipped, letting the tea warm their hands.

  “I have for a long time.” She offered no other information.

  “You want her to visit the inn?” Hiro said.

  Kai’s eyes widened and he tried, adorably, to hide behind his tiny teacup. Obviously he realized that if Hiro had heard them talking about Ya-san, he’d heard them talking about Ryohei, too.

  “I think it’s time, yes,” said Obaachan, calmly sipping her tea. Hiro had never once thought of his grandmother as someone with secrets. But in the midst of her perfect poker face, where she appeared unbothered even by the snow melting in her gray hair, he realized she could hide plenty and he’d never be wiser. That was probably what happened when you ran an inn for decades of your life—knowing who to be in which situations began to come naturally. Around Hiro she had only ever been a grandmother.

  “I’ll make tha
t happen,” Hiro said. “Kai and I can pick her up together.”

  Obaachan’s eyes widened and then warmed with soft gratitude. She reached out, taking his hand in her cold, wrinkled one with her characteristic firmness.

  “I’m glad you’re the heir, Hiro,” she said. “I would never want my inn to go to anyone else.”

  She slid her hand away and stood. “Have a good night, boys.” She turned to Kai. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  When she left the room, Hiro said, “She convinced you to serve tea again tomorrow, didn’t she?”

  “I don’t need convincing,” Kai said. “I like doing it.”

  Hiro shook his head. They were alone, and a cold draft was blowing through the inadequate glass garden doors, but Hiro liked the view enough that he didn’t want to close up the room properly for the night.

  “I’m not interested in Ryohei,” he said.

  Kai cringed, and Hiro realized he’d miscalculated. They shared so much with each other, but this was untouchable territory. Kai got up and left the room before Hiro could even backtrack.

  FOR the first time during his trip, Kai woke up earlier than Hiro. When Hiro got up, he found Kai getting dressed. He was putting on a kimono, and Hiro remembered all that had happened last night: accidentally eavesdropping on Kai and Obaachan, Kai’s promise to serve tea today, and the awkward, stifling silence between them that had lasted until they fell asleep beside each other on separate futons.

  Kai had borrowed a thin juban from Shinsuke, and he pulled his arms through the undergarment and wrapped it around himself, left side over right. Hiro glimpsed a sliver of his bare chest and the breath that frosted before him as he exhaled into the cold room. He looked so vulnerable and serious; he picked up the waist string and tied it around himself, fumbling a couple of times before he got it right.

  It was just underclothing. He didn’t have to get it right—no one would know. But he persisted until it was perfect, and Hiro loved him for that.

  Hiro watched in silence as Kai pulled the kimono on next, tying it at the waist just as he had the juban. He smoothed it out so a sliver of the juban’s collar peeked out from beneath the kimono, a flash of black beneath the gray. Next Kai reached for the obi on the kotatsu. As he leaned down, he met Hiro’s eyes.