Page 60 of Black Castle

Vivienne lets out a sigh at his stubbornness. As far as she’s concerned, it’s not so much of a big deal. It’s just a hey, hi, happy birthday, and that’s all. But then again, she’s way too forgiving. It’s almost a flaw. Maybe it’s normal that Kenji is still angry at his father who, as far as he is concerned, basically disowned him for being who he is.

He doesn’t really hate his father. Hate is too strong a word. He just has terrible qualms with him. And the two men are hell-bent on never settling. Well, his father claims he is ready to put the past behind them if Kenji can—in Mr. Hashumi Sato’s term, ungay himself. But how does one stop themself from being gay? Perhaps Mr. Sato views sexuality as a temporary stage. You have the freedom to identify as gay today and straight tomorrow. Like how you dye your hair according to your mood. You choose your sexuality according to your mood, too.

Kenji was thirteen when his sixteen-year-old cousin outed him during a family dinner. The Satos were one of the most influential families in Japan, their wealth and power woven into the fabric of Tokyo and Kyoto. And with prestige came scrutiny—the eyes of the country always watching. Waiting for the slightest misstep.

They had built their legacy on control, on the illusion of perfection. There must be no room for scandal, no room for weakness and certainly, no room for the shame of a grandson who would one day bring home a husband instead of a wife.

So they sent Kenji off to the States. ‘There are people like him there,’ they said. ‘He will fit in until he comes back to his senses.’

But Kenji is Rose’s only child, the only thread tying her to that family. What use is she when her son is across the world, far away from her?

They sent her off too to monitor her son and take care of him. It’s been five years or so. Rumor has it that Hashumi Sato has gotten remarried. Neither Kenji nor his mom knows yet. Rose was told to not come back until her son was normal again. Therefore, no one has confirmed the news of her husband’s remarriage.

Rose doesn’t enjoy talking about it. Because deep down, she doesn’t want it to be true. She loves her husband, after all.

Kenji doesn’t think he’ll ever go back, unless he becomes less gay. Sometimes, he worries he might unknowingly have cost his mother happiness. But the issue is out of his control. He can’t become who he is not.

Their lives aren’t easy either.

“Kenji—”

“Hanatte oite okasan, Jesus Christ!” Leave me alone, mom, Jesus Christ!

Kenji angrily kicks his chair backward, snapping Vivienne out of her train of thoughts.

Her gaze bounces between the mother and son. Kenji is angry, his face red, while Rose is frustrated and close to tears. She hates seeing her son so upset. He’s her sunflower and he deserves nothing but joy.

“Where are you going?” Rose asks as Kenji whips around, bounding away.

“Somewhere no one is gonna disturb me to call my so-called father.” He words father as though it is a poison on his tongue that he is dying to spit out.

Rose’s eyes fall on his remaining meal and she motions to it. “Semete tabe owatte.” ‘Finish your food, at least’

“I have lost my appetite,” he replies to whatever his mother said concerning his untouched meal, then turns his eyes to Vivienne. “I’m going to my room.”

“Okay,” Vivienne gives him a gentle nod, a kind smile lifting the corners of her lips.

She hears a rather agonizing sigh from the table and her gaze flickers to Kenji’s mom. The woman looks defeated.

“Sorry about that,” Vivienne says, so used to this. “I’m sure he’ll come around. I’ll um, I’ll try to talk to him.”

“Thank you, love,” her mood lightens, a smile gracing her lips. “I’ll really appreciate that.”

“What are you watching?” Vivienne asks, forcing Kenji to scoot away on the cuddle chair placed a few centimeters from the television screen in his room.

“Jumanji,” he mumbles, slumped on the couch, arms crossed, eyes on the screen, but it’s plain he’s not really into the film.

“Oh god, Sato, not that creepy stuff again,” she moans, reaching for the popcorn in his lap as she cuddles close, breathing in his scent.

“It’s nice.” He shrugs, his voice barely carrying any form of enthusiasm.

“Oh, please.” Vivienne rolls her eyes. It’s not that the movie is bad. She just doesn’t think it’s nice enough for someone to watch it twenty times.

As the movie flickers across the screen, Vivienne remembers promising his mom to talk him into calling his dad.

She steals a glance at him. His jaw is set, fingers drumming a slow, steady beat on his thigh.

“So, um,” she starts carefully.

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