-I-

The scent of garlic and chili paste drifted through Kurosaki's living room. Junko had been broiling and frying the whole morning. She said she would celebrate Christmas this year and suddenly went to the wet market yesterday. She then came back two hours later with five full bags of grocery items.

“But she said she never celebrated Christmas,” I whispered to Kurosaki behind his indoor plant, peeking at Junko taste-testing the sauce.

Kurosaki glanced at her while spraying the finger-like leaf with water. “No, not since her mother died.” Swiftly, he wiped it with a washcloth.

Our lack of speech was accompanied by the clattering and simmering in the kitchen.

What happened in the hospital? What did that dipshit say to her? Junko's countenance was frosty and serene since yesterday. She was moody, but not petulant. I couldn’t ask. I wouldn’t dare. Solecism, by and large, had never been something to mull over before I met her. Being in love made me lose some brain cells.

“Luuk. Come here a sec." Junko beckoned me over.

I patted Kurosaki’s shoulder and said, “You need a bigger plant. Both of us can’t hide here.” I shook my head and entered the kitchen. “Yes, Junko. What is it?”

She brought a spoon near my lips. “Taste.”

“Kurosaki is the cook here, why...”

Her eyes told me: “Can it and taste this.”

So I did.

“Too spicy for you?” She licked the leftover gravy on the spoon.

My tongue flared, but not enough to burn. “Just on the threshold.”

She smirked, howsoever small. Her smirk meant one thing: “What a wimp.” Then she nodded as she tossed the spoon in the sink.

Being a wimp didn’t feel too bad at the moment. At least my being a wimp made her smile.

“You need help, honey? I can get Kurosaki to help you cook. I could help,” I shrugged, “but I have my mother’s talent—”

“No. I don’t need help.” It sounded like a deal-breaker, one that would bury me six feet under if I broke it. “Dinner will be served at six. So stop hiding and do something productive.” Her voice was louder. She was addressing Kurosaki indirectly. “Somewhere where I can’t see you both.” She then said something in Japanese under her breath and turned.

“Right. I’ll just... water some plants with Kurosaki...?”

Kurosaki emerged from behind the tall plant and mouthed “Outside”.

So I followed him. The wildest idea came into my mind as I stepped down the frigid porch. “Hey, Kurosaki. Let’s buy a Christmas tree.”

Only a second passed before he said, “Grande ideia.” [Great idea]

I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, though. Today was Christmas Eve. I wondered if any place was opened. But still, we went out. Junko had allusively chased us out. Dominic stayed at home with Junko. Kurosaki drove his white sedan toward the nearest opened supermarket (it took us forty minutes to find one). We would only hope there was a Christmas tree available. But I didn’t even need to wonder for long. We didn’t even need to spend time deciding. Because there was only one tree left, and according to the manager, it was the most expensive one (which wasn’t expensive in any way).

After the purchasing, we stayed inside the car at the parking lot, not moving.

I asked, “We aren't going back yet, are we?”

We were both scared of Junko at the moment. I didn’t even need to ask Kurosaki to know that.

He peeked at his watch, mouth in a thin line. “Still an hour before six.” He started the ignition. “We’ll get home in an hour if we drive below the speed limit.”

“Hey, Kurosaki.”

He hummed, turning a corner. The road was deserted. Portuguese was obviously preparing for Christmas Eve's dinner. Christmas was culturally different here. Everything that is considered special and the main celebration (family dinner, opening a present, etc) happened today on the 24th instead of on 25th in Portugal.

“Do you… happen to know what happened to Junko's mother?” I had been calculating to ask that question when they talked about her mother's recipe two days ago.

“It would be hard for her to tell you herself. Sure, I don’t see the harm in telling you. I was a part of the story too.”

I faced him, elbow against the door. He was involved in her death?

“So… where do I start?” He hummed. “Junko’s family moved here when she was seven. She didn’t look like a boy at that time, though her parents kept her hair very short, and she always wore boys’ clothes. The other boys would always try to make fun of her, calling her names.” He shook his head slightly. “I started to teach kids martial arts when I moved to Lisbon. I know how a girl’s physique looks like. I know how a girl moves in martial arts. We always know the differences.” He looked at me with a “Right?” eyes. “I had my doubts. You know, things like maybe he was just… awfully feminine.”

He had all my attention when I saw a certain look in his eyes.

“When Junko was ten, the family moved back to New York City for three years. When she came back, she finally looked like a boy. And things… changed that year.” He paused.

“What changed?”

“Junko looked more confident. Her voice broke. She looked healthier. But her mother, Jitsuko, she looked sick. I tried to talk to her. She didn’t really have friends around here. So… well, we talked, and we got closer. Her husband was rarely home. He worked in New York City more than he worked in Lisbon. Jitsuko started coming to my house almost every day, even when Junko didn’t have a class. We talked about cooking a lot. She was Japanese, I am Japanese. You know how it gets when two peas get in the same pot.”

The look in his eyes had me wary. You don’t talk about someone's mother with a gleam in your eyes.

“Then one day, she opened up. She told me everything about her twins, what her husband did to Junko. How she was too afraid to tell anyone about it. Her family hated Junko. They knew what happened, and they hoped she was the one who died back then. Even in this age, some Asian families still prefer boys to girls.”

“I am indeed enthusiastic to know all about Junko's past, but you’re still not telling me where you are in this story and how her mother died.”

He smiled, though it looked painful. “Let’s cut the story short then. One thing led to another, things happened throughout the years, Jitsuko and I got closer, and we… went a bit too far.”

I cleared my unobstructed throat.

“Junko caught us one time.”

I wasn’t sure why my face burned from embarrassment. “From the way she still considers you a father, I think she was fine with it…?”

He nodded. “Maybe it was her sixteen-year-old hormone, but she actually asked her mother to divorce her dad and stayed with me.” He laughed. “But we adults knew it was a mistake. I still loved my ex-wife back then, and Jitsuko knew she wasn’t supposed to have sex with a guy who wasn’t her husband. Again, things happened, then Jitsuko fell into depression. She had always been depressed, but after we crossed the line that one time, she got worse. I knew she had been unhappy with Junko's transition too. Junko always convinced us that it was her choice, but Jitsuko knew she did it because of her father. And as you know, Junko, after all the years, still blamed herself for Jona's death.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

The car stopped at a red light. Kurosaki rubbed his face and pushed his hair back. Then he looked at me. “Two years later, Jitsuko died from opioid OD.”

“Holy Mother.” I breathed, having a bad feeling.

“Jitsuko always complained of bad headaches. And Junko was the one who fed her mother the drugs the night she died.”

I balled my fist when I got goosebumps. “I don’t like how it sounds.”

“It wasn’t her who killed Jitsuko. Yet she blamed herself."

“How is that her damn fault? She didn't aid and abet any murder.” Heat traveled up my throat. "Nobody should feel responsible for their mother's death. Nobody should be the reason for their mother’s death."

I lapsed into silence. And the conversation died, just like that. Leaving me with burning pain in my stomach.

-II-

We didn’t have Christmas ornaments.

We bought a Christmas tree, but we totally forgot to buy the ornaments. So we stood in front of the tree after dinner, trying to appreciate how bare it was.

“You’re not going to grow any mistletoe by staring at it.” Junko entered the living room with a stack of A4 copy papers. “Watch and learn.” She sat on the floor and started to fold one paper into a snowflake. Another into socks. Another into a reindeer. “Can you do that?” she asked us. She had been crying. Her eyes were red.

“How did you do that?” I sat and leaned toward her as she folded another snowflake.

“Haven’t you been watching me?” She sighed.

“Yes. I was watching you.”

She covered her face with one hand when she burst into a small laugher. Shaking her head, she then said, “Jona and I used to fold origami every Christmas.” She passed the snowflake to me and smiled. “He was better at it. He was better at everything. When we were six, he already remembered two thousand kanji characters when I could barely speak Japanese." Her reddened eyes moistened in tears.

I looked at Kurosaki. He raised his brows and stood. “I’ll go get some needle and thread to tie these.”

“Junko.” I held her arm.

She hummed and glanced at me, her fingers still tracing the paper into a triangle.

I kissed her when she turned her head. She didn’t kiss me back, but I felt her smile against my lips.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

It was me who wanted to ask her that, but instead, I said, “I love you.”

“Here.” She took out something from her pocket and put a paper heart in my palm. “I wrote something in there. It is too… embarrassing to say them out loud. So I wrote them down. Read it later, after I sleep or something.” Her cheeks flared up. She could’ve texted me whatever she wanted to say. But the idea of being archaic wasn’t exactly bad. I slipped the letter into my pants’ pocket.

“My Christmas present? A love letter?” I winked.

“Not that one.”

That surprised me. “So you have a present for me?”

Fuck. I need to get her something tomorrow.

She smiled. “Come on. Help me with this.” She pushed the white papers toward me.

We folded the origami (it was a doddle to fold. I could fold them with closed eyes after two tries) while Dominic and Kurosaki hanged them on the eight-foot pine tree. Kurosaki then played some monotonous Portuguese Christmas songs that talked about war and food.

“Who wants to put the angel on top?” She only looked at Kurosaki and Dominic.

“I’m not that short, for God’s sake,” I said.

She giggled. “Who said anything about your height?”

Kurosaki bent over and picked her up. He easily put her on his shoulder. She released a small “Woah” as she grabbed his hair.

“You do it. You’re the most angelic one here.”

She laughed but placed the angel on top of the tree. “Now put me down, Kurosaki-san.”

He pulled her into his arms. “Merry Christmas, Junko.” He kissed her forehead. Kurosaki said something—a long something--to her in Japanese, and she cried hugging him. Whatever Kurosaki said had broken her façade.

“D.” I nudged my chin toward the front door.

Their relationship ran deeper than I initially thought, and I didn’t want to disrupt any significant moment between them. I mouthed to Kurosaki, “I’m going out for a bit.”

The night air was cool, but not cold enough. The news said it was 54 degrees an hour ago. “Bring along your cigars,” I told Dominic.

He patted his suit's chest pocket.

“So suffocating. Wear a t-shirt.” I shook my head.

“You fine?” Dominic asked after we crossed the park's fence. “You’ve never been away from the family for Christmas.”

“Alex called earlier. I'm good.” I leaned against the monkey bars. “And you’re family. You’re here with me.” I rested my head on his biceps. “I’m not alone.”

Dominic pulled out a cigar and lighted it. “Figures. I’m only your brother when Alex is not with you.” He laughed, patting my cheek.

I rolled my eyes and smiled. “It isn’t true, and you know that.” I never regressed in front of Dominic, but I love him as much as I love Alex. They’re both my brothers.

“Here.” He passed me the cigar he lighted.

I took a drag and retrohaled the Upmann. My father's favorite. The hint of anise and leather filled my nasal. It burned. I smoked cigars on certain occasions only, Christmas being one of them (every day is Christmas for my father though).

“Have you made your decision?” he asked, wrapping his arm around my shoulder when I shivered from the gale.

Today, I discovered that I wasn’t too different from Alex after all. The idea of taking someone's life wasn’t implausible to me. It was a startling revelation, but deep down, I knew blood is indeed thick.

“Root out whatever you can dig about him, even when it’s as small as worm’s hole.” I took another drag of the cigar. “Cuz every hole leads to a shitty gutter.”

The swing on my left creaked from the squalls of cool air. Insects loomed under the street lamp and the smoke from my nostrils squirmed in the air like an exorcised Casper.

Dominic sighed, the smoke flew out of his nose. “We can simply get rid of him and get done with it.”

I wanted to. Junko's father was as good as dead the moment I knew the truth about him. But something stopped me. It was wringing my neck the whole time from invisible hands. The idea of Junko finding out and hating me for killing her father stopped my plan on place.

“I'm not Alex.” I tried to lie to myself. Dominic wouldn’t buy my bullshit. Even I didn’t buy it. “Let’s try to not jump any guns for now. We can think about the… contingency plans if the investigation draws a blank."

We stayed silent for several minutes, sharing the cigar.

“When are you resigning from Stanford?” he asked. ”You’re coming back to the company in two weeks.”

“Next week. I’ll resign next week.”

“You haven’t told Junko about you moving to San Francisco, have you? When all is said and done, you gotta tell her, Luuk.”

“Junko wouldn’t want to move in with me. She has her life in Stanford.”

“You asked?"

I shook my head.

“Then why would you bother yourself with such an assumption?” He patted my back before he laughed. “Maybe you can just kidnap her away, and she'd just follow your lead. She looks pretty engrossed in you.” He laughed again. “Never thought you can be such a lover boy.”

I looked at him, a bit surprised by his remark. I always thought Junko was stoic when it came to me. She never showed her love much, not in front of people. A sudden shyness ran through my veins. “Oh, come on. I’m too old for the lover boy shit. I'm not a teenager. Jesus.”

His phone blared off as he continued laughing. He took it out of his pocket. “I need to take this.”

“I'm gonna stay outside for a bit.”

Dominic answered the phone.

I glanced at Kurosaki’s house. The neighborhood was murky. Only his house was lighted. Apparently, everyone went back to their hometown for Christmas. The gust felt colder, so I pushed my frigid hands into my pockets. My fist met with the paper heart Junko gave me. I bit on the cigar and grinned as I fished out the letter. This felt corny. The letter unfolded easily under my stiff fingers. I took out my reading glasses from the other pocket and approached the street lamp. The heart unfolded into a small piece of paper. An A4 divided by four. My experience going over the student's assignments told me this was around five hundred words. Every word was in Portuguese.

Hi, Luuk.

Well, this is embarrassing. But I wouldn’t know any other way of telling you all these corny things. Sorry if this letter somehow sounds like a song's lyrics or poems. I am listening to love songs now. And Portuguese can be a bit poetic, you should know that. So don’t judge. Haha.

I laughed at that. She really wrote haha. So cute. I would give her an A if she had better handwriting. She managed to evoke an emotional response from me even before I finished reading. That’s something considering I failed my unscrupulous students with atrocious handwriting.

Luuk, we met by chance. But I know you’ll call it fate. Whatever it is, can I call it a miracle? I didn’t want to admit it, but now I think you’re the proof that God actually cares about me.

Until two days ago, I still had my doubts. I am not a man, neither am I a woman. I believed if I have nothing, there’s nothing to lose, so I have nothing to fear. I believed no power, even my own, even God, would change who I was. But you’re here and you changed it. After we made love that night, it changed every single thing I believed in.

Yesterday, again, I had doubts. My dad told me he loved me. It felt real. But does he really love me? I spent the whole night trying to make sense of what he’s doing to me, what I am doing to myself. Then I realized something. He doesn’t love me, does he? He loves Jona. My father let me drown as a child. I died when I was eight, do you believe me? But he resuscitated me so that I would forever be in his debt. If he loves me, why would he kill me?

I don’t want to stay in another debt. You told me love won’t cost me a dime. I heard dependence is a form of love too. So can I depend on you? You care enough for me that I want to be free from my father. Can you tell me what I should do? Can I just stop thinking and listen to you?

If I tell you I'm fine, I would be lying. I was fine. Before I met you, I was doing great. But not so much now. I even feel like spending Christmas with you tonight. And every year to come. You got me involved in something I have never searched for. And I, now I can’t think of a future without you in it. I’m afraid, Luuk. I have fallen in love with you so deep, I don’t think I can see the surface anymore.

But you’re an angel. My angel. So even when I have fallen this deep, if I pray to God to keep this love real, can you please send my prayers to Him?

Luuk. What kind of future are you painting? Can I be in it?

Junko da Graça.