Part II:
When I could focus, I stepped inside and glanced around. Mrs. Nakai was waiting for me a pace past the door. The building was pretty small, and there were maybe a dozen round tables strewn around the place, and since it was still relatively early for lunch, only a few of them were occupied. At the back wall was a counter, behind which was a diner style cooking range, and a door that probably led to the back storage. The counter was wood that matched the stools, though the top of the counter had been covered with what looked like gray stone.
The only person sitting there was a man on the far left of the counter. Despite the drapes, both windows were open, their lazy fluttering mixing with the lazy breeze the ancient, creaking fans to create something approaching a light breeze. Even though it was cooler in the building, it was still pretty humid, and I was still sweating. Besides the man at the counter there were only a couple more patrons scattered around, while a young man with an apron darted around pouring refills of drinks. Except for a man in a gray suit in a corner with a newspaper, everyone else looked to be a local.
As we stood there, everyone’s eyes were on us, and I repressed the urge to take a step back. The man in the gray suit went back to his paper, and after a moment most of the patrons went back to minding their own business. A few were still looking at Mrs. Nakai, or more likely her scars.
Mrs. Nakai ignored them, strode over to the counter, and stood next to one of the stools. I scuttled after her as she grinned at the large, swarthy, older man behind the counter and asked, “Hey, Zeke, you remember me?”
The large man beamed, “Nakai, it is you! I told you, Rich, I told you! Rich?”
The large man darted around, clearly looking for something. Looking down at the oven, he rolled his eyes and grabbed something, or rather someone, by their apron strings. Hefting the person up, he whirled them around to reveal a thinner, younger looking version of the larger man with hair that was more brown than black. I say younger, but the thinner man looked to be in his thirties or forties, while the larger man was easily nearing his seventies, and most of his hair was either gone or white.
“See, told you it was her!” the older man called, “As if I could forget her after that entrance she made!”
“Yeah, Dad, I see,” the younger man said. He smiled to both of us and said, “Welcome to Zeke’s, have a seat, and my Dad’ll be with you in a sec.”
I was so engrossed in the scene before me that it actually took me a second to realize they were all speaking Japanese. It was rough and had a distinct accent to it, but it was Japanese. The man at the end of the counter grumbled and drank from the large, nearly empty glass in front of him. He had a long, sharp scar on his right cheek and was missing the ring finger and pinky on his left hand. Judging by his aged, grizzled appearance, it wasn’t too hard to suppose why he kept giving Mrs. Nakai dirty looks.
Not that she noticed. Mrs. Nakai grabbed a seat at the counter and placed her helmet next to her, placing her jacket carefully in her lap as she said, “Thanks, Rich. It’s good to be back.”
“Been a year or so, hasn’t it?” the larger man said. He glanced at me as I took my seat next to Mrs. Nakai, my feet dangling off the floor. Raising a speculative eyebrow at me, he turned to Mrs. Nakai and asked, “Who’s your friend?”
“New addition to the family,” she replied. Turning to me, she smiled and said, “Soon-hee, this is Ezekiel, his son Richard, and…” Mrs. Nakai looked around the building until she noticed the young man wandering around in an apron, whom she pointed to and said, “His grandson, Lorenzo. They run this place.”
“Ever since my Dad went toes up, at least,” Ezekiel stated, “and please, call me Zeke,” Ezekiel added, giving a theatric Western-style bow to me and declaring, “Welcome to my humble little diner. What can I get you two lovely young ladies to drink?”
“You still make your own beer, right?” Mrs. Nakai asked.
Zeke nodded, “One house ale, nice and cold, coming up.”
“Thanks,” Mrs. Nakai said.
Zeke turned to me, “And for you?”
I glanced up at the large chalkboard that had the menu scribbled on it. It was a scrawling mess of Filipino, English, and Spanish, so I gave up and just asked for some calamansi juice.
Zeke nodded and repeated the order to Rich, who opened the nearby back door and shouted into it. When the door was closed Zeke grinned at me and asked, “She tell you how she nearly crashed through the diner?”
“Into, not through,” Mrs. Nakai corrected, “and yes, I did.”
Zeke rolled his eyes, “Through, into same thing. And you ask how I could forget you? Heck, if you had been goin’ faster I coulda used the insurance money to buy new fans!”
I heard someone behind us snort in amusement. Sounded like it came from the foreigner.
Zeke snorted back and continued, “Anyway, ever since then she’s made it a point to come by whenever she visits Manila, which has been… five years, six?”
“Seven,” Rich replied as he placed two glasses in front of us.
“Right, right,” Zeke said, “I’ll give you two a minute to decide on what you want.”
Zeke wandered off, and I sipped my juice and glanced at Mrs. Nakai. She caught my eye from over her beer, smirked, and lowered her glass.
“Question?” she asked.
“Um, if you don’t mind my asking… why here?”
Mrs. Nakai smiled and looked up at the menu, “Well, after I hit the wall, I came inside to apologize. Zeke looked like he was in charge, so I came to the counter and started babbling. He obviously knows Japanese-”
“Really?” Zeke interjected from the grill, “I thought I was speaking Arabic this whole time.”
Mrs. Nakai smirked, rolled her eyes, and continued, “Anyway, I was talking too fast for him, so to calm me down he plopped a beer and some fried noodles in front of me. I’ve been coming back ever since, usually with someone else.”
“Never claimed to be a French chef,” Zeke stated, “Good food, good beer, good prices, and shade from the sun. That’s what I got, so that’s what I do.”
Mrs. Nakai nodded, “And you do it well,” turning to me, she asked, “So any idea what you want for lunch?”
“Not sure. I uh, can’t read the menu.”
“My hands ain’t as steady as they used to be,” Zeke stated.
“Told you to let me write it,” Rich muttered.
Mrs. Nakai chuckled at the two before glancing up at the menu. After a few moments contemplation, she said, “I’ve always liked the fried bananas, as odd as that may sound.”
“The pan-fried
bangus is pretty good,” Rich added while he handed Lorenzo a fresh pitcher of water, “you’d call it milkfish, and it’s deboned and served on a bed of rice.”
“Feel free to get both, if you want,” Mrs. Nakai stated.
I smiled and said, “Thanks, I’ll do that.”
Turning to Zeke, Mrs. Nakai stated, “I’ll have the tofu teriyaki on rice.”
Zeke nodded and went to work, assisted along the way by his son. Something Mrs. Nakai had said earlier had stuck with me, so I glanced at her and asked in a low voice, “Did you mean that? About me being part of the family?”
Mrs. Nakai smiled and nodded, “I’ve never seen Kenji so passionate or devoted to anything as much as your recovery and wellbeing, and Miya dotes on you just like she does with Satomi and Refia. Oh, that reminds me –thank you for looking after her last night.”
“Sorry for not taking her back to bed, but I figured she’d just fidget and wake up Satomi.”
“You figured right,” Mrs. Nakai said, “She said she had fun playing with you and that you kept her safe all night.”
“Honestly, I think she kept me safe,” I muttered.
Mrs. Nakai raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. It still felt a bit weird, but I was starting to get used to the idea of having a family again.
We sipped at our drinks quietly for a while, while the older man at the end of the counter started grumbling at Richard and Zeke. Richard spoke to the man, who waved his empty glass around. Zeke glared at the man and he put his glass down, stood up from the stool, and slowly shuffled out of the diner, grumbling the entire time.
Our food arrived pretty quickly, and was just as good as everyone had implied it would be. While we ate Zeke and Mrs. Nakai exchanged idle chatter –how was Zeke’s granddaughter? How were the blonde’s kids doing? Had the crazy blind guy finally snapped? How was Lorenzo doing in school? How was Mr. Nakai?
Stuff like that. When we had cleaned our plates Richard took them and asked if we’d like anything else.
“Some
halo-halo would be nice,” Mrs. Nakai stated.
“Can you do orange flavor for the ice?” I asked, once again glad I had done my research.
Zeke grinned and nodded, and Mrs. Nakai and I split the mix of shaved ice, fruit, and other things that probably had no business being mixed together. Since I wasn’t hungry enough to not care what I was eating and had someone to share with, I could pick around the parts I didn’t like. When we were almost done Mrs. Nakai’s cellphone started vibrating, so she pulled it out. After a few button clicks she started typing out a text response, and a little while later she stuck her phone back in her pocket.
“Miya,” Mrs. Nakai explained, “She just wanted to update me where they were and to remind me where we were meeting for dinner. Do you like pizza?”
“Hard not to when you spend a lot of time with Kenji,” I replied, “Where else did you have planned for us to go?”
Mrs. Nakai smirked and sipped the water she had asked for earlier, “Here and there. We need to get you a helmet and jacket, and I know a good bookstore that carries a lot of older books.”
“You headin’ out?” Zeke asked, placing the bill in front of Mrs. Nakai.
“Yeah, I need to show the Little Lamb here around the city,” she replied.
Mrs. Nakai paid and hopped off her stool, and I did the same, thanking both Zeke and Richard for the food, and Mrs. Nakai for paying.
“Glad you enjoyed it!” Zeke replied, “Good luck out there, and try not to faint!”
Mrs. Nakai chuckled, though considering her long sleeves and missing sweat glands, it was a real concern for her. Giving Lorenzo a friendly wave as we passed by, we stepped outside into the heat, humidity, and noise of the city. It wasn’t until we were outside and Mrs. Nakai was inspecting her motorcycle that I realized I was about to ride the thing again. After eating. Again.
Mrs. Nakai must’ve sensed my apprehension, because while she was removing the chain she said, “I know a few back-roads around here that have less traffic, so I won’t have to drive as… aggressively as I normally do for a while. We can still wait if you don’t feel up for it, though.”
I reflexively shook my head, “I’m fine.”
Mrs. Nakai raised an eyebrow, “You sure?”
“I’m… maybe a few minutes more? Please? The shaved ice isn’t settling right.”
Mrs. Nakai smiled and nodded, “Of course.”
So I still had a submissive streak. I was working on it. I leaned back against the wall of the diner and closed my eyes, waiting for the shaved ice to settle. After a few minutes, I felt like I stood a reasonable chance of not throwing up, so I donned the jacket and helmet and told Mrs. Nakai I was ready. She tucked her ponytail under her helmet, threw on her jacket, and mounted up. I hopped on behind her, closed my eyes and mouth, and held on for dear life.
“Ready?” she asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Here we go, then.”
Mrs. Nakai started the engine, backed us out of the rack, and then we were off.
+++
Next Chapter
Insert preferred road trip music of your choice here. I’m gonna go get noodles. And maybe some duck. Or a pizza….
