Cocktails by Endo: Tears in Italy

 Italy was no different than he’d remembered despite Endo’s last visit having been over half a decade before. The art-filled apartment he’d chosen to rent out remained a comfort alongside going this with his admittedly inappropriately fresh lover, but they both knew their relationship had taken them deeply and swiftly, a whirlpool of empathy and emotion. Endo briefly thought was he to find his children it would only grow more so. The comforts he found in Toshiya were dangerous ones. He’d fallen victim to love once again. 

Their escapades as a celebration of arrival had Endo finally leaning into his mission. They’d enjoyed good food, a cute, introductory walk, and played out his fantasy of serenading one another at the lake’s edge, all an introduction to this place. New memories overwrite the old. They re-imagined what European youth must feel like as middle-aged Japanese artists. 

Wine-rested at the start of his day, he rose with renewed vigor. In his rented car- red for which he was known, he took off with only a faint trace of where they’d called home all those years ago. Him, his wife, his children. To Nonna’s. Toshiya had insisted on joining. Endo had expected no less. 

The flower-lined and manicured tourist-acceptable streets gave way to more narrow private ones in their ascent to the mountainous regions that surrounded the lake. It was automatic navigation through streets that became broken in places under vines of trees that had been there for decades, winding up the mountains. It felt like remembering the pattern of a phone number and how it felt to type but not being able to recite it. 

He found his way there growing quieter and quieter as they got closer and closer to their destination. 

He had grown downright solemn. Even after he parked, his hands gripped the wheel in white-knuckled tension, and when he finally moved, it was first to locate his cigarettes- he could have smoked five at once- and then to step out into the golden late afternoon. 

He locked hands with Toshiya once lighting that first cigarette and led him not to the home, but across the street from it, just watching, building his courage, smoking. 

The grip on his lover’s calloused musician paw was enough to illustrate to him his state of mind. He found it revealing, too, in what it said about his reliance on him, always something he was afraid to lean into, but not in this moment. Toshiya would be written into his story, would never be able to part from the memory of possibly being reunited with his children. So much had been for this, and he was grateful for it being in good company. 

He could hardly articulate that, though. He couldn’t articulate anything. He just kept smoking with shaking hands. 

On the first cigarette, he was silent. 

On the second, lit immediately after, he muttered, “Nice place, isn’t it?” 

On the third, halfway through, he sighed deeply. “We should go.” 

It was then that a group of children walked by the intersection, with two breaking away and making their way towards the house. Granny’s house. 

“It can’t be that easy, can it?” he thought, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out. His hand didn’t budge its grip as he took a single step forward. He didn’t think he’d ever been so tense. A young boy and a young girl bickered in Italian. He only understood here and there from across the street, but he hoped and hoped it wasn’t a coincidence, screaming in his head for them to go inside that house. 

So much so that when they did indeed disappear into it, he let out a huge breath, not realizing he’d been holding it all along. Just as his hands had, his exhale too, shivered. It had knocked all of his courage-building straight out of him to see them, but he knew that he had to move forward. 

After making their way behind them, Endo finally parted with Toshiya, the desperate grip of his hand fading so that he could part and stand alone, presenting only himself as he knocked at the door. 

“Hey,” Endo warmly greeted the boy who answered with such confidence it was as if he expected a playmate. He smiled, but it was bittersweet. He wasn’t sure if he had recognized him, and at least, he realized that he hadn’t immediately. 

“Is your mommy home?” He hadn’t expected to be so relentlessly attacked with having to face everything all at once. His son who didn’t know him but shared so many features with him. The boy didn’t answer but instead called out for his granny, looking only slightly disappointed that it hadn’t been who he’d expected at the door. 

And then granny came. 

He knew he couldn’t just walk in saying “hey kids, come home with dad,” but he hadn’t expected his greeting to be a slap in the face, and even less so the embrace that followed. So often, she reminded him of his wife. 

They hugged for a long while with her asking him “Where have you been?”in English as they previously had to communicate in and nothing else. His cheek and lungs burned and he found himself absolutely stunned. 

“Who is this?” she asked, the warm old woman pulling back to reveal herself and introduce herself properly to Toshiya after the long embrace. Her expression was of faint confusion and awe. Her white hair tied back in a tight bun and her soft, ample figure was directed towards him as if she might pull Toshiya in for an embrace, too. 

He hesitated. Around his kids and around his family, he’d always say “A friend”. He’d never felt committed enough to declare any lover, particularly not another man. It was the first realization that he was indeed introducing him to family. He looked back at him, gazing upon Toshiya’s fine features and shooting a grin, letting him know he was okay if not a bit shaken. 

“My treasure,” he responded. 

She gave pause, already misty-eyed where Endo envied her, trying his best to stay composed at this strange idea of a reunion here at the front door of her charming brick villa. 

“My kids,” his shaking voice started, “Where’s Miho?” 

“Come inside, Endo. We have a lot to catch up on.” Her warm smile faded into a solemn but assuring nod. 

She had never been exactly fond of Endo before when he’d come stay, their cultures and lives intertwined by the fate of generations beyond her. Her daughter, then her granddaughter both taking husbands from Japan.

 They often bickered or clashed with one another, but the relief of knowing the he wasn’t dead must have overtaken that. Endo didn’t question it much, seeking answers first and knowing his excuse had better convince her he had good reason not to be there. 

She was already off to brew a strong coffee for them as they stepped inside like distant vagrants rather than long-lost family. 

As Endo folded his long body into a chair in the dining room, where everything seemed to have been hosted before, it was uncharacteristically cold now. Nonna had become not only a guardian to his children, but a gatekeeper. He wanted to crumble to the ground to embrace them again, but again, he held his composure. It was likely, just as he’d feared, that they didn’t remember him. 

In either case, he didn’t see them. They’d gone off, full of their own agency to do as they pleased now, an idea that crushed Endo to think how much vital time he’d missed. 

Nonna set two cups of coffee down before them before taking her own, sitting across from the pair, the skin around Endo’s eyes already tender and swollen from trying to prevent tears. 

What he didn’t see was his daughter, hiding behind the door frame to watch him. She looked him over, his familiar features and unique gait key signals to her. As her brother almost casually slipped ahead of her to walk in, she grabbed his hand, pulling him back. She was cautious where he was bold. “That’s dad,” she whispered. The pair of them craned their necks to peek in, exchanging their own hushed questions about the situation. 

“The kids.” He practically jumped to say as soon as she reappeared. She seemed ready to settle in for a chat whereas he wanted to vomit everything at once. 

“Yes. The children. They need to be away while we talk.” She gave a pointed look over Endo’s shoulder, and he turned his head just to see them disperse. Another opportunity to see them dismissed before his very eyes sent a pain through his chest. At least they were here. At least they were okay. He kept repeating these blessings in his head. He glanced at his love, playing the role of support. He pointed with his head, too. “They’re all grown up,” he lamented quietly in reference to the pair of now 7-year-olds.

 

He turned back to Nonna. Her small hands knitted around her coffee cup. 

“I need you to know Miho isn't here.” Her lips pursed. 

“Oh, yeah. She must be back in Japan, right? A shame. Toshiya would love her.” 

She shook her head, her brow furrowing slightly. “No. She was in a car accident last year.” 

By this point, Toshiya had perked up, offering a squeeze of solace to Endo’s thigh as he began to understand the situation. He sat up as if poising for an outburst of some sort while Endo grasped at reasons she might not be there, consciously looking past the implications. 

“Well, Miho and I always end up finding one another eventually. I’m sure I’ll run into her, right? Did it take her a while to recover?” 

“Dolce,” Toshiya interjected, looking to the woman to whom he’d only just been introduced to finish and somehow make him understand. Her brow was still tight, but a corner of her mouth tensed in amusement at how her granddaughter had bred with someone so daft. Even despite bringing up the tragedy that had occurred. She’d had time to come to terms with it to some extent or another. 

That cautious, affectionate call from his lover had Endo reach for him in realization, placing a firm palm onto his thigh as well as if to brace himself for the news. 

She spoke again. “Miho has died, Endo.” 

It was not a feeling he was unfamiliar with, but this news plumed in the depth of his gut as if to poison him. He instantly felt nauseous. He and Miho hadn’t always gotten along, but she was his first fan and they’d spent their whole lives coming across one another, paths intertwining and drifting apart. Miho was one of very few constants in his life. He’d watched her grow from a star-struck student to a strong and successful woman. Death seemed beyond her unlike so many of the friends he had lost to drugs, illness, and recklessness. 

In only a moment, he took in a deep breath to hold, slumping against Toshiya and snaking arms around his waist. He silently sobbed, the only indication of which would be uneven, quivering breaths and a slightly moistened neck on his lover’s part as he burrowed his face there. 

He knew there would be crying, but he didn’t expect this. 

Nonna watched on, sympathetic to some extent, though she held her own concerns and reservations. 

“We mourned you too, Endo. These children are orphans.”  Her words cut deep in his moment of vulnerability. 

He nodded into Toshiya’s neck. How grateful he was for his rock to embrace him was unfathomable. All the while his insides burned as he tried to pull himself together. He wanted to see his children. He wanted Miho to be there. He had already daydreamed about how she and Toshiya might get along. He wanted, in that moment, to cry out for his own granny. She'd know what to do. She was long dead, too. He silently wondered what he had done for so many important people in his life to find themselves prematurely parted from this world. 

He parted to wipe his eyes against his forearm, taking away the sting of salty tears against his cheeks and deep sockets. It was somehow even worse that his family thought him dead, too, but not unexpected. The last that so many had heard from him was that he’d put a bullet through his head. Disappearing hadn’t helped with the rumor. Some part of him regret the decision not to try Italy immediately. Perhaps he would have been able to change things. Instead he rebuilt his life in Japan, trying to make himself something decent for them to come back to. After all, he and Miho always crossed paths eventually. 

“I’m sorry,” he squeaked, the loud and shining personality he normally displayed knocked down to a quiet apology. He could only wonder what they thought of him to come back after allowing everyone to think he was dead for so long. 

“I had to get myself straight. I was in such a horrible place, Nonna.” He found himself struggling to be brave enough to say the actual words, to explain that he’d tried to kill himself, to own up to that fact. 

“I’m better now. I’m ready. I searched all over Japan for my babies. I didn’t even know if you’d be here. I had to take that chance.” 

It all came out a rather hysterical plea, none of his thoughts quite connecting, none of his explanation sufficient. 

“Endo, at this point, I’ve lost my granddaughter and I thought both of their parents were gone. We are just glad to see you.” Her value for a family unit and the relief that they at least had someone was palpable. 

“Please,” he choked out, “I want to see them.” He ground his teeth and his expression tightened in pain. 

It seemed she deemed him genuine enough. He had many flaws, but he was always genuine. 

She rose, stepping away to send the kids in from where they’d waited nearby, both curious of the company. 

Endo rose too, along with Toshiya, both ready to greet them. He couldn’t begin to apologize to them, nor to explain his absence and the seeds of rejection it may have planted. Just like when he’d first stepped into their lives, he was determined to make up for it with stability and presence, given the opportunity. 

“That’s dad,” his daughter said, curiously looking up at her great-grandmother. 

“Misaki, I knew you’d be so clever,” Endo answered. His voice broke but he offered her a warm and wide smile through his tears as the girl passed through the doorway to hug him, only coming up to his hip in his ample height. 

He showed not an ounce of shame or hesitation in scrambling to get on his knees and give his daughter a proper hug after so long. 

Something in her hand clattered against his back. 

The boy they’d first seen looked to assess the situation. 

“You’re my dad?” the boy was curious but didn’t step back, “How come you weren’t here to do dad stuff?” 

His question was both frank and inevitable and while Endo struggled to find appropriate words for him, Misaki pulled free from his arms to give him what she’d been holding: a dusty, framed family photo. 

It showed evidence of him in the central plaza before the lake that he and his lover had just explored. He held a toddler in each arm and showed a characteristic grin before he’d chipped a tooth and decided it suited him. 

“Yeah, see? That’s me!” He pointed, “and little Misaki and little Hiroki.” He gave a soft puff of relieved laughter, some of his sobbing subsiding in the comforts of his family. The boy sat in front of him while Endo’s daughter remained clung to his side. As children did, the three of them seemed unbothered by having their reunion on the dining room floor. 

Endo began his explanation. 

“I was in Japan looking for you two. I was really sick, but when I got better, I didn’t know where you or your mom was.” 

He lifted his forearms to show them the tattoos of their names. 

“They don’t know Japanese, Endo,” Nonna interrupted with her watchful eye. Another small heartbreak in the relentless string of them. His face must have shown it because she added, “I did my best.” 

“Oh.” His expression fell, but he put on his informative caretaker voice to explain. “This one says Hiroki and this one says Misaki,” he informed, showing the native spelling of their names inked into his skin in their fading ashen color, “I thought about you every day.”