Chapter Three The Dinner

"Yeah, so," Hatori said, his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder as he worked on patient reports and files, "things are pretty much normal back there, huh?"

"Yeah," Kyo said in his usual bullish tone. "Hiro's being a shit, but I'm making sure he's not being more of a shit than usual. Tohru's good—misses you. Shigure and that guy are their usual weird asses. And that damn Rooster still ain't shit."

Hatori chuckled, choosing to excuse the curses for now. "Well, good. I guess…"

"How've you been?"

"Fine," Hatori said, as if the thought just occurred to him. "Fine fine."

"Just…fine?"

"Everyone's really nice, and, uh… Yeah."

"You sure—"

"We're actually hosting a dinner. Apparently, my grandfather's close to the town sheriff, and my grandma's best friend is the wife and neighborhood watch captain, so…" Hatori said, slowly down, finally. "Yep. Big dinner."

"Oh, yeah?" Uncertainty could be heard through the Cat's dragged-out answer.

"Uh-huh," Hatori exhaled. "Just my luck, though. I think I misplaced my meds. I still have my back-up, but…it's the weirdest thing."

Kyo's heightened suspicion could be felt like vibrations through the line. "Unc, you sure you want to keep staying in that house?"

"I'm fine, okay? Don't start to worry again." Hatori laughed. "With all the excitement and people around, I probably tossed it somewhere without realizing it. I'll be okay."

"Enkhtuya," Batuhan peeked around the doorframe. Hatori turned to his grandfather, nodded to indicate he heard him. "Your grandmother needs help in the kitchen."

"Okay, sure. Just let me finish this call real quick."

"Now."

Hatori pulled a slightly defensive expression in response, unsure what to say or do next. But Kyo, it seemed, did not have that same paralysis. "What the fuck?" commented the guard-dog Cat.

"Hey," Hatori said as though his cousin's voice snapped him back from the stupor. "Listen, boyo, I gotta run. I'll talk to you later, 'kay? Love you all." Without waiting, he hung up and stood, shoving his phone in his pocket. "Emee needs me?"

Batuhan nodded.

Hatori slowly returned the nod, unsure why his grandfather seemed on edge, why he felt so oddly anxious. Sternness and expectant obedience were part of his culture, so what was this off-ness? With a small, awkward parting smile, the Dragon slipped around his grandfather at the door and walked down the long hallway that turned into the living room and dining room. Seeing his grandmother standing there at the sink, still as the wall around her, he approached her cautiously. "Emee, Övöö said I should help—"

Naran whipped around, and before Hatori could comprehend it, something burned his hand. It burned, yet the slightest breeze chilled his arm. When he looked down, there was blood snaking down his fingers onto the kitchen floor. He stared at his sliced palm when his grandmother said in her panic, "Oh! My goodness, honey! I'm so sorry! Come here." She came closer to him, placing the knife down. "Come to me."

But Hatori, being no stranger to familial harm, backed away from her, holding his gushing hand to his body.

"Let me see it, darling. That's it." With his back pressed firmly to the wall, he watched Naran come closer, taking his hand in hers and wincing in sympathy. "Aw… Ouch. Come here."

When she tried to lead him to the sink, he pulled back, almost fearfully. But he masked it up with a (still shaking) matured, non-negotiable voice. "It's all right. I know how to dress it. Give me a minute." He scurried out of the room before she could protest or insist, and he did not stop until he saw the dual-purple room, in which he closed the door behind him before heading to the private bathroom and locking that door as well. Catching his breath in his isolation, he turned on the faucet, letting cool water pour a clear, caterpillar-sized stream down the drain. He stared at it for a moment, then held up his hand, dreading each moment to come. But he had to get the site clean.

Before long, he inched his hand into the running water, wincing as his blood collected in the porcelain bowl. Coldwater became sharp-ended icicles in the slit, and he had to breathe out the pain just long enough to get the red from the flat of his hand. Next, sterilization. Going back into the bedroom, he pried open his med-kit for hydrogen peroxide and cotton pads, drenched one of the wads, and held it over the slash that ran from his pinky's knuckle to his wrist. Repeating the medical risks of leaving the laceration unattended to himself, rationalizing that he had to cause pain to relieve pain, he bolstered up his resolve and grit, and pressed the pad to his injury. Withholding a scream as fibrous, stinging hairs made the rest of his arm itch, stabbing his injury with a white, burning knife, he keeled over with his hand to his body, letting out only a small grunt.

"Hatori?" It was Kana. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, yeah." Hatori looked back down at his quivering hand as it frothed with sterilizing white at the cut. "Shit." The pain faltered to a steady throb as he waited for the bleeding to cease, applying pressure through the cotton. Quite long after (his medication caused him to bleed more), he applied antibacterial and wrapped his hand up in bandages and gauze. He packed up his kit and shoved it back in his travel bag, and then opened the door to find the housekeeper dusting the pictures by the back door. "Uh, excuse me?" Hatori walked to him, holding his bandaged hand to his stomach when he reached out and tapped the man's shoulder. "Excuse me?"

The man turned to him, almost too robotically. "Yes?"

"Hi," Hatori said in careful Mongolian. "Did you see my—… Did you see Kana around here?"

"I'm sure Mrs. Altan went just around the corner," the housekeeper said in clear English, "to the living room."

Hatori nodded, a little relieved. "Okay. Thanks…?" The man stared at him. "Can I ask your name?"

"Yul, sir."

"Hatori. Nice to meet you, Yul." He held out his hand to the housekeeper, who took it and bowed. "Oh, geez. Okay. You really don't have to be so formal."

"Nonsense," Yul said, finally giving a slight smile that wrinkled his cheeks. "It's truly good to see Kara raised such a kind man."

Hatori smiled back and nodded. "Thank you." After a short moment, he asked, "So, you knew my mom?"

"I did, yes. Though while she was here, I was more of a helper to my father. He knew more about the twins than I do." Yul gripped his duster hard at the wooden handle. "All I know is that Kara and Erden loved it here, and the town adored them."

"Is that so? Can I ask you something?" The housekeeper nodded, simply, so Hatori went on in a hushed tone. "When I was in town yesterday, someone at the market mentioned that Mom and Erden ran away from here. I can't put my finger on it, but something's telling me not to talk to my grandparents about it."

"You're a perceptive man," replied Yul. "Perhaps too much so for your own good. I can't tell you anything other than how happy they were here. Mind you, the Nergüis were the picture-perfect family in this town. Textbook family, textbook comfortable house with white picket fences and cherry blossoms."

Hatori frowned slightly. The bigger the fence, the more secrets it holds. "So, they were just that, then? Perfect? Happy?"

"Like I said, Hatori. If you study every leaf in a tree, you'll never learn of its undivided beauty. Every family has its problems, but only one thing makes a family a family." The Dragon watched him closely, waiting for his next choice of words. "Everyone stays together."

"I understand." The words were true, but to what context? He knew enough about isolation and high fences, but also about unconditional love and support. Was Yul leaving clues in his words or was Hatori just being too perceptive, too suspicious again? "Thanks for telling me that." Yul's brown eyes slipped down to his wound-up hand—

"Hatori!" Naran called. "Are you all right, darling?"

"Yeah, sorry!" Hatori called back. "I'm coming!" To the housekeeper, who slowly turned back to the cabinet he was dusting, Hatori said, politely, "Sorry, I have to go. Maybe we can talk again soon." Yul simply bowed, indicating the conversation had found its silent closure. He made his way back to the kitchen, a bit more cautiously this time. Standing by the other side of the island, he said, "Emee, you called?"

"I did," Naran said, turning to him. She immediately looked to his hand and her expression turned dim with remorse and sympathy. "I'm so sorry about that, darling. I hope it's not deep."

"It's fine," Hatori said, disarming his suspicion with a short smile. "I'll live. What can I do for you?"

Naran thought for a moment, looking around her workstation, at the chives, beef, lettuce, carrots, and packaged noodles. "You can mince the vegetables for me. Can you handle that?"

"Mm-hm," Hatori said, slipping a latex glove over his afflicted hand as he approached the counter with the vegetables and cutting board.

Naran hummed with her usual smile and turned to finish chopping up the salad. "This dish is called tsuivan. Fried noodles and meat." Hatori hummed in attentive response. "Since you're family, I'll let you know my secret recipe."

"Lucky me," Hatori joked.

Naran chuckled, then whispered in a lighthearted manner. "I boil the noodles with peanut oil, a dash of sunflower oil, and finally, a small bit of curry powder. For a kick."

Hatori gathered the heads of cabbage, the limbs of carrots, and the vein-like chives to one side of the chopping board, and carefully plucked up the same cleaver that had assaulted him. "Easy, ma'am," he said, smiling as he worked, "dinner's not until later. Don't make me too hungry."

Naran laughed a little. "You're too sweet, darling. But that's only the noodles. I didn't say what I do for the meat yet!"

"If you say the secret marinade is love, I'm packing up my stuff."

"There's always love in a mother's cooking, dear."

"Oh, my God…! I'm serious about leaving!"

"You tease! My goodness!" His grandmother hummed in the conclusion of her gentle laughter. "Actually, it was your uncle Erden's favorite mix. Garlic, sesame oil, curry sauce, bone and beef broth, a teaspoon of soy sauce, and ginger powder. Chives and turmeric powder. It may sound a little out-of-the-ordinary, but trust me, it's good."

Hatori put his hands up in defense. "Hey, I didn't say anything. I'm sure it's fantastic." Naran gave him a flattered smile as she washed some of the stacked-up dishes. And the cooking commenced with casual conversation and laughs and stories, Hatori's sliced hand completely forgotten, even as the chore made the slice throb.

##

"Sorry, the food's a little late," Hatori said, carrying in the main dish that curled in a hill of noodles and meat. "I tend to talk more than I should at the worst times."

"Nonsense! This looks like it was worth the wait!" Sheriff Xun exclaimed, seated at the other end of the table, Naran's usual spot, than Batuhan. Between them, their wives shoulder-to-shoulder; and the sheriff's daughter nearest to her father.

"You're right, dear," said Shan, the sheriff's wife. Hatori sat down after placing the dish in the middle of the table. "You, mister, should have the first serving."

Hatori chuckled. "Oh, no… I couldn't."

"You could, dear," Naran agreed, "and don't be afraid to take another three servings! Big boy sizes!"

"Thank you." Hatori laughed lightly at that, sitting on the other side of his grandfather, beside Kana and Yisu, by Xun. "But I'm hoping you're not expecting me to eat it all."

Shan laughed behind her hand, her long braid catching between her arm and breast. "Perhaps that would be a good idea!" She reached over and gently pet her daughter's hair that was the same shade of polished wood. "Does the big city provide food for its citizens? My goodness!"

"The big city is full of vultures and sex addicts!" Batuhan stated, causing his wife to send him a tight-lipped gaze. "What? We're all adults here! Hatori!"

Hatori nearly leapt from his skin at the boldness of his grandfather's voice. "Yes?"

"Am I wrong, boy?"

"Well…"

Batuhan stared at him in an odd way as he began to eat.

Hatori brushed it off with a short laugh, as habit permitted. But when the occupant silence failed to raise with any other sound than what he had made, he cleared his throat and gave an uncharacteristically sheltered, "No."

"Hm?"

"No, sir. You're…right. The city can be…vicious. Just…y'know, everyone's so quick to judge and gossip." Hatori fidgeted with his thumbs under the table, averting his eyes as he added, "Got nothing better to do…"

Kana waved her hand in dismissal of the conversation. "Why don't we just eat? I'm sure Hatori doesn't want to talk about the city while he's enjoying his time here."

Shan nudged her daughter, who had not yet spoken, to indicate she serve herself. The girl, who Hatori guessed was around her mid-teens, nodded and did as told. As she did so, Xun grunted something to her, and she switched her plate with his. "So," Xun said to Hatori, who had seen this, "were you raised in the city, too?"

"Yes, I was," Hatori said. "But my parents waited until I was older to let me go out to the main part of the city with them. I was around six when that happened."

"Really?"

"We're a very to-ourselves type of family."

The sheriff nodded, understandingly. "Smart people. I mean, they must have been to raise such a well-conditioned man. I heard you're a doctor."

"Yes, sir." Hatori glanced at the sheriff's daughter to see that she had served herself a much smaller portion of food—correctly so, in her parents' eyes. His eyebrows slowly drew down, but his attention was snatched back. "Following the family tradition, is all."

"Good. That's very honorable work."

"Thank you. Yours as well."

"God! You gotta love the kid's respect!" Xun praised in the form of a public announcement. "I guess Kara kept being a good girl in that urban jungle, after all!"

A small bit offended by this statement, Hatori's eyebrows scrunched down a little. "I'm sorry. I don't understand what that means." He could hear his parents scolding him for being too direct, too confrontational, even though he knew he was being too lenient. It was not a question for clarity. It was almost a dare.

"The big city is a dish of sin and temptation, and every person who goes there voluntarily is bound to get bit quick," Xun explained, as if it were common knowledge.

Batuhan placed his vodka down with some force. "Yes! Exactly!" He glanced at Naran before setting his attention back on Xun, bypassing Hatori completely. "You know how many tears and how much begging we did, trying to keep our kids here? And for what?"

"For temptation to show its ugly rear and swipe your twins away."

Heat stung Hatori's face, but his expression remained hard-pressed and unexpressive. Another learned, necessary habit. He closed his eyes to calm his mind for a moment as they went on.

"Huh!"

"Your family has not left our prayers since, my friend."

"Thank you, Xun." Batuhan sighed, and Naran reached over and rubbed the flat of his hand with her thumb. "The world needs more good country folk. Kara needed to turn right back around at the county line and just come home."

Quickly, Naran turned to Hatori. "Not that you're not a blessing, dear." His violet eyes were razors—not that he meant to glare—when they swiped to meet hers. "We love you. You belong with us."

As if she had not spoken, Hatori turned his tamed fury toward his grandfather and the sheriff. "If I could interrupt…" All eyes turned on him, but he forced aside any doubt or Soma family training that tried to silence him. He bit back harsher, more stern words and said, carefully, "Mom was smart. She was tough, raising a stubborn kid while my father kept his practice going. She did a lot of right, and she did what she could to keep me and my father comfortable. As any capable mother does." The table fell silent. Kana and Yisu traded amused looks, nodding in approval. "I only wish she was still around so I could learn more from her."

Yisu met eyes with the sheriff with a small smirk. "Basically, he's saying to mind your own business." Clasping her hands together under her chin, she continued, "Good to know you don't take crap, li'l nephew."

Hatori said nothing more and looked down into his unfinished plate, unsure of what to do or say next, if anything at all. You've said what you needed, his father would advise, calmly. Now just let your anger pass. I'm proud of you. Or his mother's version: You defended your family. Good boy. He placed down his fork and took a swig of vodka straight.

"I hope the food's good," Naran said, breaking the awkwardness that thickened the air. She poured some more vodka around the table, and then some tea for the sheriff's daughter. "Hatori and I cooked together for the first time."

"It's spectacular, Naran," said Xun, taking a bite to prove as much.

Shan served their daughter another slice of meat along with a small heap of noodles, and whispered something into her ear. She smiled, after, and tucked some hair behind the child's ear. The daughter's expression never broke. Instead, she stared at her mother with doe-like eyes.

"Good thing you brought Hatori around." The sheriff continued on, even though all Hatori wanted in the world was for him to stick the beef where one could hear the ocean. "You two can whip up twice as much of this meat!"

Hatori muttered as subtly as he could manage, "That's what she said."

Shan nodded, serving herself last. "It's so tender!"

"—That's also what she said." Yisu, being the only one who heard the Dragon, snickered loudly, which only made him stifle his own laughter. Kana sent them both a grimace reserved for scolding young children who dug their hands in their food. Hatori, catching Kana's glare, ducked his head while Yisu simply shrugged it off and pursed her lips.

Naran bowed a bit in gratitude. "I did my marinade for the protein, and my beloved grandson minced and cooked up the vegetables and noodles." Behind her hand, she admitted, "I was feeling a little dizzy before we could finish. So, the end result is all Enkhtuya."

"Ah," Shan said, looking to said grandson, who smiled quickly before looking away, unsure if he should meet her eyes or stare at his plate, due to his outburst. Under her hand, she whispered to her fellow housewife, "He's a shy thing, isn't he?"

Naran squeezed her fingers only an inch apart and chuckled. "A little."

Three or so hours they sat at the table, chattering away, sharing stories, and all. Xun brazened by reliving an encounter with a certain delinquent who resisted arrest for driving with Jack's mustiness on his person, hints of sugar mixed in the cedarwood of his cologne. "He was a boy, but he came up to my height," he said. "But I still got a few more tricks in my old age. No match."

"Of course not, dear," said his wife, giving his bicep a supportive squeeze.

Batuhan sipped his tea. "Well, the old dog's gotta get his chomps in while he still can."

"We're the same age, old dog!" Xun exclaimed.

After a few more minutes of conversation and playful teasing, Hatori's stomach started to churn. So, he stood simply and began gathering the plates and bowls from each table guest, excusing his invasion of their bodily space each time. Shan motioned for their seemingly mute daughter to assist him—which she automatically did and trailed him to the kitchen. Hatori, unbeknownst to her, had not noticed her taciturn presence and went along his way to the sink. He stacked the chinaware and utensils by the basin in haste and breathed through the queasiness in his 'privacy.' "Shit," he said in a huff, holding his stomach. Finally sensing another being, he looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the girl staring with a resigned set of eyes. "Holy shit." He dropped his head for a moment before politely facing her. "Sorry. I scare easily."

The girl plainly came to stand beside him, silverware in her hands.

Understanding, he started rinsing and soaping up each plate. "Thank you," he said, encouragingly, and took the utensils. Kisa's fits of silence trained him to adapt to silent cues and gestures, so he felt quite comfortable in this girl's demeanor. Probably more so than in the dining room. "Chimeg, right?"

She glanced up at him for a moment, to which to he smiled gently, before averting her forward gaze to the plate in his hand. She had to be around Momiji's height.

"Did you like the food?" He handed her the first, sudsed plate, and she nodded. "Well, good. Personally, I'm not much of a mushroom person, but Emee said they calm down the spiciness of the meat. Which also reminds me of the time back home—"

The girl looked at him slowly, letting the plate run under the steaming faucet.

Hatori looked at her, wondering if she wanted to say something. But she said nothing, and he chuckled nervously. "Uh… Sorry. I, uh… I tend to ramble sometimes—" The girl winced. Being accustomed to that sound in his field, Hatori glanced over his shoulder at the other room, and then back at her. "What's the matter?"

She chanced a look at him before averting again to the plate.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" He dried his hands, shutting off the water, in case he needed to handle her. Worst case scenario, he had to awkwardly carry her as to avoid triggering the Dragon spirit inside him. "Can you show me what's uncomfortable?"

"Leave," the girl said in a choked voice. "Now."

Hatori's smile slowly faltered as he stared at her, trying to comprehend her single phrase of the night. "Wh—… What?"

"Leave."

"Leave? Why would I—"

"Chimeg." Xun came to her side, taking her by the shoulder affectionately. "Honey, don't bother Hatori. He's very busy." He looked at the Dragon, who dressed his expression to one of pleasant oblivion. "I'm sorry. She's a little socially awkward."

"That's all right," Hatori said, "so am I."

The sheriff gave his daughter a warm smile and squeeze on the shoulder. "Dessert's up."

Aversion, Hatori thought.

"Shall we?"

Shan and Naran presented each able member of the party with a slice of butter cake and a glass of sparkling strawberry wine. The families conversed and complimented the food, sipping the wine—the men, with such rigor as to take in every drop each glass; the women, with meticulous samples from their one glass. Hatori, as if he was a mere spectator, limited himself to only two glasses, but remained quiet for the majority of the last course. In short glances he caught Chimeg peeking at him under her brow, shriveled under her father's arm.

In her sensitivities to alcohol, Naran told the story of Kara and Erden's birth with some graphic detail, but not so much that Shan had to cover Chimeg's ears. But as she spoke, as Batuhan and Xun laughed amongst themselves; and as Kana asked him something, Hatori could only comprehend the sound of her voice.

"I'm fine," he said out of instinct, his eyelids growing more and more heavy with every blink. He looked at his glass of wine to find that he had only had a little more than half of it, and the wine was light. Usually, another two glasses would do the trick. "I think I just need some water…" He attempted to lift himself from his seat. And he went down—he went all the way down to the panel floor, his head banging on the wood.

Just as the room darkened and his surrounding family became distant murmurs, he heard his grandfather tell Xun, "His medication makes him fragile to alcohol."

Lastly, just as he shut his eyes, Chimeg knelt to his side, pretending to hoist his head up by her hand. Beneath the adult chatter, she whispered, "I told you."

##

Hatori hurled again over the toilet, vomiting dinner into the bowl. Drenched in sweat, he held his head up by his hand, shutting his eyes, waiting for the next violent urge. Surprisingly, he had not transformed yet. Yet. His stomach did not particularly hurt or toss much, and he otherwise felt normal. Perhaps he was mildly allergic to something in the cake or the wine the sheriff's family brought. Despite this, his head swam in teetering lengths as if he had chugged the entire wine bottle himself. It had been nearly a decade since he was diagnosed and prescribed what he was; and about the same since he began drinking, so he was no stranger to his medication cooperating with alcoholic beverages. Maybe he was simply allergic to something in the wine. He only had strawberry once or twice before. This mental play-out of self-doctoring was interrupted by another tug at his throat, and he threw himself over the toilet bowl just in time.

"A little reckless there with the wine, huh?" Batuhan said from the doorframe, cross-armed. Hatori looked at him briefly and shrugged. "Yeah. Your grandmother's a little woozy, too. No worries. We'll build up your tolerance in time."

"No, I'm fine," Hatori insisted in a husky voice. "Something must have gone wrong with my meds. I'm fine, though. Thanks."

Batuhan nodded slowly, scratching his gray stubble in an absentminded manner. "All right. If you say so." Hatori let out another mouthful of vomit. "I left some water on the nightstand. Down it before you go to sleep."

"Thank you." Before long, he flushed the toilet and trudged back to bed. As told, he drank the water in cautious sips before collapsing sloppily on the mattress. Two messages—one from Shigure, the other from Kisa back home—and thirteen promotional emails greeted him when he unlocked his phone, but nothing out-of-the-ordinary or needing his immediate attention. So, he locked it back up and let his eyelids fall.

In the night, he was awakened by the hissing of a whisper behind him. Ever so slightly, he peeked over his shoulder to see Naran there, staring at him in the moonlight. He froze, unsure if he should say something or do anything. Dropping his eyes to her hands, he noticed the twins' matching teddy bears in her hold. Her murmuring continued on and on, and on and on for several minutes, so Hatori slowly rolled back over and watched the wall, waiting, anticipating something. In time, she set the bears down in their original places at the foot of the bed. Hatori had thought she had left, but when he nearly mustered enough courage to confirm this, she rubbed her thumb to his forehead, leaving behind something gritty and damp. She kissed his hair and hummed in what would be perceived as motherly before she left. Hatori, who had slammed his eyes shut when she came around to the other side of the bed, waited until he heard footsteps on the stairs to sit up. He touched his forehead and pulled his hand back to see blackness on his fingers. Easily smearing it across his palm, he deciphered it to be charcoal.