And letting my best friend go if he can’t accept my situation, is the hardest, and right thing to do.
5
Naomi
The Japanese have a proverb that says lying is a means to an end: uso mo hōben.
The way I see it, keeping something secret isn’t lying, not even in omission.
The only person I lied to was my father, and even then, I am married—I don’t pretend to be.
Oliver and I not telling anyone about our marital status is a means to an end. It’s more of a secret than a lie.
It’s a necessity to protect my freedom.
I’m a private person. It’s difficult for people to understand because I’m outgoing and straightforward.
It doesn’t mean I put who I am out there easily.
I was raised to believe that anybody’s true honest self should be hidden behind public pretense. My father is a master at it, and I tried to rebel a few times behind closed doors, but I would have never dared dishonor him in public.
I still carry the scars of my attempts.
I can honestly say the only person I am ever truly myself with is Lars, except when I hid my marriage to another man from him.
But him not knowing helped our relationship. I could have never reached our level of familiarity and trust if he knew I was linked to another man, and to Oliver nonetheless.
Me: Lars knows.
I text Oliver while getting ready for bed.
Ol: We should tell Anna. It’s going to explode in our faces.
He’s not wrong, but Lars isn’t the kind to blab.
For twenty-five years he kept Dan’s condition a secret.
He’s loyal to a fault, and if our friendship means anything to him, he won’t say a word to his friends.
Me: No. I’ll take care of it when the time comes.
Ol: Ok. Whatever you want, as usual. When are you coming to New York?
Me: I’m not. I’ll see you at the bachelor/bachelorette party.
Ol: In six months? There is really no advantage to being married to you.
Me: The sex isn’t one?
Ol: We both know I would get the sex even if we weren’t married… And that’s in six months…
Me: You’re such a cocky bastard!
Ol: Hey now… Remember I’m not the one who asked to get married, wanted to keep our commitment a secret or told Lars. So don’t get pissy, Naomi.
Me: I know.
I know all of this is my fault.
I know I freaked out and shouldn’t have asked Ol to help me out.
I know my father couldn’t force me to marry the one he chose for me, like in a bad romance novel about some mafia family.
Truth is, I was always scared of him and his power over me, and even now—in my late twenties—and after years of therapy, panic eats at me when I think of him.
I can’t disappoint my father, but I can’t do what he’s asking either, because becoming a proper Japanese wife was never in the cards for me.
I thought I had escaped his demands.
I thought I wasn’t good enough for him to want to arrange my marriage.
I thought I was free.
But, I was just on borrowed time until my father made up his mind.
That day I understood what it meant to be a lion in a cage.
All I could do was try to defend myself the best I could.
Lars and Anna were away, and Oliver had come to Montreal to visit Julie, who had left with Anna for London without advising him.
I was shaking when he picked me up at the office for us to get a drink.
He saw a part of me I had never shown anyone.
He saw the fear, the distress, the desperation, and after learning Lars and Julie had fallen into bed together, we decided to save both of ourselves by a marriage of our own convenience.
Alcohol might have had a part in my decision. Oliver was sober.
A wedding in Vegas wasn’t something my father could accept.
When I told him I was married and did it in Sin City, he hung up after a few insults thrown my way.
We haven’t talked directly since.
We barely ever do, anyhow.
The only communication is through his assistant delivering countdowns to his retirement as a reminder of my betrayal, but I don’t miss hearing the disappointment in his voice and him calling me the equivalent of a Japanese Western whore.
My father was never one to accept the westernization of our culture.
For him, Japan is the highest country, and civilization there is superior to anything and anyone.
Marrying a Caucasian was as much a betrayal as marrying a Chinese or North Korean.
By doing so, I had chosen to dishonor him and my country.
I wasn’t a Tanaka anymore.
I was only Naomi. A girl with no surname.
And now, it seems all I have left might be Oliver.
We both know we’re not the love of each other’s life. If we were, our marriage would be stronger than what we have.
What we have is a friendship with a few benefits, an arrangement with sex, a flirtationship without complications.
But, Oliver is not mine to love.
I saw him with Elaine, that was love.
He loved her fiercely, sparkles in his eyes and electricity in the air.
He loved her like Clark Gable could love—in black and white.
A love that never dies, even if she did.
I slide into my bed thinking about the greatest love story of all time.
It’s not that I don’t believe in love, it’s that most of the epic ones end up in tragedy.
Maybe that’s why I really married Oliver.
Because he had his tragic ending already, and I know mine will never be as beautiful as what we can read about.
I’m not made for love, not worth it either.
So why try if it’s just to be disappointed?
I reach for my phone one last time, checking for Lars’ words, but there aren’t any.
Nevertheless, I close my eyes thinking of him, his heartbroken eyes haunting me until I fall asleep.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Anna snarls, coming into the office the next morning, and I know right away something’s up.
“Why aren’t you in bed with your rock star? You never come to the office the rest of the week when he’s back in town.” I hurry over to the coffee machine to prepare her the crap she drinks every day.
“Interesting you ask. What happened last night for Dan to receive a call from Art saying Lars had vanished?” I stop in my tracks.
“Vanished?” I turn to face her.
“Yes, as in, left for LA a few hours after a thirteen-hour flight. I convinced him to come see you and talk to you after they landed, and literally three hours later and only a couple of orgasms in for me, Art was blowing our phones up because Lars was nowhere to be found. We thought he was with you, but it became clear he wasn’t when his phone was off. Lars’ phone is never off. Not for Dan anyhow. Dan got extremely worried about his bud. So worried, he couldn’t fuck. We’re speaking Dan Darling, not able to get it up worried because his guy disappeared and left without saying anything.”
“How did you know Lars was in LA?” I walk to the kitchen, my knees wobbling, while Anna follows me.
“Chad. When the alarm system of the house they own there was disabled, Chad received a text and checked the cameras on his app. That’s when he saw Lars stumbling inside in all his drunkenness. So again, what happened?”