Just Desserts

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Just Desserts Page 8

by Mary Calmes


  When he had me brought to the club he owned and fucked two girls in front of me, still I went back, always pleading, always begging for him to come to me because I loved him.

  I was beat up so many times, nothing had time to heal. I was always bloody, always bruised, but even through the haze of constant pain, I noticed when Haru started dropping weight. I saw it clear as day because he was the only thing I could ever see. He was my entire focus as he was no one else’s, and I tried, threw myself against the wall of his growing disdain and disgust at my appearance, never giving up, never stopping.

  In the months that followed there were more changes. I never saw him without his flask; it became the companion I had been. He got sloppy: the designer clothes were gone and he smoked like a chimney. We had both picked up the habit, but I quit when I couldn’t afford it anymore, while he was forever lighting up.

  I quit my job, broke down and went to see his father, sat in the rain in front of the doors of his mansion, never moved until he finally agreed to meet with me. He was afraid people would notice my hunger strike, so he brought me in, cleaned me up, and fed me. His servants were horrified by my condition, and even Masuya’s mother, Nozomi, gave him an earful over my appearance.

  I had always been lucky with them, with mothers. Haru’s mother had taught him to love, and so he used that lesson to love me. My own loved me desperately, and Nozomi made her son, Masuya Fudo, speak to me. It had only taken a year.

  He wanted me gone.

  I wanted Haru saved from himself.

  I agreed to leave Tokyo if Masuya would intervene. He just had to save Haru.

  But I’d missed something while banned from his bed and his home. I never spotted the track marks; I didn’t notice the needles in the bathroom or the burnt spoons in the trash. Haru had always had an addictive personality, and it turned out that without me to anchor him, he got swept out to sea and lost.

  He died of a heroin overdose when he was twenty-five.

  I remembered that day, his funeral, first in the church, viewing his lifeless body in the opulent coffin, his skin pale and waxy, not Haru at all. I had never seen him so still, and it struck me that he was actually gone. Graveside was worse, but I waited until everyone cleared out and then went alone, in the downpour, and cried until there was nothing left. The worst part was I had no ring, no dog tags, no locket, no pictures, no remembrance of any kind that I could carry with me and show people and say, this was Haru, my love.

  The same was true of my mother. As Masuya’s mistress, she had been hidden, a secret, so there were no pictures of her. Who would have taken them? Her parents had died before I was born, and of my father there was no record. So both of them were gone without a trace, living only in my memory. Masuya had given me the sakura on my arm for her, for Lauren Walton, but I had no one to gift me with any trace of Haru.

  As I was waiting for a cab to take me to the airport, Masuya picked me up in his limousine. He gave me my mother’s life savings that she had put in a trust for me.

  “I never want to see you again.”

  IT WAS an agreement I thought we were sticking to, but I didn’t know another older Asian man with a horde of bodyguards who would have any business with me.

  The more I thought about it, the faster I moved. As I walked toward my gallery along Royal Street, passing the Louisiana Supreme Court, it started to rain, and when my phone rang for the fifth time, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

  “Hey,” I answered quickly.

  “Where are you?” Scott asked. “I wanted you to meet my family.”

  I coughed. “The place look okay?”

  “Well, yeah, it looks—”

  “So are you having them over to your restaurant tonight? Are you going to cook for them?”

  “I was planning on it, but—what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. You want me to come by?”

  “Do I want you to come by? What kind of question is that?”

  “I—”

  “Yes, Boone, I want you to come by. I want you to come here now and meet everyone.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve gotta open my place. People don’t pay me for my amazing gifts. I have to try and sell something.”

  “What amazing gifts are you talk—”

  “Your food, idiot.”

  He sucked in a breath. “My food is amazing?”

  “Well, sure, I tell ya all the time.”

  “Yes,” he said after a moment. “You do.”

  “So I really gotta—”

  “My mother can’t get enough of that crazy cookbook you got me, the old Granny B one. She loved the idea of the chocolate mousse, and she thinks I should try it out tonight in the restaurant, like I planned.”

  “Good.”

  “Maybe I should warn diners, huh? Like, ‘Seriously, don’t order this unless you’re with the person you want to hold you up against the wall in the kitchen and give you a hand job.’”

  “It was more than that.”

  “I know it was, so I’m going to get everyone back downstairs and we’re going to walk over there to you because I want everyone to meet my fuckin’ boyfriend!”

  “Scott—”

  “Screw you, Boone! What the fuck is this? You get me and you run?” he railed. “Do I want you there at my place tonight—Jesus Christ! I want you there every night from now on. After work, you walk your ass down to my place and sit at the end of the bar and let my waitstaff spoil you until I get off, and then afterwards you walk me home.”

  “Home?”

  “With you, asshole!”

  I stopped walking and smiled for the first time since my heart had seized up while thinking I was going to see Haru’s father again. “Why’re you mad?”

  “Why don’t you want me in your house?”

  “What?” I was baffled. “Of course I want you in my—”

  “Then why didn’t you just say, ‘Hey, I gotta go open up so I can make some money today, but I’ll be over as soon as I close to meet your family’?”

  “I—”

  “And why didn’t you tell me to pack a bag and bring it to the restaurant so we could go home from there together?”

  “So I’m in trouble because I can’t read your mind, now?”

  “No,” he huffed. “You’re in trouble because you’re pulling away. Why the fuck are you pulling away?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Oh?” he said sarcastically. “Because it certainly feels like it.”

  I took a breath. “I think Haru’s father is here.”

  Silence.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “I’m not—your boyfriend’s father? The boyfriend who died? The one we were just talking about yesterday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh.”

  I waited a moment. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “No, I… it’s just… in the cookbook….”

  He didn’t continue. “Is there more to that explanation?”

  “Yeah,” he choked out. “The book says that chocolate mousse for sorting is for lovers and for those they love.”

  “I don’t—so you’re saying, what, because I ate the mousse, now I have to deal with Haru too?”

  “I think so, yeah. I mean, certainly with your feelings for him.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “And yet… holy fuck.”

  It was definitely that.

  “I mean—” He coughed. “Are you still in love with him?”

  I would love him forever and ever until I died, but in love? Anymore? “I think being in love has to go both ways.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, and I heard his relief in the long exhale that followed.

  “I think you have to take care of someone else’s heart,” I said softly, squinting so I wouldn’t tear up. I was overly tired and anxious and more than just a little terrified, but mostly, more than anything, I wanted to start things with Scott. “I think you have to nurture it and be its caretaker.”

  “And
cook for it.”

  “And give it a home.”

  “And call and yell at it when it’s being stupid.”

  “Yes. Most certainly that.”

  He inhaled deeply. “His father is at your place now?”

  “I think so, I dunno. I have to go see.”

  “Okay. Go see, but you better be at my place tonight by eight or I’ll come looking for you.”

  “Yessir.”

  “It’s a promise, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay.”

  “You already said that.”

  “Boone.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, my voice a gruff rumble.

  “For the record, I’m crazy about you. Chocolate mousse or no chocolate mousse, I knew. I didn’t need to sort out anything.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He was emphatic. “Don’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “No, not again.”

  He groaned. “Again?”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, you know, you have some scars on your—”

  “Don’t think about it. I’ll see you later.”

  “By eight.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m making the mousse; you need to come eat it.”

  “But we’re already sorted.”

  “Just do what I say.”

  For once, I didn’t argue.

  Chapter 8

  THE SUVS were still parked out front when I reached my gallery, but instead of skulking around the back, I walked up to the first one and stood my ground. Almost instantly the door opened, and I was staring at a man I’d met before but couldn’t place. He was younger than me, dressed immaculately in a black three-piece John Varvatos suit. He was stunning.

  He smiled wide. “Ossu.”

  I had expected a much more formal greeting, but instead he wanted to pretend we were friends. I wasn’t sure what was being tested, but I could go along. “Ussu.”

  “Ohisa.”

  But I couldn’t respond to the whole “long time, no see” prompt—we weren’t friends. The thing was, though, his gaze was all over me, mapping my frame, and he was the only one who’d gotten out. It made no sense, but I went along. “Ma ne,” I agreed. “Genki?”

  “Ai kawarazu dayo,” he replied, shrugging. “Hisa bisa dana.”

  I squinted, done with pretending. “Who the fuck are you?”

  A grin curled his lip, and the action was so familiar, so remembered, that for a second I wasn’t sure I was going to stay on my feet. How could I have missed the resemblance?

  He grabbed my bicep tight, making sure I didn’t fall. “You know who I am, yes?” I nodded quickly. “You used to say all the time, ‘Haru-kun, look how cute he is. Satoru’s going to break so many hearts when he gets older.’”

  I could only admire him, Satoru, Haru’s little brother now all grown up.

  “No hug for me?”

  It was probably a better idea not to grab him and crush him against me, but God—I couldn’t help myself. He’d been fifteen the last time I saw him, at Haru’s funeral.

  He grunted when I swept him up, and I heard it then, all the car doors opening and men climbing out. I was standing inside a circle in moments.

  When I released him, I saw his father, Haru’s father, my oyabun, the man who had sheltered me, had me tattooed, had loved my mother and taken me away from his first-born son. Classically handsome with his shock of thick white hair, the lines in his face showing how hard and well he’d lived, Masuya didn’t look like he’d aged a day in five years.

  I bowed quickly and held it, remaining inclined, realizing Masuya Fudo had not yet returned my gesture.

  It was like everyone was holding their breath, and then suddenly, he returned the bow, which allowed me to straighten.

  “Ohayo gozaimasu,” I greeted.

  He grunted.

  I asked what his business was in New Orleans, and his dark black eyes flicked to mine. “I’m sick.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Sonna koto nai daro,” he grumbled.

  “It is,” I contradicted. “If I say I’m sorry, I am.”

  Another grunt, this one of disbelief. “Invite us in.”

  “All of you?”

  He shook his head as one of the men passed him a leather satchel. “No, only Satoru and I will enter your home.”

  “Dozo,” I responded, gesturing for them to walk ahead of me.

  I purposely walked him in through the gallery entrance, wanting them to take in what my mother’s money and hard work had given me. As they stopped and admired the polished wood floors, the gorgeous paintings, and exposed red brick walls, I moved to the back of the showroom.

  “Doko ni ikunda?” Masuya asked.

  “Nowhere. I’m not going anywhere, just here. I have a freight elevator, or do you want to walk up the stairs?”

  “The elevator,” Satoru said before his father could answer.

  Once we were all on, it was a quick trip up past the second floor where I kept the inventory to my loft on the third. We all got out in the middle of my living room, and even though I knew Masuya’s mansion in Tokyo was stunning—I’d lived there my whole young life—my place was more beautiful, though, because it was mine. All the windows, the neutral walls with black accents, all of it allowing for movement and light, a place you could stand still and be calm. After losing Haru, I’d found it so hard to simply breathe and be.

  “A fine use of space,” Satoru commented, turning to me. “But where is my brother’s shrine?”

  I took a breath. “He’s not mine to grieve, and to your father, and probably you as well, the love I bore him was wrong. That’s why our relationship was ended in the first place.”

  “No.” Satoru shook his head and then turned to his father. “We have come a great distance for you to speak to Boone-san.”

  “Just Boone,” I corrected. “Don’t make it formal. We used to be family.”

  His face scrunched up tight, and he rounded on Masuya, moving into a deep respectful bow even as his words came out in a rush. “Now is the time.”

  We were silent, all three of us. No one moved, no one spoke.

  “Come,” Masuya sighed after several long moments, gesturing for me.

  Moving quickly, I stopped in front of him and was overwhelmed when he put his hand on my cheek.

  “Boro o kite mo kokoro wa nishiki,” he said gently.

  It was a proverb, one I’d heard often, but I wasn’t sure why it was being applied to me.

  “Even when you were homeless on the street, you worried for Haru.”

  I nodded.

  “I didn’t know that without you beside him, he would turn his appetite to that which would kill him.”

  “He was just always so convinced of his own immortality.”

  He nodded. “I killed him when I took you from him. This is my sin to carry.”

  I had been thinking about Haru for years, and I had wondered many times: would he still have died if I’d been there?

  My ego always answered no. If I was there, holding his hand, at his side, I would have done what I always did and steered him away from anything that could do harm. But then, as I got older, I realized people did as they wanted, followed their own path. There was no way to stop self-destructive behavior without the individual being on board. So I wasn’t sure if Haru would have lived to see the age I was now, but I could speak with certainty on a few things.

  “He would have been around longer than he was,” I said without a drop of guilt. “He loved me, and he would have gone on doing that for a while. He wanted to make me happy, and I didn’t want him to do drugs. That’s all I know.”

  We had always been polar opposites. Me the solid one, the planner, the builder. Haru was wild, impetuous; he leaped without looking and never worried about a safety net. He was forever tugging me forward, to try, to jump. I was the one pulling him back to me, to the circle of my arms. I wondered h
ow long I could have truly kept him within them.

  The difference was that now I had a man in my life who would never let me go. Haru had been forced to give me up, but maybe, in the long run, he would have anyway. I wouldn’t ever know for sure, but what I did know was that Scott wasn’t going anywhere. Scott wanted to keep me.

  “Is that what you came to say?” I asked Masuya. “That parting Haru and me was a mistake and that you know that now?”

  One quick decisive nod. “Hai.”

  “Do you want me to forgive you?”

  “You cannot, I see it in your face.”

  He was right. Maybe, eventually, Haru would have dumped me or I would have left him to his addictions and they would have claimed him. All we had was the reality of what was past and the outcome, and for that….

  “I don’t think about him every day anymore,” I confessed. “I used to, when all the pain was still fresh, but not anymore.”

  “There were others after Haru.”

  I nodded.

  “But now, here, you do not think of him.”

  “Sometimes I do,” I explained, tilting my head back, realizing I’d left the windows open again and the smell of the rain mixed with jasmine filled my lungs as I inhaled. “When it rains, I think of the first time I kissed him, and then… I think about when I said good-bye. So yeah, he’s still with me.”

  “You have a new lover.”

  “I have a new love,” I said frankly. “Finally.”

  “And now that you have this man, Haru is truly gone because you have forgotten him.”

  But that wasn’t true.

  Masuya seemed broken, and that part I could fix. The part where he thought his son had faded into memory for me was a lie, and I could prove it to him.

  Shifting to the side and lifting my arms, I peeled up my Henley and pulled it over my head. Both Masuya and Satoru gasped at the same time as I turned back to them, making sure they could see Haru very clearly spilling over from my left arm and down over my heart.

  “He lives here, with me. Make no mistake.”

  They gaped, wide-eyed, getting close so they could examine the tattoo clearly, see my love there on display for a son and brother.

  They both bowed, and slowly, I did as well.

  We weren’t going to have some moment where Masuya and I hugged it out. I would never be healed enough to allow that, and he was far too traditional. But there was an understanding between us. We knew Haru would live in my heart forever, and we knew parting us had been a mistake. Knowledge fixed nothing, but it granted some measure of peace.

 

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