Page 9 of Secrets & Sake

Raiden slides into the driver’s seat. “What music do you like?”

“I’m good with anything.” I’m curious about what kind of music he likes. “Play me something you like.”

“Eighties rock okay?”

I nod, and he puts on a playlist. It’s a song in English, and Raiden sings along to every word in a pleasant voice. I can’t fight the grin that breaks across my face. “Your English is good! What band is this?”

“Queen. They were really popular in my grandad’s day.” With a spin of the wheel, Raiden drives us through evening traffic. “My grandad went to see them in concert. He didn’t even really know any English, but he was blown away. He loved them, still does. He raised me, made sure I grew up knowing their greatest hits. You know a song is good when it speaks to you, right here.” He pats his chest.

“Your grandad raised you?”

Fondness softens his face. “Yeah. Since I was eight.”

“Were your parents busy?” Maybe I’m playing with fire, but the journalist in me has an insatiable curiosity for every bite of knowledge this man can give me. His life is worlds apart from my own safe, orderly existence.

He shrugs those big shoulders. “Busy being absent, yeah.”

Ouch. I wince.

“So you had a troubled childhood and joined the yakuza.”

He smiles ruefully. “Could I be any more textbook?” Neon lights blur outside the windows, streaking over the glass in shades of red, green, and pink. I’m even more curious than before about his past.

Before I can ask, he says, “What about your family?”

“Why? Looking for something to use against me?”

“Yeah. Need to know who I’m going to kidnap in case you betray us.” He says it so seriously that my blood turns to ice. Then he gives me a wink. “I’m kidding.”

“Are you really?”

“How about this? I promise to only kidnap someone you don’t like.”

I bark a laugh. “That sort of defeats the purpose of kidnapping, doesn’t it? Maybe I’d just let you keep them. Besides, you’d have to kidnap my entire family, and that would be a lot of work. You’d be doing me a favor.”

His eyes get comically wide.

I realize I’ve probably revealed more than I wanted to.

“Guess I’m not the only one with family issues.”

“My mom and dad live in Osaka,” I say. “They weren’t exactly jumping for joy when I announced I was moving.”

“But you still did it?” There’s no judgment in his voice. We’ve stopped for the light, and he’s taken his eyes off the road, his gaze full of curiosity.

Having his undivided attention makes me squirm in my seat. “It was either move here and get away from them or force myself to do what they wanted of me and be miserable for the rest of my life.” I learned not to talk about my family with anyone. When I’ve opened up about my family in the past, most people call me ungrateful for disobeying them. How could I turn my back on the people who raised me? I get the disapproval, I do. Blood is thicker than water, that’s what my father always told me. It’s how I was raised, to respect my family and the sacrifices they made for me. I wrestled with my decision for years. It wasn’t a choice I made lightly.

I’m a private person, and I value my secrets, so I’m not sure why I’m spilling them in a car with a yakuza. There’s something reassuring in knowing he’s probably heard way worse than some guy’s family woes.

Ever since I was a little kid, I thought I would manage one of the many luxury hotels my family owns all throughout the world, but I discovered a passion for writing and journalism in my last year of high school.

My parents were so disappointed when I told them I wanted to study journalism. My mother cried. Father ranted about how ungrateful I was for throwing everything they’d sacrificed in the trash. I’m sure glad I never told my parents I was gay. My father would probably drop dead from shock. My mom would just cry.

With nothing for me back in Osaka, I moved to Tokyo to go to university. I spent years studying journalism and worked long nights in a busy ramen bar to pay for my tuition. All that hard work was supposed to finally pay off when I passed my entrance test. I applied to dozens of newspapers around the city and landed a job at Jiji Shimbun.

Instead, here I am with nothing but a few crummy stories about dull, petty crimes to show for all my hard work. I don’t even have a boyfriend to come home to because I’ve been so busy that I’ve neglected any kind of social life.

Maybe I should have just done what was expected of me. At least then I wouldn’t be alone.

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