The rain was heavier this day than it had been yesterday. Two feet stood on a familiar porch, fingers holding a cigarette. Cool air and gloom seemed to penetrate the air but the heated voices coming from inside of the house sparked a fire. It'd been thirty minutes and they were still going. Relaxed fingers lifted the cigarette to awaiting lips and ears continued to take in the argument. 

*** 

"You think your father would approve of this?" There was silence for a moment before she spoke again. 

"You think your brother would approve of you and that man on my porch?" Bea inhaled slowly, preparing her words. 

"I think Joe woulda liked him real good. With time."

"Time huh?"

"Papa too if he had had the time to know him." Her mother now was quiet. 

"I know you upset about how I did things Mama but... I ain't tell you we was leavin' cause I knew you was gon' try to stop me." 

"Sure as hell woulda! You took your fast lil' tail all the way across the world for a man you barely know. Ain't thought I was important to know nothin'." Balling up her lips, she took a deep breath. 

"I did everythin' right that I could. I introduced you to him. You ain't like him, which is your business, not mine. I decided to go with him so he could re-connect with his roots and I thought that I'd be welcomed back here." She knew that when they returned to the States, she was going to get hit by her mother's emotions. She had prepared herself for it. But, not well enough it seemed.

"You have always been welcome here Beatrice Grace. Don't act like you ain't been." Her mother's furious eyes drifted down to her showing stomach. Her throat tightened slightly. 

"I'm sure you know him real well by now. Your belly proves that. But I don't." Her words stung, no, they cut deep into her heart, and as angry as she was, she was hurting more.

"I never thought I'd see the day my daughter would come home pregnant...pregnant and unwed. Was that Jap son of a bitch out there worth it? All the ridicule you gon get from the neighbors? Did you not think of how hard that baby life gon' be when he grows up?" 

"What the hell difference does it make?" Her voice yelled suddenly, making her mother grow still in shocked silence. 

"Would it have been better to have been raped by one of them Klan bastards? You'd rather me have a life of misery and pain havin' a half white child than one with a man I love? What the hell kinda mother are you?"

"Lower your voice in my house!" Biting the inside of her cheek, her eyes dropped down to her stomach. 

"You ain't concerned about my child, really. You concerned about yo' damn self." The front door finally opened and the man of discussion stepped in, footfalls heavy. Coming to stand just outside of the kitchen, he slipped his hands into his pockets and watched the two of them. At his piercing gaze, her mother turned her back to the both of them and began to cut up some potatoes. 

Without a word, he walked over to Bea, who by now was shaking, head down, shoulders and neck tight. She allowed his touch in the form of hands that slipped up to caress her waist. 

"It hurts me real bad to hear you talk to me like I'm some low-down slut, Mama." Now, her voice was breaking and everyone in the room could hear her tears. His hands now moved to the front of her stomach and his solid careful warmth there made her release the tension in her neck and shoulders. She leaned her body weight back against him and lifted her own hands upward to entangle their fingers. 

Now, done with the potatoes, her mother rinsed and dried her hands. Putting down the towel, she faced the two of them, mouth firm. 

"The first time his family saw me, they didn't make one comment about the fact that I was a Negro. They never said a word about it. Do you know what his aunt told me the first time we met? She said they didn't care about my skin color, they didn't care that I wasn't Japanese. All they cared about was that Will loved me. They opened their arms and their home to me and treated me like a member of their family. What does he get coming back home with me? Nothing but hatred and insults." Her mother was quiet. 

"You talk about him like you know who he is. But you don't know a damn thing about him. He fought for the country he grew up in and loved with all his heart. He watched his friends die one by one and almost died himself. Lucky that all that the war took of him physically was a leg. He is one of the most honorable men I know. " That made the woman bristle and she set angry eyes on the man who now held her sobbing daughter. 

"He took me as his wife despite knowing what society would say... what people like you would say. Fixed up a home for us with his bare hands and worked odd jobs, despite facing discrimination from some of his own people, knowing that all they saw was a cripple with a crutch." 

"Bea baby,"

"You don't know the hell Will and I have been through..." He whispered something against her temple and his arms hugged her a tad bit tighter as she lifted her hands to wipe the tears from her eyes. Sniffling, she took an uneven breath.

"I'm... I need some air for a minute." Eyes followed her as she excused herself and stepped outside. Now just the two of them, the energy changed almost immediately. Curiously enough, as tense as it was, it was slightly tinged with fear. Fear that he would use to his advantage. Just this once. 

"Out of respect to Beatrice, I went out onto the porch earlier to refrain from what I really wanted to say." She looked at him as if he was gum underneath her shoe. 

"I've asked her to step out for a moment so that I could make myself perfectly clear to you." Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth twisted up like the branch of a gnarled tree. 

"Excuse me?"

"I am who I am and I do not need to explain or prove myself to you or to anybody else. Let's make that clear first." His expression was calm and his voice even more so, but it chilled her to the bone. There was underlining rage that dwelled just behind the easygoing gaze. Drawing closer to her, his presence made her fingers tighten on the knife she held. 

"The second and most important thing I have to say to you is this," Her whole body stiffened as he leaned down, mouth closer to her ear. 

"This will be the first and last time you disrespect Beatrice in my presence." Fury lit her up and she lifted the knife upward, the blade pressing against his chest. 

"How dare you. Who the hell do you think you are?!" His eyes drifted down to the blade against him and upon lifting them back up to meet hers, a small bit of that carefully pulled back rage had been released, making him look menacing and dangerous. 

"I'm a very bad man who has done very bad things, Mrs. Jones." His voice had grown harder and it caused the knife in her hands to shudder. 

"I am offering you an opportunity of mercy." 

"What kind of opportunity?"

"To continue to see your daughter and your grandchild when it is born." Fear mixed so well with fury on her face and it made him grin. The action of it caused the rest of the fury on her face to vanish, leaving only crippling fear in its wake. Good. Very good. 

"You're threatening me...in my own house." 

"A threat is a statement of intention. An event of harm likely to happen." She made a noise of protest as he drew even closer, using his height to dwarf and intimidate the much smaller woman. 

"I will make sure that you never see her again." Tears began to well up in her eyes and she lifted them upward to meet his. 

"If you won't appreciate and love her then what good are you as her mother? I'll remove you so that all she has left for family is myself. Permanently." At that, her eyes widened and she dropped the weapon, the blade loudly clanging onto the floor. 

"You're...a child of Satan....you....you're evil incarnate..." Taking the time to back up, he once again resumed a calm demeanor. Hands now in his pockets, their eyes met one last time. 

"Be wise, Mrs. Jones. Take the opportunity as it's been presented." 

*** 

It had been only a couple days since we'd returned to American soil. The first place we'd come to was the house of her mother and upon returning, Beatrice had been brutally shamed and disrespected. The entire scenario set my chest on fire and it took everything in me to not strangle the bitter old bitch. My hands itched for wrap themselves around her neck and force every ounce of life out of her. Of course, I know what you're thinking. That's Bea's mother. My response now is what it was then. I don't give a fuck. I meant every goddamn word.

If she would not fulfill her purpose for being in Beatrice's life then I would get rid of her. Plain and simple. That conversation was, in my way, my attempt to attempt peace between the two of us. Old habits died hard and then again, some of them never did. It's just who I was. Who I am. Like it or leave it, accept it or don't. I was extremely overprotective over the little family I'd created and I didn't feel an ounce of shame or guilt for what I would do to keep it safe.

After our little talk, it was no surprise that Ruth Jones got her act together. Seems that she chose wisely after all. She apologized to Beatrice and to some extent to me as well, though the latter was very half-assed. That was quite all right with me. She tolerated me and I tolerated her just the same. Years passed before our relationship improved. 

*** 

It had been about two months since he'd heard from her. Over those eight weeks, he'd wanted to call her, text her, check on her, anything. Instead, he had poured his energy into finishing the manuscript. It was surreal, looking at it now neatly piled onto his desk. His palms were sweaty and he wiped them on the fabric of his sweats before reaching for it. Gingerly picking it up, he took a thumb and flipped through the pages, the smell of fresh ink and the crisp rip of the paper making his heart beat faster. It was done. It was finally finished. Feeling his chest grow full of pride and satisfaction, he blinked away slight tears. I did it, Mr. Matsuda. I finished it for you. 

Just as he'd placed the finished manuscript back onto the desk, his cell rang. Blinking at the bunny emoji he'd assigned for Asami, he felt his heart throttle his chest. Taking a deep breath, he licked his lips and answered it, careful not to sound overly excited. 

"Hello?" It was quiet on the other end, only for a moment. 

"Take...it's...um... it's me. Asami." Smiling into the phone, he relaxed in his chair. 

"I know it's you, silly." Tone warm and comfortable, it made her laugh some. 

"I called for two reasons."

"Mmhm?"

"One is to apologize. I shouldn't have hung up on you like that the last time we spoke. It was rude as hell and... I'm sorry."

"Forgiven. You've been forgiven." Her second inhale was deeper and more anxious. 

"The second reason I called was because...I...I wanted to explain myself. I...I needed time to sort everything out. Not just with you but... with me too. Everything." 

"I understand completely. I came on entirely too strong, I should've reined it back in just a tad. I'm sorry my intensity made you confused and unsure. Sounds like the kind of situation we'd find ourselves in, hm?" At that, she began to laugh and the sound of it warmed his entire body. It had felt like years since he'd heard Asami genuinely laugh. 

"For sure! I mean... you were always the quiet intense one and I was always the happy-go-lucky girl..."

"With a personality bigger than life itself." 

"Yeah...I miss being that girl." 

"You can always start anytime you want to, Sami. When you're ready for it." 

"Yeah...I um... I think I'd like to try again. Now." He was quiet, fingers lightly playing with the edge of the manuscript. 

"Let's get coffee. Breakfast too if you haven't already eaten." Smiling once more, he let his fingers relax. 

"I haven't, actually." Her voice was quiet for a while before it sounded in his ear again, stronger this time. 

"Good. Meet me at Lucky's?"

"Half-hour?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds good."

"'kay."

"See you soon, baby girl." 

"S-see you soon." Biting into his bottom lip, he felt a smile come to his face as they hung up. Sometimes, the best thing to do when you want a woman is to wait for her. She's already stubborn as hell anyway... by nature. Once she figures shit out... what she wants... she'll come back to you. When she does, let her fall into your lap with grace, Ito. Mr. Matsuda's words breezed across his mind and lit a fire in his chest. Pushing back his chair, he lifted the manuscript to place it into a clear liner. Standing up, he rustled his hair, deciding with the slight grip of his fingers that he was going to cut it. Like that, he headed towards the shower. 

*** 

Nervous mahogany fingers tapped on the lacquered pine countertop. This was ridiculous. You would think that she was meeting a complete stranger with the way her heart was about to come out of her chest. It was only Takeru. Maybe her unease came from the fact that she'd grown comfortable with his shy quiet nature and her ability to be the more talkative one, the more dominant one...until he flipped the script. Cheeks now rosy, she brought her eyes down to her still tapping fingers, a similar reflex to the one she attributed to her late grandmother. 

She had tried to make up every excuse as to how it had happened... that night. Tried to convince herself that it was only because of the alcohol, the music, and the atmosphere they'd been in. But the truth as her grandpa would say it: was a mother fucker sometimes. He'd tell her all the time that Takeru still liked her but she'd always brush it off. Lifting her eyes upward, her fingers grew still on the table. In her sight now, he smiled upon recognizing her and started to head her way. The truth caused her to hang up the phone. It caused fear to cling to her belly. It caused her to now clutch her fingers together to get them to stop tapping. 

"Hey, Sami." Swallowing sand, she looked up at him with all the courage she could muster. The truth reflected so clearly in his warm gaze and she licked her lips. She couldn't bring herself to admit what she already knew. But now, seeing what she felt in her heart look back down at her, she supposed it was now okay. 

"Hey Take."

*** 

Eyes were focused on her every movement as her dainty fingers flipped through the pages. Her face was stern with concentration and he enjoyed watching the slight nuances in her eyebrows or her lips as she read. The coffee shop was still pretty active after peak time. Voices chattering and laughter, the smell of freshly roasted espresso, and the slight sweetness of foamed milk filled the space. In this time, he took his time observing her, a sliver of calm oblivious beauty amongst the hustle and bustle of madness. 

She'd kept her hair short, the full glossy curls framing her face and neck almost too perfectly. The autumn day brought sunshine instead of rain and he was glad because it kissed her gorgeous skin; a lovely shade of cinnamon. Sitting there in light brown corduroy overalls, a cream scallop neck turtleneck, and a warm cozy cream cardigan, her shiny clear coated nails tapped the tabletop. 

Somehow, even though she wore no evidence of it, to him, she carried the scent of clay, paint, and earth and the memories of them blended together into a passionate alcohol-tinged blur made his cheeks grow warm. Asami Miller always had been and always would be his dream girl. 

"Any thoughts?" He asked, daring to disturb the beautiful sight in front of him. Aside from nut-brown eyes that had grown teary, she remained quiet as she continued to read all the way until the end. When it seemed that she was finished, she finally spoke. 

"It's perfect Takeru. I'm... I'm speechless..." Pride filled his chest and he offered a small smile, reaching for his cup of coffee. Silence still ensued as the waitress brought their breakfast to the table. When she left, he spoke. 

"I hope that my measly work gives credit and honor where it is due." She smiled prettily, the corners of her eyes folding some in teary delight. 

"Please, stop it. This isn't measly by any means. You've always been way too damn humble for your own good." They shared a laugh. 

"It's as if Grandpa is really alive and well, speaking through the pages. Just like his journal." Her smile deepened, showing both of those darling dimples. 

"You captured his voice, tone, and personality perfectly."

"You think he'd be satisfied?"

"He'd probably say something like, "'That bastard Ito finally grew his balls and did something right. Outside of you, Asami.'" They grinned at each other and soon broke out in laughter, the kind that hurt rolling stomachs and felt like pure joy in the bloodstream. 

"Sounds just like him. Ugh." He agreed with a smirk, sitting back in his chair. 

"He'd probably be sitting back in his chair watching the two of us with one of his trouble-making grins as Grandma used to call them." Taking another sip of his coffee, he placed the mug back onto the table. 

"I know you miss them." Though her lips smiled, her teary eyes fell down to the manuscript. 

"So freaking much." Reaching across the table, he gently entangled a couple fingers of hers with his. 

"They were your world; the reason you kept going for so long, Sami. I cannot imagine how debilitating it must have been to suddenly... have all of it stop. You gave up and sacrificed so many of your dreams and goals because of love." Her fingers gripped his and soon the rest of them entangled together. 

"I never said anything but I watched you... watched how hard you labored to try to provide quality care for Mr. Matsuda. You did so well. I'm so proud of you." Her bottom lip trembled and he could see she fought not to cry but gave up...allowing the tears to slip down her cheeks. 

"How did I not realize...that I wasn't alone?" Sniffling, she lifted her free hand to wipe away the tears that had fallen and lifted a watery gaze upwards. 

"Grandpa was right... I'm too much like grandma for my own good..." Squeezing her hand, he let go of it.

"Mrs. Matsuda was an amazing woman so it doesn't surprise me." Sniffling some, the two of them began to eat and engage further in small talk. She asked about his job and if he had any new patients. To her surprise, he informed her that he had quit his job not too long ago. She tried to stop herself from choking on her eggs. 

"Wait... what do you mean you quit your job?" Running fingers through what appeared to be a fresh haircut, he shrugged. 

"Mr. Matsuda's death showed me a few things. One, I think I'm an empath. Two, because I think I'm an empath, I feel things way too deep and can get attached way too easy." Blinking, she let him continue, 

"Your grandpa's death crushed me. A man I hadn't known until the later part of his life, a man I feared like the boogeyman. You remember me telling you I was scared of his office?" She nodded. 

"It took me a long time to get to the point where I could even step foot in there and not freak out." 

"So, basically you worried that your... heightened sensitivity would pose a problem?"

"Yeah." 

"I can see that." 

"I um.... I found I really enjoyed writing Mr. Matsuda's memoir. So, I think I might try freelancing and see if I like it. In the meantime, I'm pulling on my previous tech background and I'm working part-time as a UX/UI developer." 

"Right on, Take. That sounds like a good fit."

"What about you?" She sighed. 

"Well... I thought about it and I think I might go again for my master's. I've had enough of a break. I'm ready to get back in the ring." 

"Thatta girl." Cheeks rosy, she forced herself to sit up a bit straighter. 

"I'm...also ready to explore our...relationship...if um... if you-"

"You already know I do, Sami." Their hands slowly embraced each other again. 

"Maybe we can figure this thing out together...a little bit at a time."

"I'd really like that, baby girl." A shy smile lit up her face and she withdrew her hand to pick up her fork. 

"So, what are you going to name it? Grandpa's memoir?" 

"At least buy me dinner first before asking that." She play threw a napkin at him. 

"Dork." 

*** 

The sound of retching filled the empty hallway. Well, almost empty. A pair of large bare feet stood in front of the door, an equally large masculine body against the staircase banister. After a few more minutes, the sound of spitting and running water was heard before the door opened. Large shocked eyes stared up and a pretty set of lips grew slack and wide in surprise. 

"Ichiro...um...what are you doing up so early?" 

"Listening to you vomit. Clearly." That mouth drew into a frown and those eyes of hers narrowed. 

"Why?"

"I know when you're not in bed, Bea."

"And it alarms you?" He didn't answer but his face gave away his answer so easily. Smiling softly, she came closer until she pressed her body against his, face against his shirt-covered chest. 

"I ain't goin' nowhere sugar. You know that by now." 

"What is making you vomit?"

"This child of yours in my stomach." That made him grin. 

"I guess since you're up that means you want breakfast." That grin grew deeper, naughtier. 

"Clarify what you mean by breakfast, Beatrice." He hushed, lowering his head to press a kiss against her neck. 

"I'm hungry for a lot of things this morning." Her wordless breath responded as he laid a cheeky kiss against her chest, the exposed parts that the thin-strapped nightgown didn't cover. 

"The o-other breakfast, you ravenous man..." She said with a half laugh, half gasp as he gently pulled at the neckline of her gown with his teeth. 

"Easy Papa easy...Momma sure to get up soon."

"Too late. I'm already up." The two of them froze to see her very displeased face glaring at them. Clearing her throat, she left his arms and pulled one of the straps that had fallen down her shoulder back up. 

"M-mornin' Momma...um..." 

"If y'all done being inappropriate, meet me in the kitchen after you freshen up, Bea baby." 

"Yes ma'am." As she turned to head back into the bathroom, she suddenly grew slack and he jolted out to catch her before she fell. 

"I will meet you downstairs." With one simple sentence, he'd completely negated any authority her mother had over the situation and he could see that it annoyed her. Nonetheless, she didn't fight or argue. She just stood there watching as he helped her daughter's unsteady legs walk back toward their shared bedroom. With a suck of her teeth, she headed downstairs to start prepping for breakfast. 

*** 

It had been a month and a couple of weeks since we'd started living with Bea's mother. In that time, so much had happened. The changes in Bea's body were not subtle anymore. The once small slight bump of her stomach had grown more round, making it very visible and apparent that she carried a child. Her feet and ankles became considerably swollen, especially after being outside with her mother during their garden time. Bea was just as active as her mother and it made me smile sometimes to watch the two of them. 

They liked early Saturday mornings to garden and the two of them would be in their own little world. Bea would plant and her mother would uproot. Tomatoes, cucumbers, mint, basil, and thyme. It fascinated me to watch their dirt-covered hands wiggle around and pull up treasures supplied by the earth. The two of them would speak in hushed tones, foreheads glistening with sweat underneath their wide-brimmed hats and their laughter trickled up like a spring. 

Despite our less-than-friendly interactions, when it came to her daughter, Ruth Jones had learned that I didn't fuck around. I was eager to learn... to be taught. Already, I'd learned to place her feet on pillows or soak them in a bath of cool water when they swelled. When Bea complained of lower back pain, a cloth full of ice or one heated by warm water would alleviate the problem. Through all of her physical changes, my personal favorite had been the enlarging of her breasts. They'd grown heavier, fuller, and even more appetizing to look at. 

I took care when caressing them as she sometimes complained of tenderness. However, those complaints always seemed to die down when I would lick and suck her nipples. Her increased sensitivity there caused extremely intense orgasms. I had a hard enough time keeping my hands to myself as it was but I felt no shame for how I ravaged her. On a serious note, her dizzy spells and trouble sleeping...they concerned me. And that is what I inquired about once I made it downstairs. 

*** 

Her entire body language changed the minute he entered the kitchen. She grew tense and stiff and her chopping grew harder. 

"Wash your hands." He did so wordlessly. 

"You can start by deveining the shrimp." It seemed this morning's breakfast would include seafood. Taking the small paring knife that had been offered, he got to work, eyes down on his task. It was quiet and uncomfortably tense between them. 

"Why does Beatrice lose her balance?" His sudden question made her jump and he lifted his slightly humored eyes up to look at the spooked woman. 

"If I wanted to harm you, I would have done it by now. So long as you make yourself useful and don't disappoint her, you and I will be on good terms." His statement made her even tenser. 

"What if you don't make yourself useful to her? It's your fault that her belly is big. What if you grow tired of playing house and decide to leave her?" A valid motherly concern. 

"I will never abandon Beatrice. She is my wife." 

"Far as I'm concerned y'all playing house. I ain't ever seen y'all get married."

"That does not negate the fact that it happened." 

"Hm." It was quiet for a while longer before he spoke again. 

"I want to learn everything I can from you on how to care for her." The quick cutting of her eyes at him made him speak once more. 

"Provided that you are not able to. I do not desire to take away your moments with your daughter."

"But you sure as hell would take me away from her permanently."

"With conditions as I've stated several times before. You've made your choice, Mrs. Jones. A choice I respect and will honor." Placing the deveined shrimp in the provided bowl, he went to the sink to wash off the knife and his hands. 

"Beatrice wanted this child as much as I did so we both share the fault and blame for her current condition." Towel drying his hands, he turned to face the smaller woman who had moved on to chopping celery. 

"It makes you uncomfortable that we are intimate in front of you. Do you wish us to do so outside of your home?" An obvious 'yes' came up on her face but her mouth spoke something different. 

"I would appreciate it if you kept night activities... at night." She placed the knife down on the cutting block. 

"I refuse to stop making love to my wife because it makes you uncomfortable. We both do our best to not disturb you and she is more than mindful of you. If re-marrying her in your presence would settle things then I don't object. I'll make it happen." Going to fill the pot of water, he placed it on the stove and turned the burner on. 

"When we are able, we will vacate." Ending the conversation, he one last time washed his hands and left her alone in the kitchen to finish preparing the breakfast. 

*** 

Work. Me. Me and Work. It was something that Beatrice and her mother argued about going on two weeks before they reached some sort of stalemate. She argued that I was a deadbeat who did nothing but watch her like a threatening shadow. Bea, however, argued that nearly every day, during hours that she was outside of the house, I would search for work. It held true but I didn't feel the need to confirm her words. Contrary to the belief of her mother, it wasn't quite as easy to find a job in the current social climate. It was now June of 1952 and hot talk was that of the McCarran-Walter Act. It repealed the bigoted and discriminatory laws that prevented Asian people to become American citizens.

Little did her mother know, Beatrice and I would go to the immigration office and stand in line, every time, for hours. So many of them shared Japanese origin, others Chinese, others Filipino or South and Southeast Asians. So many languages, some familiar, others completely foreign along with smells of rich tangy tamarind and incense. 

Amongst the crowd, the two of us received so many different kinds of looks. Ones of pure disgust. Betrayal. Confusion. Indifference. Even so, we all stood in that never-ending line waiting for a chance to be given the opportunity to walk through the gates of passage. A chance to leave war, poverty, and death behind to make new paths of hope, freedom, wealth, and whatever our hearts desired. 

And all the while, those who deemed themselves 'native' to this country stalked the perimeter, eyes blazing full of hatred and displeasure. Thin lips turned their faces into one big line, blue, brown, and hazel eyes narrowed and mouthed opened to damn and curse us. 

Bea and I would always leave much earlier than the others, oftentimes due to her feet starting to swell. She'd take hold of my hand nice and tight, ears attentive to the strained breaths I would release as we would walk. I didn't care about any of those things, really. What was wealth when one could take it away? What was freedom when they put you in a birdcage and teased you with it? What I wanted was to be left alone. 

I wanted to have my family and my wife and be left alone. Hard to do, however, when this God-forsaken country reminded me every day that I was an unwanted crippled Japanese piece of shit, a menace to American society. A thing that they might consider entry but only for the law. 

*** 

"Now, Papa... you're gonna behave yourself right?" 

"It depends." Lips poked out in a purse. 

"Ichiro,"

"Beatrice."

"You can't go in here upsetting these white people. Now getcha act together." Sliding a hand across her lower back, his mouth came close to her ear. 

"Fuck these white people." Irked eyes upward made him grin. 

"Be that as it may, sweetheart, they the only ones that's gonna let you live here with me legally. You wanna mess that up?"

"We have a perfectly fine and legal house back in Kurashi-"

"Beatrice Jones and Ichiro Matsuda?" Straightening up, she turned to him and reached up and ran quick hands down the lapels of his suit jacket. Running eyes over his appearance, she swallowed an anxious breath and turned to face the bald-headed man standing outside his office. Taking the lead, she first headed into his office, head and eyes straight ahead of her, not focusing on the stunned incredulous eyes that drifted down across her appearance, briefly on her stomach. And he next, his eyes not focused ahead of him but on the still-staring man. They glanced at each other briefly too before the office door closed. 

"So...you want citizenship, boy?" He asked as he came around to sit at his desk. He didn't answer right away, just stared holes into him. 

"Can he talk?" He asked Beatrice, who replied that he could. 

"Well? I don't have all day." His voice was frigid when he spoke but there lingering on his mouth was a slight smirk. 

"Yes. I want citizenship." Not off put by his tone, the man sat back into his chair, cheeks and ears red. 

"Why should I give it to you?" At that, Beatrice who once had been sitting stood up. 

"Sir, I-"

"I wasn't talking to you, girl. Sit down." She was slow to do so but she did it, gripping the chair tightly on her way down. By now, the smirk was gone and his gaze had a certain glint to it. 

"Let the boy speak for himself." 

"I don't understand your question." 

"Slow on the uptake huh?" He glanced once again to Beatrice, who sat real pretty and still in her white and red polka-dot dress. 

"You waltz in here like you're somebody important. With a pregnant nigger." Now, he turned his eyes completely onto Beatrice. 

"Is it his?" The question stabbed deep into her but she carefully composed her face and gripped her hands together. 

"Yes, sir. It is." 

"You sure or is that just what you told him?" To that, she didn't answer and her lack of response made him laugh. Sparkling green eyes drifted between the two of them and for a moment, it was silent as a door nail. 

"You got yourself tied up real good, boy. Didn't anybody tell you that nigger women are no good? They sneaky and conniving. Real good at tricking, though, by the looks of that bloated belly she got she been tricked out plenty." Licking his teeth, he turned his gaze back onto him. 

"So you want citizenship to fix the mistake growing in her stomach. Is that why?" His entire face had grown dark and the hand visible and gripping his cane had started to lose color.

"You got something you wanna say, Matsuda? I don't like how you're looking at me." Beatrice stood up and started to walk towards him. Gently, she reached for his free hand to which he gripped it with bruising force. 

"The child is not a mistake. It was very intentional." To that, the man's eyebrows lifted. 

"You're in love with her."

"Yes."

"Two diseases walking side by side." Sitting up straighter, the man opened the manila folder on his desk. 

"Well, let's see about you, Mr. Ichiro Matsuda." He was quiet as he read. 

"You were a member of the Imperial Japanese Army. 1937-1945. That in its own right would get you denied. And, were you in my neck of the woods, shot." Eyes dipping down to read more, he lifted them and drifted across his stiff hand on his cane. 

"You were imprisoned by the Commies. That must have been where you lost your leg." His lack of answer enabled the man to continue. 

"President Truman is the only reason why you're standing here in front of me today, boy. He contacted my department personally on your behalf. Spoke too highly of you. He thinks, for whatever reason, that you deserve American citizenship." Flipping the page, he glanced down at some stills from all those dinners and conferences he had attended while serving as envoy to the Emperor. 

"Tell me who the President of the United States was in 1845." At that, Beatrice's lips pursed slightly. Silence ensued. 

"How you gonna prove you a good citizen of this country and you don't even know its history, Matsuda?" Closing his file, he sat back once again in his chair and eyed the two of them for a while longer. 

"This office will require a literacy and American History test be taken by Mr. Ichiro Matsuda before being considered for citizenship of the United States of America. Should he not satisfy the requirements of this office, he shall expeditiously vacate these United States or risk being banned from reentry or imprisonment. 

"Along with that, Mr. Matsuda will submit something else with the results of his literacy test." Beatrice spoke up now, voice nice, sweet, and vicious. 

"That is?"

"A marriage certificate."