Book 2 Haruki Arima Triology
Money. Kid. Fiancé.
Never thought I'd have any of them.
Six years ago, a careless mistake ended up giving me the greatest gift of all—my son. For Max, I abandoned my reckless, dark ways and embraced adulthood, fully intent on getting a promotion and securing a life for both of us.
I thought that's all I needed until Summer came into our lives and showed me what I was missing. Apparently everything, because I can't imagine my life without her.
Summer's come a long way from the vulnerable, naive, misguided girl I first met, but her mother doesn’t see that. Hell-bent on ruining the happiest moment of her daughter’s life, she takes every opportunity to diminish my girl’s strength, cutting her down with vicious words and cruel actions.
I wonder what it’s really about. Is she just a vindictive woman or is there something deeper here?
“Wait, wait. We didn’t have this kind of food at your parents’ house, and we didn’t use chopsticks. What is this?”
“Yeah, I know. That was purposefully. This is different.”
“You said you don’t really know a lot about Japanese stuff, and you don’t speak Japanese.”
“I don’t, and I don’t speak Japanese well. That’s why I wanted to come and have these experiences with you. We could learn stuff together, or at least, have a really cool experience we made together.”
I smile with a nod.
“Okay? Enough with the interrogation—eat already.” He hands me some orange, plastic chopsticks with a rubber little girl on the top of them. Mine look nothing like his stainless-steel engraved ones.
“How come your chopsticks are cool, and mine look like they’re for Max?”
“Because they are for Max. Stop complaining about everything. What’s with you? You don’t know how to use chopsticks.”
“You don’t know what I know!”
I dart my eyes to the left and fold my arms, “No.” I mumble, closing my eyes with pursed, pouty lips.
“Can I fucking show you? When you learn, I’ll buy you your own damn fancy chopsticks.” He sighs. “Fuck.” He stares at me, playfully annoyed.
I sigh and drop my attitude and my arms. “I sound like a spoiled brat, huh?”
“Yeah, you do. Stop that shit.”