Page 53 of Café Diablo

“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” I say as kindly as I can.

“Oh no, it just hasn’t hit you yet,” Grandma replies, walking us past the green house. “When the heart makes a decision, it feels like lightening. Zap!”

She makes a dramatic flourish, then shoots her pointed finger at me, poking me hard like I’m the recipient of her imaginary strike of cupid’s arrow.

“Not like boom-boom, no!” she continues. “This is something deep in here.” She pokes my chest again. “It will scare you. Scare you like you’re lying on the ground, dying from the lightning! Then you know. You know for sure. STRIKE! That’s when you go buy a diamond.”

I open my mouth to explain how crazy that all is, except, I think my best bet is to just nod my head and pretend I’m getting advice from someone ordained and important.

“Buy the diamond. Got it,” I agree, nodding. “Not boom-boom, but heart lightning.”

“You making fun of me?” Grandma narrows her eyes, that finger pointing up at my face now. “This part’s no joke. Diamonds are serious business. Expensive.”

“Yes, they are,” I agree.

“You get her a big one. You hear me?”

“If there’s heart lightning?” I ask, pretending like I’m playing along. “The biggest diamond around.”

“She’s worth more than a diamond,” Grandma says, and something in her voice is very serious about that comment. It comes from a place of love and protection. Despite Grandma’s completely crazy welcoming skills, that comment is at least honest.

“I’d have to agree.”

Grandma narrows her eyes at me, like she’s not sure she can trust me on that one, but she’ll give it to me nonetheless.

“There.” Grandma points, and I look over to see Olivia and an older man, probably her grandfather, huddled around a small tree on top of a pillar.

When we get closer, I realize it’s a bonsai tree that they’re standing over. Bonsai are those artful trees trained to look like a full-grown tree, only it’s only about a foot tall. I also notice there are many more bonsai trees littered throughout the field behind the greenhouse, so many it may actually be a bonsai nursery.

Olivia and her grandfather seem to be discussing whether they should trim a branch or train it into a specific position. They keep talking in coded language about Akadama soil and back budding and if they should trim the foliage pad, or if that will disrupt the Fukinagashi wind-swept quality of the current training.

“I dragged the cat in,” Grandma says, butchering the idiom as we step up to the two of them. “Big muscled man, just lingering on my lawn, claims to know Olivia.”

Olivia looks up and smiles, wearing a simple tank top and jean skirt, before shaking her head at her grandmother like everything she’s said is to be expected. “I hope you’ve been nice to him,” she scolds.

“Nice?” she tosses back. “He’s the one who was walking on my marigolds.”

“Your grandmother is lovely,” I jump in, to which Grandma gives me an angry scowl. “In fact, your grandmother has very kindly planned our entire wedding on our walk over here.”

Olivia’s face falls. “Oh no! Nanna, you didn’t!” Olivia shoots me an apologetic look. “Don’t tell me, heart lightning and boom-boom?”

I nod and Olivia’s face flushes in embarrassment.

“Nanna,” Olivia scolds. “Do you have to do that with every man I introduce you to?”

“Yes!” Grandma defends. “Theright onewill actually listen!” Grandma glares at me as if that makes up for her harassment, then she points her crooked finger in my direction. “He knows what to do when—” She moves both of her hands to her heart and makes an exploding motion.

Olivia mouths ‘I’m sorry’ to me, and I can’t help but smile. Knowing Grandma does this to every would-be suitor at least makes it a lot more endearing.

After being introduced to Olivia’s grandfather, I get a tour of the farm. Yes, it used to be a nursery, and the bonsai trees are Grandpa’s life work. It turns out he has a hundred and twelve bonsai on the property.

“He’s practically famous,” Grandma brags. “His trees have been featured in hundreds of magazines.” Olivia catches my eye and gives a terse shake of her head, holding up her fingers to indicate that ‘hundreds of magazines’ means four. Still, I can’t imagine the bonsai-tree magazine scene is hoppin’; four might be the holy grail in that department.

Eventually, we end up sitting on a picnic table behind the house, where we eat rice and pork dosed in so much soy sauce my mouth puckers. But it’s nice to see this part of Olivia’s life, her family, her roots, where she played as a child. It’s clear she loves her grandparents dearly, and I get the sense she’s out on this farm just as often as an adult as when she was young.

“Are your parents still on the island?” I ask, and that seemingly innocent question earns me a hideous glare from Grandma.

“That little Trollip!” Grandma hisses, and I look wide-eyed at Olivia who’s just shaking her head.

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