Day 6: Part III

It wasn’t long before the five of us set out for pancakes. The restaurant was along the route to the station so his parents thought it’d be easiest to lug their suitcases to the restaurant and leave straight after. For once I wasn’t the one hauling a suitcase around. 

The place's theming was surprisingly American. A sign by the host’s lectern promoted life on the beach in English with a design too similar to South Carolina’s seal, on the table was a Route 66 bucket that they stuck the napkins in, and along the wall, they had dressed a plastic head bust of a deer with denim jeans and a cowboy hat.

We got a booth in the corner, lining their suitcases against the wall. Francis sat on the innomest spot, then Sean, and then I and across from us his mother sat on the inside and his father on the outside across from me. Francis started talking to his mom and she pulled out some paper and crayons from her purse.

“Wow, these are pancakes?” I whispered to Sean. “I’ve seen these in anime but I thought they were cakes.”

“They are. They’re pan-cakes.”

“I’m used to the emphasis being on the pan. Culture shock.”

We laughed to the confusion of his father which I felt a righteous vindication for his informal greeting.

I consulted Sean on the options: a matcha cream pancake drizzled with honey that brought back memories of the prefecture we’d just departed; a sakura-flavored pancake which I thought would be the best choice but felt insufficient when I hadn’t yet seen one in full bloom; a strawberry and banana flavor, which I was leaning into with how well it fits the American atmosphere. There were many more, but as we were talking, Francis got bored of his mom and slowly began interjecting himself in our discussion, asking Sean to guess the picture or to try and draw something too, eventually, I said, “I think I know what I want, now,” lest Francis gets mad at me, too. I suppose Sean and I had gotten used to the privacy of English because once I had spoken, his father rang the buzzer, and a waitress took our order.

Sean had been subjected to Francis’ tyrannical supervision. Not that I was jealous. It was awkward to be left alone with his parents, though somehow their mom had even been roped into their art project. Plus his father’s humor was too elevated for me or, maybe, relied too heavily on the fact that he knew I would be confused. It made starting a conversation into a chess match. I wish he'd hurry up and draw that picture.

“...pan, Alex?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I said, his father had felt similarly isolated from his wife.

“I asked how do you like Japan? Sean treating you well?”

At the mention of his name, he faced us, his hand dropping to the table, but Francis demanded it back. “Oh, um…” All I could think of were the meals we’d shared, convenience stores or restaurants. That night in Tokyo Tower the rain paved the panes like a watercolor. Even as he was playing with his younger brother, his smile, and his eyes looking up at me made me flustered like when we went to the onsen together. “I-it’s been nice,” I muttered. His father seemed dissatisfied that I hadn’t sung my praises high. “That’s not what I meant. Sean is--Japan is--I like it. I’m glad I came, but it’s only a week.”

“That is disappointing,” he said, and for a moment I thought he had meant my response. “Certainly, you can’t do everything. That's not bad. Japan is a big country. And one week becomes two weeks becomes three. You never know. I’m always telling this story but one day changed my life. I met Sophia at the beach. During my master's schooling, I was a…pacifist. But then I wanted to marry an American military officer! Lost a lot of friends. Even my father became upset, for different reasons, but upset. In the end, what can I do? I love her. Now, married, three kids, and happy. Have some problems, sure, but happy. Are you happy now, Alex?”

“Huh? “

“We’re talking about your trip. Are you happy to be in Japan? Even though it’s quick, you’re having fun? ”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll want to come again, right?”

“One day, I guess.”

“Good,” he said, then turned towards Francis and Sean who were drawing pictures of us at the booth. “Fuel for pride.”

The pancakes arrived and were bestowed before us. I was too occupied by the sheer size to spend enough time looking at his family’s orders to now have it memorized, but I knew Sean got the matcha-dusted one and I had ordered, pointing abstractly at the menu, pancakes topped with a raspberry purèe. They tasted like French toast if the whole loaf were battered and fried but by no means too dry or undercooked. We were like squirrels gathering nuts for the long winter, our cheeks puffed like the pancake fluff.

“Fluffy,” Sean’s father said, pointing his fork at my half-completed plate.

“Not like American ones.” I agreed and stabbed at more with my fork.

“Oishii?” Sean’s mother had asked Francis. Francis looked as though he were about to cheer, but upon seeing me, lowered his hands and gave a nod.

“Here, try this,” Sean said, spreading the cream across a slice swirling it around the honey on his plate, then handing the fork to me. It was like those milkshakes at the Italian place. “Oiishii?”

“Oishii!” I gave the cheer Francis couldn’t, but instead of warming up and joining in the exclamation, he passed his fork over his plate and avoided looking my way.

“Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve been up to,” his mother said behind a straight smile. “I hope you’ve planned for more than that for his last few days.”

“Can I try some of yours?” Sean asked me, not answering her.

“Sure. It’s only fair.”

“Sean! Come on, be a host, would you?” Sean shrugged and his mom sighed. “Let me think. Oh, I know. A friend of mine, Mitsuko, has a sister who runs a kimono shop. You two could go there--get dressed up. It’s really quite a treat to wear traditional clothing.” I thought it was a wonderful idea, but before I could ask for details, she started laughing. “Well, I suppose you young men wouldn’t be interested.”

“We’ll think of something, don’t worry about it.”

“You think of it lazing around the house and by the time you come up with it, it’ll be time for him to go.”

“Speaking of,” his father said, pressing the buzzer, “we probably should be leaving soon.”

“That’s too bad, I was enjoying seeing Alex again. Sorry, it was so short. Sean, I’ll text you the address just in case. I’m not saying you have to try anything on, but it’d be nice to look around and rub your fingers on the silk. Not too long ago, people wore them every day. Those and kimonos in general; they’re second-hand. If you think about it, it’s like a free museum.”

“I wanna go to the museum,” Francis said, for Sean had been pulled away by a higher authority.

“Well, you can’t, we’re going to see Mariah instead.”

“I’m not coming unless Onii-san comes.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow, there’s just not enough room at the hotel. Right, mom?”