Miss Incomplete | ✓

55 | He Loves Me

Family dinners are the worst.

This is the third time I'm caught in an awkward silence between group dinners; where the silence slice at our tongues and we can't bare the conversations. I finally concluded, silently, that family dinners plus me, don't create the best environment.

My mother sat besides my father, a good distance given between them. My mother sat in front of me, while my brother sat next to me; in front of me. My grandma sat at the near end of the table, almost like the Queen of the table, as she spare glances between her son and her daughter-in-law.

Julian left to go home a couple hours ago, being one of the downfalls to my now-soured mood. I didn't want to see my mother again, and I definitely didn't want Kenji to see our mother.

"So," Kenji stirs, playing with the rice in his bowl. It was half-emptied, "who's this lady?" He points the his chopsticks towards the direction of our mother. She gasps, in a rude manner, because chopsticks pointed to another person in Japan is considered very rude. However, I didn't correct him—she deserves it.

"Kenji, that's your mother," my father explained quickly, shoving his pointing chopsticks down. My brother stops, setting his chopsticks on top of the bowl, and looks between our mother and father. "Don't be rude."

"I thought you died," Kenji bluntly states, and raise my hand to cover my lips, attempting (not hard enough) to cover up a laugh.

"Kenji!"

"I'm serious, dad," he returns his glaze over to our mother, who looks to him with a bright, duped, smile. "That was the only thing I could've logically concluded when I grew up without a mother figure in my life."

Low jab, brother. Low jab.

I know my brother knows more than that; he once asked me about our mother and I told him. I told him that she left us when we were a child for her gambling habits. I told him that she left without a goodbye to her children. Not to mention, breaking our father's heart in the process. I knew exactly what Kenji was doing—something I did yesterday—he was trying to hurt her.

"I left," our mother explains, trying not to let his words affect her too much, "but I'm back now, that's what matters."

I shot a glare in her direction, something she didn't take note of and ignored. I shot another look over to our father, who stare down to his food, seeing it completely filled with rice. He doesn't meet my eye. It was because there was more to the story; she didn't just come here because she wanted to be back with her family—she came here to take Kenji away.

"That sounds fake, but okay," my brother concludes, moving his chopsticks over to the fish dish and breaking a piece to put on his bowl. Our mother follows his movement, eyeing him carefully.

"You grew so much, Kenji," our mother said, complimenting him. "You're so tall, like your father."

"I mean, people grow," he shrugs, nonchalantly, "I think, with fourteen years in the making, I would grow. Maybe, maybe just a little."

Our mother doesn't say anything and the conversation goes dead after that. Just before my grandma slammed the chopsticks onto the dining table, jumping from her seat as she stares straight to my mother. "Sorede oshimai! Anata ga koko ni kita riyū o shōnen ni tsutaete kudasai. [That's it! Tell the boy why you came here.]" It shook the entire table, as our eyes came in contact with our grandma who stood in the middle of the table furious.

"Ma—"

"Watashi o watashi ni shinaide kudasai. Anata wa watashi no musumede wa arimasen, anata wa majodesu. [Don't ma me. You're not my daughter, you witch.]"