New York Love Story (Guess How Much I Love You!) - Episode 6

　Tears always come suddenly.

　Breaking up with a lover. A sad evening. Too much wasabi in sushi… There are many reasons for tears, but the ones I’m shedding now are the kind you might call “tears of gratitude.” Art, in any era, always moves people’s hearts with pure emotion.

　It had been a while since I last cried at a movie, since I saw Fellini’s Strada, and today’s screening was Bambi, a well-known Disney classic.

　My sister, Irene, left her two-year-old daughter, Stella, at our house for “just one night” tonight, to discuss divorce proceedings with a lawyer at home. Recently, I found a DVD of “Bambi” in my niece’s “sleepover kit,” which had just grown out of diapers. I never expected that it would lead to tears.

　A story of family ties, love, and courage. Bambi’s girlfriend, Faline, is such a beautiful woman (even though she’s a deer). Bambi risks his life to protect Faline. This is what a true human being should be (even though she’s a deer).

　After the movie, I told Stella, who was sitting next to me, “Find a boyfriend like Bambi,” and she responded simply, “Aaron Carter would be good.” Women, men.

　Stella didn’t seem to understand why the man was crying, even though the story had a happy ending. In a way, I don’t understand this either. I never thought that Bambi would make her cry at her age. Maybe she’s gotten weaker as she’s gotten older. (By the way, I’m sure I’m not the only one who suspected that the skunk “Flower” was gay.)

“Well, it’s late now. I think I’ll take a bath and go to bed,” he said, picking Stella up from the sofa. “Wow, you’re a bit heavy now, aren’t you?”

“It’s not heavy at all.”

“That’s right. Excuse me, my lady.”

“Can I take a bath with you, Barbie?”

“Yeah, sure.”

　Until recently, I was with a soft, fluffy stuffed animal, but now my companion has been replaced by a busty blonde. Kids do grow up so fast.

　We had a bath with gel stickers all over the tiles (including a naked Barbie. So stimulating). After that, Stella had my bed all to herself. I got to sleep in Paul’s bed. Princesses get the best treatment. It was her first time staying over by herself, and Irene said she’d come and get me right away if she cried, but it seemed like she was okay so far.

　Before going to bed, she gave me a Barbie sticker. I stuck it on the tip of my finger and showed it to Paul. After the kids went to bed, it was adult time. We were relaxing on the two-seater sofa and talking about Barbie.

“Maybe I should put this sticker on my bag or somewhere? If I did it, it would be pretty funny, wouldn’t it? People might start talking about me at work as a Barbie fanatic.”

“Nobody thinks that way. Everyone knows that you prefer a real Barbie.”

“No, I don’t want a Barbie. It would cost a lot of money.”

“She’s always wearing the latest brands.”

“I feel sorry for Ken.”

“Ken might wake up gay and turn to GI Joe.”

“That’s a better life.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Do you like Combat? Is GI Joe sexier than Barbie?”

“Don’t tease me. I wanted to tell you that I like you more than Barbie…”

　His kiss stops me from retorting. Paul unbuttons my shirt. The kiss continues. It’s difficult to take off my clothes without taking my lips off, but I don’t want to let go for even a second. He’s more fantastic than Barbie, more reliable than GI Joe. There’s a Barbie sticker on the corner of the table. A flesh-and-bl00d lover, sexier than a s*x doll. A sexy night that Barbie could never experience. Our bare skin touching each other draws our breath, raising each other’s heat.

“pole……”

“Dean…”

“Mum…”

　Huh? What?

　Standing in the entrance to the living room was a blonde with pink pajamas.

“Oh Stella, you’re awake,” I said, getting up from the sofa and calling out to my sleepy niece. “What’s wrong? Is Barbie not with you?”

　Stella rubbed her eyes and muttered, “…pee.”

　Just like a two-year-old would expect. I think it was great that he didn’t just do it in his bed. He’s not a baby anymore.

　No comment on the kiss on the way from the bathroom to the bed. She’s not a baby anymore, but she’s not an adult either. Thankfully, she’s not old enough to be shocked by a love scene between two men. If Barbie had seen her, she would have gotten some abuse.

“Kissing?”

　The following week, he gets a call from his sister, Irene, who is asking about a “love scene between two men.”

“What are you guys doing in front of kids?”

“A kiss? A kiss? What’s a kiss these days? It’s weird for friends to kiss each other. A kiss on the cheek or something… a simple one. You mean like that’s all you called me for?”

　I have a habit of becoming talkative when I’m upset. I know that, but I’ve never been able to stop myself from doing so.

“Stella said, ‘The uncles were naked.'”

“I’m not naked! I took off my top, but not my bottom…!”

　Irene was silent. She had no choice but to talk. In the first place, hiding something from her sister had never worked out well.

“Irene, listen to me. I…”

“Look, Dean,” I said, interrupting me, “I don’t care what you are. But Stella told her mom about this on the phone.”

　The younger brother was silent in response to Eileen’s comment. Is it the season for the New Jersey beach? Yes, let’s go on a trip.

“…What about mom?”

“I didn’t take it seriously. It was just something a two-year-old would say. I don’t even have the slightest suspicion that my son is a womanizer. I trust my son.”

“How’s your sister?”

“I have faith in my daughter, and you have the talent for it. I’m not surprised.”

“Talent?! You’ve got to be kidding me! When did I?!”

“You had posters of Silver Surfer and Thor hanging in your room.”

“No way! Every American kid has that on their sleeve!”

“Don’t yell at me. I don’t care what you do. Now, listen to me. Mommy’s coming over next week.”

　I haven’t been to Yosemite yet. Amazing waterfalls and sequoia trees. I want to go. Now.

“You didn’t even show your face to your mother on Christmas, did you? If your son isn’t coming, then you’re going to go. Be a good son once in a while. Make a reservation at a nice restaurant or something…Hey, are you listening to me?”

　When I woke up from my reverie in Yosemite Valley, the whole sequence had been decided. Mom was coming. Here. Eileen was busy with her divorce. So it was up to me to entertain her.

　Silver Surfer, Mighty Thor, Superman, and the Incredible Hulk. Superheroes can handle anything, from train accidents to terrorist threats. “Leave the crises of the Earth to us,” but “except for things related to mothers.” Every hero has a “mother.” And men want to keep their distance from them. American heroes won’t save me when I’m in trouble. It’s no wonder that Dean, an adult who has gained the wisdom of the world, cried at “Bambi.”

　LaGuardia is not a difficult airport to understand. My mother has been to New York many times and lived in Manhattan before retiring to Miami. So when she said, “Please come to the airport to pick me up!”, it was no surprise to me to ask, “Why bother?”, which of course didn’t mean, “Is it so troublesome to go and pick up Mom?”

“You’re just going from the airport to the hotel, right? I don’t think I need to accompany you.” This is a very common-sense opinion, but it didn’t work on my mother. Even if I argued with her on “common sense issues,” I knew I was going to lose. I’ve never been able to win by resisting my mother.

　They borrow a car from a friend and head to the airport like a tour guide. Even though they don’t have a “Mrs. Miriam Kelly” sign on the car, they manage to find each other in the crowded concourse, which is a testament to the bond between mother and son.

“Oh, it was a long trip! My back hurts from sitting so much!”

　As soon as I met my mother, she told me her impressions of the trip. It took just under three hours to get from Miami to New York. If that was a long trip, then the flight to Europe must be as long as a trip to the moon.

　A petite redhead with a Louis Vuitton Boston bag slung over her shoulder. This is my mom. Standing next to her is also a petite redhead. However, she looks much younger than my mom. At first glance, she looks to be in her twenties.

“The flight was with American Airlines, but I think the quality of their service has gone down compared to before. There were no interesting movies playing, so I think I should try a different airline next time. Even if you can earn mileage points, it’s still…”

“Mom, what’s this?”

　He ends his machine gun talk and asks about a petite, redheaded woman he’s meeting for the first time.

“Oh, she’s Carrie. She’s the granddaughter of our next-door neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Buck. Carrie, this is our Dean.”

“I’m Carrie Buck,” the petite redhead said, carefully giving her full name.

“Carrie lives in Miami and has never been to New York, so we decided to do some sightseeing together.”

　I see, that’s why he said “Come and pick me up!” Having a devoted son who answers when called is a heartwarming story to tell to Mr. and Mrs. Buck next door.

　On the way to the hotel, Mom’s conversation in the car was going great. Carrie wasn’t staring out the window like a tourist, but was calmly nodding along to what Mom was saying. It was impressive that she could keep up with this. I could see why Mom had brought Carrie.

“You know what Carrie does for a living? She teaches English to children at a kindergarten.”

“English?” I look at her through the mirror.

“Even though it’s called work, it’s volunteer work. The nursery school specializes in accepting children from families who have emigrated from overseas. I understand that you work for a company that sells art, Dean?”

“Yes, that’s right. What else did she tell you? How many mistakes did she make as a child?”

“Oh come on, Dean, I’m not such a mean old lady,” Carrie said, smiling at her mother, who pouted.

“It was a quick trip from Miami to New York, so I haven’t heard many stories about it. Is selling art an interesting job? What did you do there, Kelly?”

“Yes, I think it’s a pretty interesting type of job. The main job of the department is to handle contracts with artists. You can call me Dean.”

“Then you can call me Carrie.”

　First of all, I was relieved. This trip was just a sightseeing trip. It wasn’t an investigation into my son’s behavior. The driver took a detour, feeling relieved. He guided us around some of the city’s attractions. “This building was once a Weatherman hideout, and the reason the entrance looks like it was cut off is because a bomb accidentally blew off the front of the building…or something like that. If you’ve been in Manhattan since you were born, you can draw a decent tourist map.

　At the hotel, I gave the porter a generous tip and entrusted him with the custody of the “red-haired sisters.” I felt like I had completed my job, but I still underestimated my mother’s abilities. I was satisfied with myself as a “good son” until my mother showed up alone in my room the next day, and I never expected that something commotion would happen.

　He greets his mother with a homemade dinner and is a “good son.” He cheerfully introduces his roommate (actually his boyfriend), Paul, and the three of them have dinner together in a cheerful mood. The Spanish omelette was well received, and he prepared Mama’s favorite strong coffee after the meal. Such attentive service. It’s such a good job that I would like to have a son like that. I hope this will raise the stock of the “prodigal son who didn’t even show up for Christmas.”

　After explaining how to eat biscotti, I casually mentioned Carrie, and I swear there was no meaning behind it, not even a shred of it.

“You’re not with Carrie today, are you? What’s she doing tonight?”

“A classmate from high school is here. He’s going to stay at her house tonight…Hey, it’s about Carrie…”

“Yeah?”

“What did you think?”

“What do you mean… she’s a nice girl. She even joins in on mommy’s chats.”

“Hey, she’s a nice girl, isn’t she?”

“Ah”

“I think it’s perfect for my daughter.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, what about your girlfriend?”

“What’s that!?”

“You’ve been alone since last Christmas, haven’t you?”

　I was so upset that the biscotti I was about to eat fell onto the table. Soaked in coffee, it crumbled completely, and I went to the kitchen to get some paper towels.

“Carrie is 26, two years younger than you. That makes us about the same age, right?”

　The saleslady continues talking as I return from the kitchen and wipe the table with paper.

“You had fun in the car yesterday, right? I wonder. Don’t you think it was great?”

“Nothing,” he said dismissively, tossing the paper in the trash.

“You just said she was a nice girl.”

“I told you…!”

“I’m also wondering, ‘What is she doing tonight?'”

“That’s…anyone would ask something like that! It’s a normal conversation!”

　”Good son” is over. I had been determined not to do this, but I finally raised my voice. Paul listened to our conversation in silence. It’s not that he doesn’t have anything he wants to say, but he’ll probably do it after Mom comes home.

“Anyway… please don’t bother me. I can find a lover on my own.”

“Those are the kind of things people who have a partner say. Well, there’s no need to think too hard about it. Whether you find someone on your own or are introduced to someone by someone else, meeting someone is meeting someone. I just created the opportunity. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Okay. I refuse. I refuse now. I can’t go out with her. Tell her that.”

“What kind of attitude is that? What narrow-minded thinking! You don’t know anything about Carrie. What has she done that made you refuse her on such a first meeting? Tell me what it is that you don’t like about her!”

　My mom was pissed too. That’s pretty much how it goes for us parents and kids. It’s a punch line that’s more predictable than the Cosby Show.

“No, it’s not about her…”

　My mother has her arms crossed. I’m so much taller than her, so why is she so scary?

“What can I say… from the way we talked, I could tell she was a nice person. Mommy liked her so much. She seems very kind…”

“He’s smart, too.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I don’t feel tired even when we’re talking, so I can understand that.”

“Well, what? You don’t like the way it looks?”

“No way! She’s prettier than average.”

　After I said it, I thought, “Damn,” but it was too late. I wanted to make my mom look good, so I praised her too much. Salesmen tend to give compliments easily. And I’m just too honest. I felt Paul’s gaze on my back, but being an honest man, I didn’t dare to turn around. But even without turning around, I felt his gaze piercing me.

“If you’re so nice, you should go out with me,” Paul said from behind. Not only his gaze but his words pierced me. “You too, Brutus?” Paul, who was supposed to be my ally, dug a hole in my heart.

“Right? You think so too, don’t you?” Mom smiled at Paul.

“…Stop it.”

“I mean, if someone who doesn’t know you sees you living with another man at your age, they’re probably going to think you’re gay or something.”

“Mom, I’m that gay guy or whatever.” That’s what I should have said then. And the fact that I didn’t cause myself trouble down the line.

　”Dean is too honest,” but he doesn’t say the important thing. But isn’t there something in this world that you can understand without saying it? I think it would be nice if a man could realize that his son, who lives with a man, was gay when he was waiting for him to make dinner. But “intuitively guessing” doesn’t work in my family. I think it’s genetic that I have strong preconceptions. “The mystery of genes is proven here.” When did my life become the Discovery Channel?

　Me, my mother, and Paul. We remained in this strange three-way relationship, and even though we had changed our tastes from coffee to wine, my mother’s chatter continued.

“…And then Dean said, ‘Mom, my future wife will be the one who wears a bigger bra size than you’…Hey, is this glass, is it Baccarat?” I crossed my legs on the sofa and held the wine glass up to the light.

“No, Pyrex.”

“Really? That’s pretty good… Anyway, this kid has a ‘br3ast complex’. He didn’t give up the bottle until he was two years old. I don’t think it’s because of that, but Dean’s girlfriend in high school…”

“Mommy!” I said in a voice that sounded almost like a shout. I tried to return my tone to normal and spoke to my mother.

“…It’s getting late. Don’t you have to go back to the hotel?”

“Yes, yes, you want to get rid of me quickly, huh? Sure, you filial son. I’ll leave.”

　Mom puts down the glass and heads to the coat rack. Even as she gets ready to go home, her mouth keeps moving.

“That’s what happens when little boys grow up. Mommy’s handsome little bear turns into a nasty grizzly bear.”

“Stop it, it’s embarrassing…”

“What are you embarrassed about? Everyone has a nickname as a child. And you didn’t say it in front of your girlfriend. If you keep trying to look cool, you’ll become an old man soon.”

“Thanks to you, I’ve aged a lot in just one day.”

　I called a taxi and took my mom back to the hotel. I would have preferred to just put a “no returns” label on it, but that would have been a nuisance to the hotel.

　The living room suddenly became quiet. Paul muttered something behind me.

“Handsome Bear”

“…”

“Sorry I don’t have big b00bs”

“pole……”

“Br3ast Complex”

“Paul…!” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Please… I’m exhausted too…”

“Me too,” said Paul, as he began to clear away the dishes. Clink. The sound of glasses and plates clashing. It felt colder than usual. Clink. Not funny. Clink. Unpleasant. It’s a warning sign when you can hear the voices of the dishes telling you. Handsome Bear has aged in a day. The dishes keep on telling you with their clinking. Clink. The worst. Clink. The worst. Of course, this was nothing but the voice of my mind (if I could hear it, I’d be ill!).

　It seems that people suddenly become “musical lovers” when they come to New York. Even people who have never been interested in dance before somehow buy tickets to a play here and accidentally say things like, “Andrew Lloyd Webber is great.” A French man who becomes mayor after being imprisoned for stealing bread. A group of poor artists who can’t pay their rent. Such stories are performed on Broadway every day and night. For locals, it’s not necessarily something special. Not all New Yorkers like “singing and dancing cats,” and not everyone is upset because “Oklahoma” doesn’t have an exclamation mark (Note: “Oklahoma!” is the correct spelling).

When someone said to me, “Let’s go see a musical,” I couldn’t be completely happy, not only because I’m not a “musical person,” but also because it was a plan involving three people: my mother and the woman she was trying to force on me.

“I’m fine, you two can go together…” he replied listlessly, licking the Hershey’s caramel syrup off his fingers.

“This kind of thing is something that men escort,” my mom said, as if it were obvious.

“There’s no rule like that. It’s not like an opera.”

“It’s similar to The Phantom of the Opera.”

“I’m not going.” I take a sip of my caramel-flavored café latte. I feel like I’ve been consuming more sugar since my mother came.

“We went to so much trouble to get the tickets! You’re going to ruin all my hard work!”

“Invite Aunt Edna.”

“It’s impossible to do it now. Stop whining! Be on time! Get ready! Or should I let mommy pick out your clothes for you?”

“You choose it yourself…”

“Well, go get changed.”

　In the end, it all went as she had planned. It had never happened before, so this time the other person was just too strong. Paul looked at me with a look of relief. Maybe he thought I was a wimp for not being able to be tough with my mother.

　The doorbell rang, and Carrie was on the monitor. We went straight here from my friend’s house, and then the three of us went to the musical. Mom’s plan was perfect. It seemed she hadn’t even considered that I would say “no.”

　Carrie stands in the doorway, dressed in a dress.

“Sorry, I’m late. I have a taxi waiting for you downstairs. Can you come out now?”

　I saw her smiling, and my breath stopped for a moment. A woman dressed up was in front of me. Carrie, “above average beauty”. She was wearing a fluttery dress like she would wear to Oscar night. Her dress was salmon pink, and her knee-length sandals accentuated it with laced linen. The strings were entangled from her ankles to her knees, making her legs look delicate. She would look very attractive on the beach. Rhinestone bird pins danced joyfully in her hair, and her mascara had sparkling green glitter in it. What kind of style is this? Even British comedy shows don’t go this far. Frankly, it was “absurd”. I’m really glad it wasn’t when she had just sipped her latte. If it had been a little later, I would have given her a baptism of brown. Paul turned around. His shoulders were shaking violently. Oh, don’t cry because I’m going out, honey… No, he was trying desperately to hold back his laughter. The other day, I didn’t even pay attention to her outfit. Now that I think about it, she was carrying a strange quilted bag…

“Well, looking at them both like this, they do look good together… don’t you think, Paul?”

　Paul finally turned to face me at his mother’s comment.

“Have a nice trip,” he said with a smile, but I pleaded with my eyes, “I don’t want to go!”

“Have fun and enjoy yourself. Well then…” he said, closing the door with a smile.

　What does Paul look like on the other side of the door? Laughing? Indignation? Sticking out his tongue? I feel abandoned, but of course that’s not the case. It’s my fault. It’s my fault for not being strong enough.

　What does Paul look like on the other side of the door? Laughing, indignant, or frowning. What if he’s none of those? Maybe he looks lonely…

　The worst things happen one after the other. It’s a funny coincidence. In the theater lobby, I bumped into the most handsome guy I’ve ever had as a friends. He’s also the most ridiculous guy I have friend.

“Not a pleasant surprise. Who’s with you today?”

　As soon as Roman saw me, he came running up to me and opened his arms in a friendly manner.

“You! What are you doing here?!” With my mother and Carrie on either side of me, I felt the adrenaline flowing throughout my body.

“Oh my, what a lovely greeting. Shall I tell you what I’m doing? I’m here to see a play. Where are you?”

“Yeah… no, me too. Right, to see the play…” That’s bad. This was another person you shouldn’t make into your enemy.

　Mom had a look on her face that said, “Who is this?” (or maybe it was a look that said, “What is this?”), And Roman was facing her. What a rare matchup. Tonight, two of the strongest creatures in my life met.

“Let me introduce you to my mom. This is her friend, Carrie. Mom, this is my friend, Roman.”

“Hello”

　The three of them exchange pleasantries. Roman doesn’t even bat an eyebrow when he sees Carrie’s outfit. As expected, he’s used to seeing all kinds of weirdos.

“My friend is performing in tonight’s play. She’s the dancer who opens the show. Be sure to check it out.” She smiled brightly, and (half of) the cause of my adrenaline rush disappeared.

“The kid today is gay,” the mother says, a fact that even a dog can see is obvious. There is something triumphant about the way she speaks.

“My mom is used to seeing gay people in Miami, so she can tell who’s gay right away.”

　If that’s the case, then you should understand me right away! I wanted to scream, but I held back.

　—Here I am. But I cannot reveal my identity.—

　Tonight, I think I’ll be able to better understand the theme of The Phantom of the Opera.

　After the show, we had a late dinner. We made a reservation at a restaurant in Central Park that we would never normally set foot in. The sheer amount of lanterns and lights made it seem as if they were celebrating Christmas all year round. We had mushroom soup and Caesar salad. The main dish was grilled chicken. Regardless of the taste, there was a reason to sit there.

　I was worried that the topic of “relationships between men and women” would come up at this table, but it seems that was a needless worry. The meal was quite enjoyable and proceeded smoothly, with general comments about The Phantom of the Opera (such as the amazing chandelier scene).

　While we were waiting for dessert, Mama stood up, saying, “Excuse me.” She didn’t come back even after the chocolate cake was brought. Just as I was starting to think she might have collapsed in the bathroom, the waiter called out to me.

“Kelly, you’ve got a call.”

　I was shown to a corner of the counter and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Dean, I’m sorry I had to leave. Mom, I just remembered I had to take care of something. So I’m sorry, but could you two just enjoy your meal? See you later.”

　— I’ve been fooled. What a classic tactic. As I stood there, stunned, holding the receiver, the bartender asked me from the other side of the bar counter, “Are you OK?” His expression suggested he wondered what bad news this customer had received. If I were to honestly say, “My mama left me behind and left me alone with a girl,” I would sound like I had a loose screw in my head, and it would probably be a situation that would not elicit much sympathy.

“Oh, I’m fine. It’s nothing serious… just a little…”

　”Hey?” the barman asks with his eyes.

“Just… the company just went bankrupt. Oh well, it’s nothing serious. I’ll go back to my seat.”

　Returning to the table, he tells Carrie that “Mother has come to an urgent matter,” and looks down at the table and says, “The candle is getting short,” implying that it’s about time for us to leave.

“Oh, I see,” Carrie said, as if she had just noticed. A busboy came over and replaced the candle with a longer one. It was a restaurant in a tourist mecca, as you’d expect. The food was terrible, but there were a lot of employees. There must be someone there monitoring the length of the candles. Thanks to that, we’ll be fine for the next two hours. What a thoughtful guy.

　Pull yourself together, grab a fork, and with the help of chocolate cake, the “fun time” will fly by.

“Your surname… ‘Buck’ is unusual. The only other person I know is a Baroque court musician. Where are your parents from?”

“My parents are from Miami. My roots are Irish, but… hey, Dean, this is kind of like a census question. Can we be more frank?” Carrie smiled. It certainly looked like a frank smile.

　Talking to her like this, it’s easy to see why. Carrie is a very “good girl.” If she didn’t care about her fashion sense, she would certainly be, as her mother said, a recommended property for men. She does volunteer work every day. She’s a homely girl who could become a full-time housewife at any time. Her straight red hair (her mother has curly hair) is cute, and she gets along well with her mother-in-law, who loves to chat. But no matter what “good property” I was shown, it doesn’t mean anything now. I have a real boyfriend. I’m so crazy about Paul that even if Natalie Portman confessed her feelings to me, I would immediately turn her down (Did you hear a little hesitation in that line? Don’t worry about it!).

　New York and Miami: We’re talking about what’s great about our lives when a plate of dessert is brought to our door.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

　A gorgeous cheesecake topped with fruit and ice cream. I don’t recall ever seeing anything like this on a menu.

“This is a complimentary gift from our restaurant,” said the waiter.

“Service?”

“Our bartender, Richard, said it was a ‘no big deal dessert’ for a ‘no big deal occasion’.”

　When I looked towards the counter, my eyes met with the bartender who was wiping the glasses. Richard gave me a wink. Oh dear, maybe “bankrupt” was an exaggeration.

　He nodded slightly and said with a wry smile, “I’ll take it.”

“Then please enjoy your meal,” said the waiter, closing one eye.

　I feel like I could talk forever about what I find great about living in New York.

“That’s strange…I wonder why we get service like this,” Carrie said, staring at the plate with wide eyes.

“Well, I guess it’s fine, never mind the reason. Come on, let’s have some before they change their mind,” she said, scooping the ice cream and cake onto small plates.

“Does this happen often in New York?”

“Well, it’s an advantage to be handsome,” he said, quickly closing one eye.

“Oh dear……”

　I hope this conveys the message that “I’m gay,” but I guess that’s impossible. For now, I feel saved by this small act of kindness.

“A disaster beyond your imagination will occur!” cried the ghost of the Opera House. But even if that happens, salvation may come. A diva’s endless melody. A special dessert from the bartender. Such things happen in life.

　Is the Phantom of the Opera an angel or a madman?

　Things take on a completely different appearance depending on the angle from which you look at them.

　Is Dean unhappy or happy today?

　Anyway, this cheesecake is the best-tasting thing I’ve had today. It’s a dessert topped with good intentions. No wonder it’s not on the menu. There are some things in this world that money can’t buy.

　If I watch a soiree, eat two desserts afterwards, and take the girl back to the hotel, it will be a reasonable time to get home. I thought Paul would be asleep by now, but he was waiting for me on the sofa in the living room. I waited, but he was asleep. Paul was tired of waiting and fell asleep. I gently kissed his blonde hair.

“Dean…?”

“You’ll catch a cold if you sleep in a place like this,” I said gently, and just as I was about to kiss him again, my body was pushed away with all my might by my lover, who had just woken up.

“Paul?” I called out his name, wondering if he was half asleep.

“It’s not ‘Paul?'”

　Huh? What? Then who are you?

“What the hell is ‘Paul?’ You should be back by now!”

“Oh…I see, sorry I’m late.”

“Your mom called.”

“From Mom?”

“‘Dean’s on a date with Carrie. He’ll be home late, but don’t worry,'” she said…so politely.

“ah……”

“The performance should have finished by nine o’clock. I’m sure you all had a great time, didn’t you?”

“You had fun? You think I dated Carrie because I liked her? Mom set me up! We were supposed to have dinner together!”

“In that case, you should have come back as soon as the two of you were alone!”

“How could you be so rude?”

“That’s not rude of me! Okay? You may think you’re the victim, but you’re the one complicating things! Just say, ‘I’m gay, Mom,’ and you’re good to go! It’s that simple!”

“Because I…”

“Aren’t you gay?” Paul crossed his arms in exasperation.

“Look, Paul, it’s you I love. You and only you. I don’t love men. I love you. And if you die before me, man, I don’t think I’ll ever be with a man again. That doesn’t make me gay, does it?”

“Are you preparing for when I die?”

“That’s not it… Don’t nitpick.”

“I know. You’re not thinking about what would happen if I “died”, but what would happen if you “broke up” with me, right? You’d break up with me, date a girl, and then get married. If you thought about that future, it would be stupid to come out as gay. You wouldn’t want to tell your mom or your future wife about your career, like, “I was dating a guy.”

“Why make such a leap!”

“If it’s not a leap, explain to me why you can’t introduce me to your mother! Now, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t want to hurt Mommy.”

“Am I hurt that my son is gay? Is being gay a vice? Is being gay a shame?”

“Of course not for me. But she’s a woman of a different generation, with different ways of thinking. This is more shocking to her than we think it is.”

“So you’re going to keep hiding it? Until your mother dies?”

“According to my calculations, we’ll be able to come out by the time we’re fifty….oh, don’t make that face, I’m just kidding.”

　Paul quickly got up from the sofa. He looked down and said, “I’m going to bed now,” and headed to his room. He stopped walking midway and, without looking at me, muttered in a low voice, “I wasn’t waiting to insult you.”

“I know.”

“That’s all I wanted to say.”

“May I kiss you?”

“Not now.”

“I see.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

　No goodnight kisses. “There are worse things than a shattered chandelier,” goes the sinister Phantom of the Opera song. Paul and I both feel the same way.

　Who suffered a tragedy? Christine, Raoul, or the Phantom?

　Everyone pretends to be a victim because there is no villain onstage.

　I’m the one who’s complicating the issue. I see myself as the victim.

　Paul said he didn’t want to kiss me, and I can’t think of anything worse that could happen.

　The night I was rejected by the one I loved. I never thought I would one day empathize with the Phantom of the Opera.

　The next day, when I got home from work, I heard Paul’s light laughter. It was yesterday. I felt happy without knowing why he was laughing. Whatever the reason, being able to laugh is nothing but a good thing.

　Paul picked up the receiver, caught my eye, and said to the person on the other end, “Oh, it’s Dean… I’ll take over now.”

“Dean, your mom.”

　I was given a handset and answered it. Mom wanted to know what brand of sweets to bring to Aunt Edna. I gave her some recommended sweets stores and quickly hung up the phone. I think I did a good job of not dragging the conversation out until she asked, “How was your date?”

“I’ll make some tea,” Paul said. It seemed their love had been restored enough that they were willing to have tea together.

“What were you talking about with Mom earlier?”

“It’s nothing important. I was just asked about hyaluronic acid.”

“Hyarorun…”

“It’s a beauty serum. Don’t worry, it’s a word that has nothing to do with gay,” he says, popping open a can of tea.

“Sorry……”

“That’s fine.”

“You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“Hmm… I suppose so. But it’s okay now. I’ve changed my mind.= If you can’t tell your mother the truth, that’s your problem. I get angry about it, but in the end, it’s about what you want to do. I may hate myself for choosing a ridiculous boyfriend, but I have no right to judge you.”

　Paul frowns a little, but his mouth is in a slight smile, as if he’s ashamed of himself for choosing such a ridiculous boyfriend.

“Just don’t date her again. Don’t you have any right to say that? I’m your boyfriend.”

“Oh, I know. Of course.”

“Well, that’s the end of this story,” he said, snapping the lid off the tea.

“You’re amazing…”

“Amazing?”

“How did you… How did you become like that? How did you become who you are?”

“What did you mean by that?” He looks up from the tea can and looks towards me.

“You’re accepting the fact that you’re gay, and yet you don’t judge me for not being gay… I think that’s pretty impressive. How did you do that?”

　Paul tilted his head slightly and looked a little thoughtful. After a while, he began to talk, “When I was in high school…”

“I was already aware that I was gay at that time. I had always liked boys, but I hid it from everyone around me. One day, I was at a party at a friend’s house, and we were all sitting in a circle on the floor playing games, when a boy and a girl started playfully kissing each other. The girl was my classmate, and the boy was someone I had a secret crush on. The kiss was just a light joke, but even if it was just playfulness, it was a lips-to-lip kiss… When I saw it, I couldn’t help but say, ‘I’m jealous.’ When the people around me heard me, they said, ‘Then you should kiss too! ” I started saying, “Hey, are you going to kiss me?” They must have taken that to mean I wanted to kiss the girl. The guy I liked was looking at me with a grin, and the girl looked shy, but also seemed expectant. I was so cheered on that I couldn’t back out, so I kissed her right there and then. And for a long time. It must be really stupid, but I was so jealous after that kiss that I wanted to show him off, even though I knew he wouldn’t mind. That should have been the end of it for me, but it wasn’t for her. Later, the girl confessed that she’d always liked me. I hadn’t come out as gay at the time, and since I’d forced her to kiss me, I couldn’t refuse her advances. We dated for a while and kissed, but we never went to bed. I guess she thought I was pretty shy.”

“So what happened?”

“We broke up.”

“What did you say? Did you come out?”

“I couldn’t do that. I just said, ‘I want to break up.’ She said she didn’t understand. She cried, and I think I hurt her a lot. But she still loved me, so she eventually just shut up and backed off.”

“He was a good kid.”

“Yes, that’s right. That’s why it was hard for me, too. I was so angry at myself, like, ‘What a terrible thing I did.’ After that, I thought to myself, ‘I want to be true to myself.’ Sometimes, deceiving yourself can hurt others, too. It was a good lesson for me.”

“Deceiving yourself can sometimes hurt others” — I’m not saying this to be mean. Paul was just sharing with me an important lesson he’d learned in life.

　Whether it’s Bambi or The Phantom of the Opera, the message they’re trying to convey is the same: “Be true to yourself about love!” Many stories repeat this message.

“pole……”

“Yeah?”

　He raised his head, put his fingertips on his chin, and stole his lips. I didn’t ask, “Can I kiss you?” I asked in a rather forceful way, and when I finally finished, I held my lover close to my chest. Paul buried his face in my chest.

“The company just went bankrupt.” “It’s good to be handsome.” Neither of those is true. I know that, but I’m… how should I put it, I’m a very “makeshift man”. What I’m doing now is a makeshift kiss? No way. This is not like that. Paul is brave to live. Kissing him gives me courage. The opera diva kisses the masked Phantom. “God, give me courage. Courage to tell you that you are not alone…” Christine sings heartfeltly. She is not alone. I am not alone either. To deceive yourself is to deceive someone who is connected to it. In my heart is my lover, more important than anyone else. Not being able to kiss him is like a nightmare. I don’t want to be told that again, and I don’t want him to say it. Paul puts his arms around my back. I can feel that he feels the same way as I do from both of his strong hands. I don’t want rejection or nightmares. That’s decidedly true for everyone.

“I’m gay.”

　As we were approaching the departure gate at the airport, I confessed to Carrie while my mother was in the restroom.

“How should I put it… my mother got ahead of herself…”

“Well…”

“I know that my mother may have said something unnecessary to you, but… I’m sorry.”

　Carrie was confused, but finally found the words “Don’t worry about it” and said them.

“Did your mother tell you about this?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Yes……”

“Sorry”

“It’s fine.”

　Carrie smiles kindly. She’s a good girl after all. She would have looked even better if the terrier-print top she was wearing wasn’t purple, and if the scarf she was wearing wasn’t rainbow-colored.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Mom. She let me carry my luggage and said happily, “These past few days have been so much fun.” “I was able to do a lot of shopping for the first time in a while. Now, Dean is coming to Miami next time. Carrie, you can show him around then, right?”

“Mum, about that…”

　As I opened my mouth to speak, Carrie interrupted me with a swift interjection.

“I was just talking to Dean. He said he can’t go out with me.”

“Dean! What the…!” His mother was shocked and turned pale.

“It’s okay. Please don’t blame him.”

“But, Carrie.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to be introduced to a gay man either… Oh, I better hurry, I have to catch my flight… Well then, Dean, I wish you happiness~”

　Carrie left with her bag on her shoulder. Contrary to her light-hearted words, there was not a trace of a smile on her face.

　Mother and son were left behind. “Dean,” Mom said in a low tone, gazing at the gate where Carrie had disappeared.

“yes……”

“What did you mean?”

“the……”

“You, with that boy called Roman…!”

“Why is that happening!!!”

“Because gay…”

“I’m dating Paul! I love Paul Copeland!”

“Well,” she blinked, “so Paul’s gay too?”

“That’s true…”

“Well, that sounds like a lie.”

　Mom had no idea. Paul knows a lot about hyaluronic acid, and his handsome teddy bear loves cooking. It must have been difficult for his mother to derive the word “gay” from that information.

“Well, then I guess what I did was unnecessary. I was trying to be thoughtful when you said you hadn’t had a girlfriend in a while.”

“Sorry for keeping quiet.”

“Why didn’t you say it right away?”

“Do you think I can say it?”

“But I wish you’d told me sooner. I thought we were more open about it.”

“I didn’t want to make my mom sad.”

“Sad? Me?”

“Yeah”

“That’s good,” she said, leaning closer to me. “All I care about is whether my son is happy. How are things going now? Are you and Paul doing well?”

“Oh… I’m so. So happy. I’ve never felt so happy in my life.”

“Then that’s enough!” he said sharply, puffing out his chest.

　I feel relieved and feel a weight lifted off my shoulders (my mom’s Boston bag).

“Great… well, do you want to hear anything else?”

“I want to know! Of course, I don’t want to know! Since when have you been gay? Were all the girls you dated just a disguise? So you became gay because you didn’t have a father? If so, then I’m partly responsible, right?”

“What…! Isn’t it enough just to know that I’m happy?”

“But that’s not the whole story! My son just confessed that he’s gay! Please be considerate of my feelings! So? Since when have you been gay? What about your friend Heath from high school? He’s gay, right? I’ve been wondering about that for a while.”

　The investigation into my past began. My mother was more frightening than the judge. How on earth did she become who she is now? That’s not something I want to know right now.

　I have never been able to resist my mother and win. She has always been better than me. She is also brave in living.

　Stella gives me Barbie stickers. Irene says she doesn’t mind that her little brother is gay. A mother worries about whether her son is happy. I’m surrounded by many important people, and we’re all eager to find ways to make each other happy.

　The most important of these is my girlfriend. I’ll take Paul to a restaurant in Central Park next time. There’s a kind bartender there. Richard’s kindness has dispelled my impression that it’s a boring place for tourist-seekers. You can always bring new impressions into your life. There’s a new Dean for my sister and mother. Handsome Bear is long gone. If you have a little room to forgive and accept others, your life will be richer.

　I love Paul. Accepting that fact has made me happy. Bambi had Faline, and I have Paul. Everyone (even deer) needs someone they can cherish. With that, they can overcome anything, even “unimaginable disasters” and “things worse than a shattered chandelier.”

　Abrave man who overcame bankruptcy goes to the bar of a restaurant with his boyfriend. The world is sometimes kind to me. When I am kind to myself, the world smiles at me. It’s the kind of smile you can look at forever, just like a lover’s smile.