Keychains

The late September evening welcomed us as we stepped outside Coop's Bistro and Bar. The bar glowed with lights and laughter. For a moment, the discomfort between us dispelled. The sound of cars swelled and faded in the early evening light.
Tai hummed a tune akin to thick strokes on a canvas before the brush flicked upwards; relaxing, but with an undercurrent of energy. I hoped he had forgotten about the conversation before I excused myself to the washroom. By then, the bar had filled with patrons and noise.
"You forgot this," I said, holding up his keychains. The worn metal tags clacked as I placed it in his palm. They glinted; the Korean peninsula, a Brazilian flag, and a Scottish heart-shaped pendant. He was very young when he visited Scotland, he'd told me, so he didn't remember many details about my homeland. Where my parents immigrated from. Thankfully I went to the washroom before he could ask about them.