Her brown eyes look like they’re coated in shiny polish. “I know we all haven’t seen each other in years, but it’s been nice getting to know you again, Kiko. I mean that.”
“Thanks for letting me stay in your home. It’s been the best vacation I’ve ever had.”
Her tongue slips over her bottom lip. “You probably don’t have many to compare it to. I remember how much your mom hated to take vacations.”
“That’s true,” I say quietly. “We tried to go camping once, but we were only at the camping site for an hour before Dad had to get everything back in the car and drive us all home. She said it was because she didn’t want to share a bathroom with strangers. We didn’t even finish putting up the tent.”
Elouise shakes her head so slowly I would have missed it if I wasn’t staring right at her. “That sounds about right. Angelina hated public bathrooms. She only lets people see what she wants them to see.” Wincing, she tilts her face toward me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I don’t say anything because I wasn’t expecting her words. I didn’t know Elouise even knew Mom besides the occasional run-ins at birthday parties and school events. But the way she speaks about her . . . I don’t know. I get the feeling she really knew her.
I want to ask her if she was friends with my mom. I want to ask why she said what she did. But it’s uncomfortable now, because I’ve waited too long and because Elouise is turning up the music on the radio and tuning me out.
She stops at the side of the road opposite Hiroshi’s café and studio. Her foot pressed against the brake, she wipes a finger beneath her eye. Was she crying? It’s too hard to tell.
“I think you’re terrific, Kiko. I hope you know that. We were always very fond of you, even when you were little. There’s something magical and irreplaceable about a childhood friendship. I’m glad Jamie gets to share that with you. I’m sorry if we ever got in the way of that, with the move and everything.” She doesn’t look at me when she speaks—she just says everything she is prepared to and blends into the background noise of the radio.
I step out onto the street awkwardly, thank her for the ride, and she drives away in a hurry to erase what was just said between us.
My hands are anxious for brushes and paint tubes, mostly to give them something to do besides tremble against my legs. When I find Hiroshi, I’m hoping for the calming inspiration I’ve grown accustomed to.
Instead, I find a tearful, middle-aged man with his hair draped against his back and his wife sitting beside him with a hand on his knee.
What is going on with people and their emotions today? I’m usually the emotional one—not the rest of the world.
“Sorry.” I catch my breath, feeling the rush of the door as it closes behind me. “I can leave.”
“No.” Mayumi holds up her hand. “I go.” She plants a gentle kiss on Hiroshi’s cheek and slips past me like a deer.
Pressing his hands to his small eyes, Hiroshi shakes his head like he’s shaking away his tears. “I’ve always believed emotion is good for painting, but I’m afraid I’m not in the best mood to create anything today.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask quietly, the worry thick in my voice.
“Oh yes. Everything is fine.” He forces a smile. “I’ll leave the keys with you. Can you bring them downstairs when you’re finished today? I think I need to rest my head at home. A little bit of recharging will do me good.”
“I don’t want to chase you out of your own studio.”
“No,” he insists, pressing his hands over my shoulders and leading me to my almost-finished painting. “This is where you belong.” He drops the studio keys on the nearest table.
The studio feels eerily still without him in it. It’s like all the color has been drained from the room.
I paint anyway, because I’m running out of time, and because I’m painting the girl today, lingering in the shadows. Today, gray is good.
Mayumi knocks on the door before she enters. She’s carrying a cup of tea and a slice of cake. “Energy,” she says simply, placing it near me.
“Thank you.”
I watch her eyes trail over to my painting. She nods a few times, taking it all in. “Why she so happy when little girl not?”
“I guess she’s happy because the little girl isn’t.” I shrug. “I haven’t decided for sure.”
Mayumi sighs. “That’s very sad. Everyone sad today, I think.” She doesn’t take her eyes away from the canvas. “My daughter leave for college soon. Both our children will be far away. Hiroshi is hurting inside”—she presses her hand to her chest—“because I think he will be too lonely without anyone around.”
“He has you,” I point out.
Her laugh is pretty. “Yes, but it’s not the same. We have our work to keep busy. Hiroshi likes being a father. He likes to teach. Some people need to be heard. To be appreciated.”
“People appreciate him all over the country. He literally has fans all over the place.”
“I tell him that too, sometimes.” Mayumi hums. “But it’s not the same. I think it’s because he did not have good relationship with his father. He makes up for it with his own children.”
I never thought of Hiroshi as someone still seeking approval or acceptance. He’s so comfortable in his own skin and confident in his art—he’s the opposite of me. Is it possible we have such a big part of us in common?
I hope when I’m Hiroshi’s age I’m not still suffering from my mother’s disinterest in me. I’m deeply afraid I’ll never be free of the hurt, or the rejection, or the indifference.
“You know . . .” Mayumi’s hazel eyes close in on mine. “We need someone to replace Akane in café.” She looks around. “Hiroshi hoped she go to college nearby and stay in studio. We were going to make bedroom.” She points to the back of the room.
We stare at each other for a while. I can’t explain how, but I know what she’s thinking. I know what she wants to suggest.
Oh my God, please ask.
“Would you consider working in café full-time? You could stay in studio as part of arrangement. We work your schedule around classes too, if you like.”
Oh my God, she asked!
My eyes are wide. I can feel them expanding out of my face. “Are you serious?” Yes. Say yes, Kiko. “Would Hiroshi mind?” Why am I giving her the opportunity to change her mind? What is wrong with me?
“I discuss with him later, but I do not see any problem with it. He sees something in you. Maybe something he wished he had seen in our daughters too, but they are not artists. Think about it, yes?”
I don’t have to. The answer is yes.
I nod like my head is about to fall off. “I will.”
She touches my shoulder and scrunches her eyes like we’re sharing good news together.
I forget to drink my tea until the room turns it cold.
• • •
I can’t concentrate on painting. I’m too busy dancing.
CHAPTER FIFTY
That’s ridiculous.” Jamie can’t believe my news. He looks almost as stunned as I feel.
“But not in a bad way, right? In a good way?” I press. I feel like I’m going to explode all over the room into a trillion tiny pieces of pure joy.
“In an amazing way,” he clarifies. “Wait. Does this mean you’re staying in California?”
The laughter erupting from my throat sounds so euphoric I don’t recognize it as mine. “I think so. I mean, I haven’t gotten accepted into Brightwood yet, but I’d have a job. And a place to sleep.” Delirium envelops my mind. I’d be independent. I’d have my own life.
In California.
With Jamie.
He can’t stop shaking his head and smiling.
“I mean, Hiroshi still might say no, so I probably shouldn’t get too excited.”
“He’s not going to say no,” Jamie interjects. “Are you kidding? I think that guy wants to adopt you.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s ridi
culous.” Not that I would have any objections to Hiroshi and Mayumi adopting me, if it weren’t such a completely ridiculous thought.
Still, working at their café and remaining a part of their lives is more than good enough. It’s a dream.
Suddenly Jamie’s arms are wrapped around me. His mouth is pressed into my hair, and I can feel the warmth of his breath. It makes my skin tingle and my stomach flutter.
“God, I’ve honestly been so bummed out thinking about you leaving.” More breathing. More tingling.
I press my hands just below his shoulder blades and squeeze him close. It feels incredible, like us hugging is the last piece of the puzzle before the picture is complete.
When he pulls his face in front of mine, his eyes dart back and forth. “Look, I know I should have told you this a while ago, but I honestly haven’t been able to find the right—”
My phone rings.
Worst. Timing. Ever.
I want to ignore it—I try to, staring back into the two luminescent blue eyes in front of me. But Jamie clamps his mouth shut and glances at my bag.
I pull away, but not because I want to. I find the brightly lit screen—it’s Hiroshi.
Sorry, I mouth to Jamie. It might be about the job. Maybe he’s calling to say his wife was wrong to offer such an over-the-top opportunity. Maybe he wants to tell me I can’t come back to finish my painting.
“Hello?” My voice trembles into the phone.
He doesn’t take it back. He tells me he thinks it’s a phenomenal idea and that he only wishes he had thought of it himself. He even suggests we could keep painting together.
I feel like I’ve somehow stepped into another dimension where only good things happen to me. How is this even possible?
All the while Jamie watches me from the edge of his bed, grinning with excitement and giddiness that I’m sure nobody else in the world could ever understand.
Only Jamie knows how much this means to me.
After the phone call, I ask Jamie what he was going to say.
He waves his hand at me like it’s not a big deal. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you some other time.”
“Are you sure?” My heart thumps. I wonder if he was going to tell me how he feels about me. Maybe he was going to say he doesn’t want to “just be friends” anymore. It would be a good idea, because I’m pretty sure I’ve changed my mind.
Who cares if Jamie could destroy me with just his fingertip? I love him. I’ve always loved him. And this is literally the best day of my life. I might as well top it off by admitting what I’m certain Jamie already knows.
I’ve had feelings for him for most of my life. I want to stay in California so I can be close to him. And I really, really want him to kiss me.
It’s hard to hide my disappointment when Jamie nods. “Yeah, I’m sure. It can wait. Right now we need to be celebrating.”
“Okay,” I say in a breathy sigh. “But first I need to call Emery.”
• • •
Brandon and Elouise make homemade macaroni and cheese for dinner. Afterward Jamie and I go to the movies. And after that we go to a party on the beach.
What is my life right now? I feel like I’m experiencing what it’s like to be someone else. It’s intoxicating.
The sand is still warm even though the sun has completely disappeared. It’s lit up by a small bonfire and the headlights of a few trucks. I don’t know anyone here, but Jamie knows plenty of them. I still feel like I’m having a panic attack every time someone new comes to talk to me, but it feels better with Jamie’s hand locked onto mine. He’s like my IV, but instead of blood he’s giving me strength.
Someone starts up a small grill with hot dogs and burgers. The smell makes my mouth water, even though I haven’t eaten meat in years.
Jamie thinks it’s hilarious. “See, you’re going against natural instinct. We were meant to eat meat.”
I scrunch my nose. “There is nothing natural about that hot dog.”
“If you were starving and somebody gave you the choice of one kind of meat to save yourself, what would you pick?” The fire flickers in his eyes like he’s magic.
“Bacon. Super crispy bacon. Like, almost burnt.”
He tilts his head back like he’s laughing at the stars.
“If someone told you every type of meat was going to be taken away from your diet except one, what would you keep?”
“Chicken, definitely. You can make so many different kinds of chicken. It would never be boring.” He shrugs. “Coconut chicken, fried chicken, chicken katsu . . .”
“God, you’re making my choice look so bad. I’m starving and I go with the meat that will probably give me a heart attack and kill me anyway.”
He points to his head. “Practicality is one of my things.”
“Mm-hmm. Of course it is.”
He taps his shoe against mine. I nudge him back with my hand on his knee.
Next to my leg, my phone rings from inside my bag.
“Aren’t you popular today,” Jamie says.
“I know. Nobody ever calls me this much. Sometimes I put fake reminders on my phone just so it will ring.”
I look at the screen—it’s Mom.
Leaving Jamie and the bonfire behind me, I venture quickly toward the darkened sand.
“Hello?”
“Why didn’t you call me back? I said to call.” Mom sounds irritated.
“Sorry, I was busy today.”
“Oh. Well, I was waiting for you to call.”
WHAT I WANT TO SAY:
“You have never waited for me to call in the history of my life. You’re only saying that because you can somehow tell I’m happy without you.”
WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY:
“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were waiting.”
She sighs. “I don’t know if you heard, but I got in a huge fight with Shoji today.”
I frown. “Where would I have heard that from?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe somebody would have told you.”
“Mom, people don’t spend their time talking about what’s going on in your life. Not everything is about you.” Oh my God, did I just say that out loud? I think I did. I’m sure I did.
She laughs. “Somebody is in a bad mood today.”
“No, actually I’m in a really good mood.” Or was. It’s rapidly changing.
“Why? What happened?” She pauses. “Did you get into art school or something?” She sounds more wary than excited.
“No. It’s not that. I’m still waiting for a reply.” I suck my breath in. Gut instinct tells me I should keep my pending job opportunity to myself. If Mom gets ahold of it, she will destroy it with her negative Mom-hammer and spray me with venom in the process.
“Well?” I can hear her waiting. Thinking. Plotting.
I know I’m an idiot before I even open my mouth. “I got a job, and a place to stay. That artist I was telling you about is going to let me stay in his studio as long as I work at their café. It means I can stay in California and work while I go to school.”
It’s remarkable how little time passes before she starts speaking again. It almost feels like she’s had a response prepared for this very scenario.
“That sounds suspicious to me. I hope you’re using your brain and not living in the clouds. This sounds like something out of your fantasy world.” She doesn’t mean it as a compliment.
I swallow. My chest tightens. “They’re really nice people. I think they care about me.”
“I don’t buy that. I think I’m going to need to talk to these people and find out what they’re after.”
My face gets hot. “You’re not talking to them. This is my life.”
“You’re still seventeen.”
“For, like, two more weeks!”
“You think you’re so grown-up now that you’re going to turn eighteen? Because you’ve been in California for a couple of weeks? Or because some guy takes photos of you? Does that make you fee
l important?”
The spinning in my brain is making me feel faint. “What are you even talking about?”
“I saw that picture in your room. Does Jamie take photos of you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I know what it feels like to have someone take nice photos of you. It feels nice for someone to think you’re pretty. But I don’t want you to feed into the attention—it could turn you into someone very self-absorbed.”
My mouth is open and my eyes are shut tight. I’m trying to concentrate on my breathing over the crashing waves near my feet, but it’s too hard. Mom didn’t use a hammer—she threw a grenade.
“How do you do this?” I ask quietly, tearfully. “How do you make everything ugly?”
“I’m just trying to get you to see things for the way they are.”
“Which is what, exactly? That Jamie is only nice to me because he’s using me? Or that people in general are only nice to me because they’re using me?”
“I don’t want you to be naive. What kind of a mother would I be if I didn’t try to teach my daughter about the world?”
I don’t respond because I’m too busy crying into the darkness, away from the fire and laughter.
She sighs into the phone. “Look, I have to go to bed. I’ve got work in the morning. I love you, okay? Let me know when you’re coming home.”
The phone clicks.
I don’t have time to wipe my tears, or control my breathing, or pull my phone away from my ear.
Jamie’s hand presses against my lower back, and he steps in front of me so I don’t have to face the crowd in the background.
“What happened?”
Shaking my head back and forth, I sputter, “It’s just my mom. It’s nothing new.”
His brow narrows with anger. “I hate that woman.”
My inhales are uneven. “What? Why?”
“Because—” He stops himself. “She doesn’t get to do this to you.”
I’m frowning. I never realized Jamie was so aware of the issues I have with my mother. Maybe he’s just paying attention, or maybe he remembers she was this way even when I was younger.
“No.” He takes my face in his hands. “I won’t let her ruin today for you. I won’t.”
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