Yoshi stood up from the table and bowed slightly to each of his parents before escorting Mack to the room he grew up in. He turned the rusty brass doorknob. It creaked. “Come in,” he whispered.
Mack smelled dust, the musty smell of an ancient library; almost like this room had been carved off and separated from the rest of the house as if it was a museum. Posters of goth and emo bands held the walls up. A sturdy desk was placed under the windowsill and a wooden bedframe pressed up against a wall.
“This is where I did high school,” said the emo. His voice quavered a little. His heart was beating fast. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead.
“Never mind about that right now,” said Mack. “Are you feeling OK?”
“What do you mean?” asked Yoshi. His beautiful dark eyes betrayed a moment of fragility. His pierced lip trembled.
“You’re as quiet as a mouse,” explained the mechanic. “I’ve never seen this side of you.”
“That’s because I’m scared, big guy. Like, I’m really fucking scared right now. It feels like… my life is… like, I’m standing in my past, with what I hope is my future… and it’s… it’s… I’m…”
Mack noticed Yoshi was shaking. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the emo like he’d never ever let him go. “Everything’s cool, punk. I’ve got you.”
The emo sobbed. “I love you so fucking much, big guy. You’re so strong for me.”
“You’ve been strong for me a few times before,” replied the mechanic, “so maybe it’s my turn now.”
Yoshi’s walls finally shattered, and shaking violently, he wept into the mechanic’s chest.
His parents sat in the kitchen. Through the thin walls, they heard their son crying in his bedroom, but they knew his new friend was with him.
“I don’t know what to think,” Kenji said to his wife in Japanese.
“I don’t either,” replied Natsumi, “but I want him to be happy.”
“He’s our age,” Kenji declared, referring to Mack.
“I know. I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t expecting Yoshi’s friend to be as old as we are.” She sipped her tea.
“We don’t know the first thing about him,” said Kenji.
“Maybe that’s why Yoshi brought him here,” Natsumi offered. “So we can get to know him.”
Kenji frowned. “Our son is gay.”
“So what if he is?” challenged Natsumi. “We brought him into the world to experience happiness, and if he finds happiness with a man our age, then who am I to tell him he can’t?”
Kenji sat silently, motionless, almost statue-like, for a long time. Eventually, he reached forward, gripped his cup of green tea, and sipped. “Hai,” he nodded, swallowing the warm liquid. “I agree with you. Times are very different now. I’ve always prided myself on being progressive, but it matters most when the challenge lands on your own doorstep. For me, the bottom line is he’s our son, and we must not stand in the way of his happiness.”
“Let’s learn what we can about his friend Mack,” Natsumi suggested.
“Hai,” agreed her husband.
Yoshi’s doorknob creaked and turned, and he and the mechanic stepped back into the present. They returned to the kitchen. “I was just showing Mack where I studied and slept while I was growing up,” he informed his parents.
“Are you OK?” his mum asked. She noticed her son’s eyes were a little red from crying.
“Yeah, mum. I’m OK. Thanks.” He forced himself to smile.
Kenji cleared his throat. He knew some serious mother/son time was in order. “Would you like to see our house, Mack-san?”
“Yeah,” smiled the mechanic, noticing the honorific. In that moment, he knew everything was going to be fine. “That sounds great. Thank you.”
Yoshi’s dad took pride in showing off his beautifully manicured lawns, both front yard and back, as well as his carefully curated bonsai tree collection. Mack complimented Yoshi’s father on the beautiful Japanese maple trees that framed the path to their suburban castle. The mechanic asked about the sword that hung on the kitchen wall, and he whistled in surprise when he learned it was four hundred years old. A pair of inquisitive magpies perched on the back fence, warbling birdsong as they watched on. A Hills Hoist took pride of place in the centre of the back yard, and next to a metal shed, a rusty two-stroke Victa lawnmower sat idly, looking like it had seen better days.
Meanwhile, inside, Yoshi’s mum invited her son to sit with her at the kitchen table. “Tell me how you’re feeling,” she asked.
“Nervous,” came the start of her son’s response. “Anxious. Edgy. Like I’m gonna throw up.”
“Why?” asked his mum.
“Because… because… like… it’s a big thing, isn’t it, for a son to bring someone home to meet their parents, and I guess you were hoping I’d bring a woman, but I haven’t.”
“Like we said on the phone the other night, we kind of already knew. In some ways, maybe we were already prepared for this, so don’t worry. I know we don’t talk about this kind of thing, but we’ve always suspected that when it came to intimacy, you were a little more adventurous than your father and I ever were when we were your age.” She paused for a second. “And, I mean, you have… piercings and tattoos, which is very… different… to your father and me.”
Yoshi didn’t respond.
His mother cleared her throat. “The bigger surprise for us, really, is… well… he’s very… he’s very mature.”
“I know,” whispered the emo. “He’s not my age. He’s older than me.”
“We just want you to be happy. Are you?”
“I think so, mum. He’s very special to me. I can’t really explain.”
“We always thought you might be gay,” said Yoshi’s mum.
“Wait… no, mum,” stumbled the emo, “I’m not gay… I like men, but I like women too… and I’ve been… intimate… with women…”
“Oh, so you’re bisexual?”
The ton of bricks that had been weighing the emo down for hours, days, weeks, months, or perhaps even years, disintegrated and blew away in the wind like sand. “Yes, mum. I’m bisexual.”
His mum wrapped her arms around her son. She nodded in complete acceptance, even if not in complete understanding. Thin layers of confusion remained for her, but right now, they didn’t matter.
Yoshi cried again. “I love you, mum.”
“I love you too. And so does your dad. We only ever want what’s best for you.”
Mack-san’s garden tour eventually concluded, and luncheon commenced. A driver rang the doorbell to deliver Aussie-style fish and chips accompanied by Japanese sashimi. Natsumi carried the food to the kitchen table. She removed the teapot, cups and uneaten cake from the table before placing lunch fairly and squarely in the centre. Unsure of what utensils to provide, she placed knives, forks and chopsticks within easy reach, though fingers were just as useful.
Mack waited for some kind of Japanese ritual to take place. He glanced at Yoshi and raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘what do I do?’
Yoshi, feeling like the king of the world, reached out to grab a piece of deep-fried battered fish. Streaks of grease caked his fingertips and trickled down to his knuckles. He tore it in half, and grinning from ear to ear, handed the bigger piece to the mechanic. Their fingertips touched, ever so briefly. “Thanks, punk,” Mack whispered as he began to eat.