about my roots, until I was in middle school. And that was only because it finally dawned on me that my first name is Japanese and not from the Greek goddess Hera. No one ever talked to me about it.”
“Do you ever embrace your Asian heritage? Now, as an adult?”
She shook her head slowly. “I want to, but my grandparents were put into an internment camp and came out two years later determined to prove they were Americans. They spoke only English, scrubbed anything Asian from the home, made sure my father had no accent, played football, and ate steak and potatoes. He used to joke that they wouldn’t even let him play chess—it was too Asian. Growing up, I never saw a kimono or ate sushi, nothing.”
“What about your mother’s family?”
“None left, except her. My mom was just like every other mom. I was just another Pacific Northwest farm kid. She grew up in that town, too. About the only black family history I get from her has to do with how to deal with racism. And the only bit of Japan my grandparents maintained had to do with gardening and caring for the apple orchard. My father grew up knowing next to nothing about being Japanese. He promised to take me to Japan one day, but, well, that didn’t pan out, for obvious reasons.”
“It must have been hard, growing up in a small town with your dad in prison.”
“You have no idea.” She took a long drink of her wine. “I learned to just keep my head down and work, knowing eventually I’d be out in the bigger world, away from all that. I don’t plan on being back for long. Besides, though it might not seem like it sometimes, I try to make it a habit to find something positive and live in the moment when I can.”
“I have to ask, and I don’t want to start an argument, but if you are so dead set on not being like your dad, why did you let him rig the contest with O’Donnell?”
Time came to a crashing halt. The air in front of her swam.
He remained leaning against the counter, and yet Derek suddenly felt too close.
Hara drained her glass. “I know you won’t believe me, but I had no idea. Not until the night after the first game, when I heard O’Donnell talking about it. I thought I was here because I deserved it. Because I earned it. If I could rip out my heart and show you the truth, I would. It’s crushing me, making me doubt myself.” Hara gnashed her teeth. “I could kill Daddy for doing that to me.”
He tipped his head to the side, a range of emotions scuttling across his face.
“You believed them, Derek. I know you did. I hope you don’t still believe them. You’ve been so hot and cold, you can’t blame me when I come off as defensive.”
“Listen, Hara, like I said at the bar, I’m not that great in social settings. I’m awkward and serious and if I try to say something funny, it comes out wrong.” Derek put the remains of his sandwich down and folded his arms. “But it’s true, I did believe Madeline and O’Donnell. I am sorry about that now. They were very convincing, and I hadn’t really spent time with you, gotten to know you.”
“Yet, you almost kissed me.”
“There is that.”
“Yeah, that.” Why was she bringing this up? The conversation so far hadn’t been mortifying enough?
“Well, I don’t have any regrets. Except maybe that Madeline interrupted me.” He dragged his gaze to hers. Hara’s heart leapt at his words, whether or not it was wise. He continued, “I mean it. I didn’t know how to react, either to the kiss or their accusations, and I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“Well.” She picked up her empty glass of wine and glared at it reproachfully. “I should probably drink some water.” Before he could do anything more for her, Hara slid off the bar stool and went to the cupboard for a glass.
She could sense Derek move behind her. Even without contact, she could feel the heat and energy he radiated. Not thinking, she stepped back, into him. Touching him was better.
Both of his arms went around her, pulling her back into him, closer, his cheek pressed to the side of her head, his breath trickling warmly into her ear. He nuzzled the hair at her temple.