Chapter 12

It was about a month after the conversation in the corridor. I did take the permission to call Nao seriously. So seriously that her dad got a little pissed at us.

“Oh, it’s eight-thirty – I need to get off the phone,” Nao said suddenly. I was in the kitchen, talking on the cordless. Mum and dad were in the living room watching TV.

“What? Do you have a new bedtime?” I asked.

After homework and dinner, Nao and I usually talked until at least ten. My dad joked about getting us CB radios because we tied up the phone so much. I was kind of on-board until mum pointed out that anybody else with a scanner would be able to listen into our conversation “Well, there’s a lot of lonely hearts out there. I’m sure they’d be glad for the stimulation,” he’d returned before mum threw a wet tea towel in his face.

“No,” Nao replied. “Dad’s annoyed that the line is always engaged at night, so he and mum made me promise to be off the phone by eight-thirty on Tuesday and Thursdays when he’s away so he can call her. He says they’re married, so they get priority.”

“But haven’t they been married like a million years?”

“Yeah, and he still wants to hear her voice before he goes to bed. It’s so sweet.”

“Well, I understand, I guess. I’d feel pretty average if I couldn’t hear your voice before I went to sleep at night.”

“Just average?” she asked, with mock offence.

“Oh, uh, I mean I wouldn’t sleep at all. I’d toss and turn restlessly in my bedchamber and desperately count the seconds until next we could meet, and your dulcet tones could caress my cochlear.”

“Good boy. Slightly more acceptable. But I really do have to go, Jimmy. See you tomorrow.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

“I love you. Good night,” and she hung up.

Now that seems fairly innocuous, but it was the first time she’d said the ‘L’ word to me. Then she hung straight up. Was I supposed to reply? But she hadn’t even given me an opportunity before she’d hung up. Everything had been going quite well since we’d talked in the corridor. When after-school training finished, before I rode my bike home, I hung around with her until her bus came or her mum picked her up, and we held hands while we waited. If there was nobody about (our school was pretty strict about public displays of affection) we’d sneak a quick kiss, but nothing as heavy as that time on the bus. Sometimes at swim practice, she’d catch me looking at her and she’d strike a pose, arching her back or running her fingers under the edge of her suit to smooth out imaginary creases.

We certainly talked about a lot of stuff, both in person and on the phone; things that had happened in our classes, gossiping about our friends and teammates, what we wanted in the future. Sometimes, in order to maximise our phone time, we’d split our maths homework in half and share the answers so we could finish sooner. We both wanted to pursue swimming professionally if we could, and I was planning on studying physiotherapy so I could specialise in sports medicine when I graduated. Nao was planning on studying sports education, with an aim to become a teaching coach. We both wanted kids in the future. For me it was pretty abstract, a kind of pleasant assumption, although Nao was really specific about wanting three children: a boy and then two girls, each spaced two years apart. We hadn’t really talked about OUR future together, but her dropping the L-bomb had gotten me thinking.

Could I be with Nao for the rest of my life? Would I be happy with that? I mean, it sounds really silly now – I was still two months away from getting my learners permit and here I was suddenly thinking about who I wanted to marry? But then I was committing myself to at least six years of study and investment in pursuing a qualification to begin a career that I might not even like by the time I was qualified. I knew that I liked Nao, and that she liked – no – loved me. And people used to get married at fifteen and sixteen not even a hundred years ago. I was pulled from my whirling thoughts back to reality by the ringing telephone.

“Get that, Jimmy?” shouted my dad through the door of the living room.

“Hello, Connor residence. James speaking,” I answered the phone.

“Oh Jimmy, good,” came a breathless Nao. “Sorry to call you again so soon,” she began.

“Oh no, it’s fine,” I interrupted. She realised what she said before she hung up, I thought. “Look, I didn’t think we’d do this over the telephone, but—”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Nao was confused.

“Wait – what are you talking about?”

“My dad’s calling back in five minutes. He and my mum wanted to know if you could come over for dinner on Saturday night. He’ll be home this weekend.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” I faltered.

“Well don’t bowl me over with your enthusiasm there, boyfriend,” she said coldly.

“Oh no, I mean I would love to come. It’s not that. I just wanted to tell you that I do too.”

“You do what too? I speak two languages, Jimmy, and you aren’t making sense in either of them.”

“I love you too.”

“Huh?”

“When you hung up before, you said, ‘I love you’ and then hung up on me.”

“Oh, did I? Oh sorry.”

My face felt hot. She hadn’t meant it. Maybe she often finished phone calls like that. Because she usually talked to her dad when he was away? Like the way some kids would call for the teacher ‘Ma’am’ but would come out ‘Mum’. And here I’d been thinking about our married future for the past ten minutes.

“Jimmy? Are you still there?” Nao asked.

“You’re sorry you said you loved me?” I began, my throat tight.

“Huh? Oh God no! Oh, no. I mean I didn’t even think about it.”

I took a deep breath.

“That makes me feel so much better, thanks,” I said shortly.

“Jimmy, listen. I know you and that brain of yours like to over analyse everything. We seriously need to work on that. It just felt so natural to say, I didn’t even think about it. I do mean it. I do love you. I just didn’t want it to come out like a throwaway line.”

I said nothing.

“Jimmy? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I said cautiously.

“The way I said it was an accident, not what I said. I have to go. Dad’s gonna call back any second now, to finish talking with mum - they just wanted me to see if you could come on Saturday. Can you come?”

“Yeah, I can come. Tell me more tomorrow?”

“Sure, I’ll see you at training. Good night.”

“Good night. And Nao?”

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

I could hear her smile through the phone.

“Sweet dreams, Jimmy.”

And they were.

I rang the bell and juggled the gift bag whilst I wiped my sweaty hands on the inside of my back trouser pockets. Not her dad, not her dad, not her dad, not her dad, I hoped furiously whilst I waited for someone to open the door. I had been mentally preparing myself for this since about five minutes after Nao hung up for the second time on Tuesday night. The last few days should have been insanely happy; Nao had told me she loved me! But all I could think about was the inevitable interrogation that was sure to occur.

I remember the dinner where my sister brought her first serious high school boyfriend (now-husband) Keith home for the first time. You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. Keith had a bit of a punk thing going on, and I knew there was a bit of anti-authoritarianism and all, but why my sister didn’t convince him to remove the safety pin that entered and exited the same ear three times before bringing him to family dinner still remains a mystery to me. The techniques my dad had used when grilling Keith would have been an informative tutorial for the Nuremberg prosecution. He hadn’t let up until he had ascertained that Keith wasn’t a drugged-out rocker with a host of social diseases. Keith wasn’t, by the way; he has an art history PhD and is a tenured lecturer at the College of Art now, but even smart people are kind of dumb as teenagers.

I had sort of freaked out on Nao on Friday. We were waiting in the bus shelter for her bus after training. I had told her about Keith’s first dinner, and she had giggled through the story.

“Oh, as long as you leave out your safety pins, you’ll be fine,” she’d said.

“I don’t think you understand. You’re an only child. His only child. Who happens to be a girl,” I tried to explain.

“I’m glad you noticed that.”

“And I’m a boy.”

“Oh, the possibilities,” she said with a happy sigh, snuggling into my side.

“And your dad used to be a boy. Which means he knows what any boy who’s dating his daughter is thinking about.”

“And what would that be?” Nao said huskily, looking up at me with bedroom eyes.

“I’m serious, Nao.”

She sat up and sighed.

“It’ll be fine. I like you and my mum likes you, so it’s two against three. And anyways, even though we haven’t lived there for like, ever, in Japan the father’s job is to go to work and provide, and the mother’s job is to run the family and household. That’s how mum and dad are. You’ve already got her onside, so he’ll just be looking for confirmation that you are what we say you are.”

“Well, I’m still worried. Oh, what should I wear? And should I bring anything?”

“Just wear the same kind of thing you wore when you first took me out. And you don’t need to bring anything. Relax, will you? Dad will love you.”

And so here I was on Saturday night, waiting for the front door to open.

“Hi Jimmy.” Nao was wearing a mustard cardigan over a black turtleneck shirt and knee-length grey skirt with black leggings. She looked fabulous.

“Thank God it’s you,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Nervous much? And what’s that?” Nao pointed to the gift bag I carried.

“A bottle of wine for your mum and dad. I mean, they do drink wine, right?”

“Yeah. Actually, Dad’s a bit of a nerd about it.”

“Oh well, I hope this is good enough. We stopped off at the liquor store on the way and Mum bought it for me.” My parents had given me a ride over and Nao’s parents would drop me home.

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate the thought. Come in,” she said. She closed the door behind me and told me to take off my shoes. “You don’t have any holes in your socks, do you?” Nao asked, hanging my coat from a hook.

“No.”

“Good. Sorry, I forgot to tell you about mum’s ‘No Shoes’ policy. Drives her crazy when she has to let a plumber or someone inside and they won’t take their shoes off. Ready?”

I nodded. She grabbed my hand and led me into the living room. Her father was sitting in an armchair, reading the sports section of the newspaper.

“Daddy, James is here.”

“Good evening, Mr McRae. Thank you for inviting me over. Uh, this is for you,” I said, holding out the bag containing the bottle of wine. “I hope it’s alright—I mean, to your tastes.”

He stood up and took the bag from me. Without looking at the label he said, “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Thank you for the thought, James.” He held out his and I shook it.