Starfish

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

  Jamie presses his lips against mine so desperately that I don’t have time to take a breath, and I end up exhaling into his mouth. He pulls away just an inch—just enough for the air to move between us. Our breathing is so fast it sounds like we’ve been running for miles. I close my hands over his wrists, his palms still cupped under my jaw.

  He swallows. I can hear it. And he kisses me again, this time softer, but with the same hunger as before.

  With our faces pressed closely together, I can smell his skin. It’s so much like the ocean, but warmer, like it’s mixed with toasted sugar. I feel his hands drift away from my face—one finds my hand, and the other closes against my lower back. He pulls our connected fists between our hearts, and it feels like we’re dancing, even though I’m melting too fast to move.

  I don’t feel human. I feel like a red firework on the Fourth of July, shrieking into the air and flinging itself in every direction possible.

  I close my eyes and let his lips take away my thoughts.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  We stay on our own side of the beach, like we’ve drawn a line in the sand between the party and us. Nobody bothers us—we’re not the only couple kissing beneath the stars, but I’m sure we are the only ones who’ve wanted this for almost a decade.

  Jamie pulls my head against his shoulder and kisses my forehead. We’re sitting in front of the water, too far away to feel the waves but close enough that it feels like we’re all that’s left in the world.

  “I’m so happy I could cry,” he announces proudly.

  I giggle next to him, my hand attached to his leg like I’m afraid to let go. Part of me still worries this is all too good to be true.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that for.” He rests his chin on my head.

  “Actually, I think I do,” I admit. “I didn’t keep your Batman key chain because I thought you’d make a good pen pal.”

  “Just think of all the time we wasted while you were deciding if you wanted to be just friends or not.” I can feel him shaking his head above mine. “We could have been doing this weeks ago.”

  I close my eyes. “It wouldn’t have been right weeks ago.” I wasn’t ready then.

  He breaks away from our hug so he has room to kiss me again. He doesn’t stop for a long time.

  When we pull our faces apart, the beach is empty and it’s just the two of us.

  Jamie runs his finger around the sand, making figure eights and messy zigzags. He’s gone serious.

  “What is it?” I’m afraid of what he’s going to say.

  When he looks at me, his eyes are so pure and brilliant I think they’re made of glass. “What happened with your uncle?”

  I swallow. It isn’t his eyes that are made of glass. It’s my soul, and it feels like it’s been shattered to pieces so many times I don’t know how to fix it anymore.

  “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m thinking the worst. God, if it’s the worst, please tell me, because I will literally kill him.”

  I catch my breath and laugh a little. “I would never let you go to jail for me.”

  “I wouldn’t get caught. I’ve been binge watching cop shows with my dad—there are ways.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not the worst.” I think about what Mom said. “It’s probably not even that big of a deal. Maybe I just wanted my mom to care more than she did.”

  He’s quiet, waiting for me to continue.

  The sand is so warm beneath me, and the ocean and salt spray and plum-colored breeze is so calming, that I tell him the story about my uncle. I tell him everything.

  “When I was seven, I woke up to my uncle sitting at the bottom of my bed in the middle of the night. He had his hand around my ankle and—I don’t know—I guess he was massaging my leg and foot or something, I don’t really know. But the whole bed was shaking. I remember opening my eyes and seeing my stuffed rabbit next to me, and her ears were flopping up and down like someone was bouncing on the mattress. He was making these noises.” My face turns red, but I keep going. “They sounded like he was groaning. I was so embarrassed and confused; I closed my eyes and pretended I was still asleep so he wouldn’t know that I had heard him. After a while—I don’t know how long because at the time it felt like hours—he stood up, watched me for a while—I could still hear him breathing next to me—and left.”

  If a meteor crashed into the ocean and caused a tsunami, I don’t think either of us would even notice. We’re too still, too silent.

  “It happened a few times. I can’t remember how many. I always pretended to be asleep.” I meet Jamie’s eyes. “That’s all. That’s the whole story.”

  He stares back at me. I can’t tell if it’s confusion plastered all over his face or something else. He’s so quiet. And still.

  “It’s not that big of a deal, I guess,” I say automatically. I don’t know why it comes out of my mouth. I just feel an overpowering need to ease Jamie’s discomfort, whatever it is.

  “Not that big of a deal?” he repeats in alarm. “Your uncle groped your leg while you were asleep. While he . . . jerked himself off. That’s fucking terrible.”

  The word startles me. I’ve never heard Jamie swear before. I’ve never seen him look so angry either.

  I’ve also never heard what happened to me come out of someone else’s mouth. It sounds so blunt. So black-and-white.

  “And you told your mom? And she didn’t call the cops or anything?”

  I shake my head. “It took me a while to tell her. A few months, maybe. I can’t remember for sure. She didn’t really say anything at first. She kind of thought about it by herself, I guess. But afterward she told me that she thinks all boys are perverts. And after that she never talked about it again.”

  “Oh my God,” Jamie says stiffly. His jaw is clenched.

  I shrug. “I don’t know if she could have called the cops anyway. I mean, I don’t know if what he did even means anything. If it even has a name.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s sexual abuse.” He pauses. “Or something. I don’t know what you’d call it either, I guess. But it’s wrong. And you shouldn’t sugarcoat it just because your mom thinks you should.”

  I flinch. “I’m not sugarcoating it,” I say quietly. “I don’t like talking about it.”

  His face softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s messed up that it happened to you, and that your mom—” He pauses, shaking his head again. “I’m just sorry.”

  He reaches his hand out to touch my wrist, and my skin comes alive.

  I place my hand over his. “You don’t owe me an apology. But thanks for listening. It’s kind of weird saying that story out loud.”

  “You can tell me anything, you know.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  • • •

  I draw an infinity symbol in the sand. Jamie says that’s how long he wants to kiss me for.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Jamie and I kiss a lot. Like, a lot a lot. His parents catch us a few times on the balcony, but they never say anything. They pretend it’s completely normal.

  It feels completely normal.

  I was wrong before about the hugging and the puzzle pieces. This is the last puzzle piece—kissing Jamie makes my life feel whole.

  Hiroshi invites us both to dinner. He and Mayumi are throwing a going-away party for Akane before she heads off to university.

  We show up to a restaurant that is so close to the ocean that when I look out the window it feels like I’m going to fall onto the sand.

  The whole restaurant is rented out for the party, and almost every person in the room is a relative of the Matsumoto family. When Akane sees us, she gives us both a quick hug. She’s wearing a yellow sleeveless pantsuit with flowers winding up one of the legs. Around her neck is a white choker with a silver charm hanging from the middle.

  “Thanks so much for coming,” she says. “Dad’s back in the kitchen, hovering.”


  Rei falls into the empty space next to her, raising her perfect eyebrows in two arches. “Well, it’s about time.” She tilts her nose toward our hands, comfortably clasped together and not wanting to let go.

  I bite my lip to keep from smiling too wide.

  Jamie beams. “You’re telling me.”

  We laugh, and it feels so easy and euphoric and pure that I want to bounce off the walls like my entire body is made of springs.

  Mayumi is perched next to one of the windows. When she sees us, she waves her hands frantically, motioning for us to come closer.

  At the center of a small table is a wooden post at least two feet high with strings dangling from the top like a tree. Most of the strings are threaded through long rows of paper cranes, all different colors and hiding their own secret messages.

  Mayumi pulls me toward her, handing me a black pen. “You have to make wish. Origami Wishing Tree is Matsumoto tradition.”

  “What do I do?” I ask, mesmerized by the dangling birds.

  She hands Jamie a pen too, and points to the table. A mess of colorful bits of paper sits directly below the tree. “You write wish and hang from tree.” She smiles. “You hear of Japanese legend, ‘Thousand Origami Cranes’?” When we shake our heads, she continues. “It’s good luck. Fold one thousand origami cranes and wish come true. But”—she chuckles—“we never reach one thousand. Our tradition is different. Everyone gets to make wish.”

  I look at Jamie, but he’s already busy writing his wish down, covering his paper with a cupped hand and making a goofy face at me when he catches me looking.

  It doesn’t take me long to think of something to write. I wish I can be this happy for the rest of my life. When I’m finished, I press the paper to my chest, just to make sure Jamie doesn’t peek.

  Mayumi shows us how to fold them. I make a mistake and mine ends up with a slight bend in the wing. Jamie notices and bends his wing on purpose. He says it’s so ours can match.

  We string them onto the tree, our blue and orange birds, and Jamie kisses me on the side of the head.

  I feel like I’m the one made out of paper.

  We sit at the longest table in the world. There seems to be a hundred bowls of things I’ve never heard of before—katsudon and oyakodon and tempura and yaki soba—with plates of sushi and grilled fish and so much rice. Everyone seems to help themselves, piling food in their individual bowls and going back for seconds as often as they want.

  Akane sits on my left, pointing out which dishes are vegetarian friendly and which aren’t, and Jamie sits on my right, literally trying everything. Their family and friends treat us like we belong just as much as they do. They smile and tell stories and pay attention to everyone in the room. It’s welcoming, and kind, and I don’t want it to end.

  I think this is what acceptance feels like.

  At the end of the meal there’s mochi and taiyaki and kakigōri, and after that Hiroshi announces they’re going to play a game called Tora Tora Tora. Everyone finds a seat at the other side of the restaurant. A paper screen is set up, splitting the front of the room right down the middle, surrounded by a collection of round tables and chairs.

  Everyone begins taking turns going up, two at a time, each behind alternate sides of the screen, singing a song in Japanese and clapping while everyone in the audience sings along with them. At the end of the song they step forward, revealing themselves to their opponent while acting out a pose. Whoever loses takes a drink, laughing along with the rest of the people in the room.

  Rei leans in to us, raising her voice over the growing noise. “It’s like charades meets rock, paper, scissors,” she says. “It’s basically Uncle Kenji’s way of getting everyone drunk.”

  Jamie laughs. “What are they singing about?”

  “Honestly? I have no idea.” She points to the two people playing—Mayumi and one of Rei’s cousins—and nods. “All you have to know is that old lady beats samurai, samurai beats tiger, and tiger beats old lady.”

  I look up. Mayumi is crawling on the floor and scratching her fingers at the air. Rei’s cousin is pretending to hobble with a cane. When they spot each other, Mayumi raises her hands in the air and squeals in triumph.

  And then she catches my gaze.

  “Come, Kiko! You try.” She flicks her hands toward her chest, like she’s trying to coax me to safety.

  But a stage is not safety. A stage is terrifying.

  I stiffen, shaking my head quickly.

  Jamie’s breath tickles my ear. “I’ll go up with you. It could be fun.”

  Everyone is staring, still laughing from Mayumi’s win, waiting for me to make my way to the stage.

  But I don’t move. It’s too many people. Too many eyes.

  Before I have time to think, Akane grabs my hands and yanks me up, dragging me through the space between the tables and placing me at one side of the paper screen before ducking behind the other.

  Everyone starts clapping and singing before I have time to breathe.

  I feel like someone’s just set my body on fire, but I start clapping because Mayumi is urging me along in front of her, and at this point I’ll do anything just to blend in.

  I hear the song coming to an end. I hold my hands in front of me like I’m carrying the samurai spear some of the others held. And I take a step forward.

  Akane is crawling like a tiger, laughing hysterically.

  Everyone claps, and somehow I can hear them over the beating in my chest.

  Akane stands up, pointing to the alcohol. “Loser gets a drink, right?”

  Mayumi swats her hand away. “No chance.” With a wink, she adds, “I drink for you.”

  Everyone laughs even harder. They’re not paying attention to my fidgeting or my awkwardness. They’re not analyzing me the way Mom would.

  I breathe.

  When I find my seat again, Jamie is smiling. “I had a feeling you’d pick the samurai.”

  “Why is that?” I ask.

  “Because”—he shrugs—“you’re the strongest person I know.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder.

  When Hiroshi and one of his cousins take their turn, Hiroshi pretends to have a cane and his cousin holds an imaginary spear. Hiroshi acts like he’s whacking his cousin on the head, and everyone laughs.

  When Jamie goes up with Mayumi’s mother, Jamie pretends to be a tiger and she pretends to be an old lady. When she sees Jamie, she starts to pet his head and then gives him a kiss on the cheek. Everyone laughs even harder.

  Two more family members go up. One pretends to be a tiger and jumps straight through the paper screen, tackling his opponent without bothering to see what he was posing as.

  I’m laughing so hard there are tears in my eyes.

  • • •

  Later in the evening, Hiroshi asks for the room’s attention. He wants to give a speech. His eyes pool with water before he even says a word, and when Mayumi takes hold of his hand, he doesn’t let go.

  “To my daughter, Akane: You are kind, generous, and so determined. You have the strength of the ocean and the transparency of glass. You are honest. You love without stipulation. You chase your dreams, and you don’t apologize for living your life the way you want to. You are an inspiration. You aren’t afraid to stare life in the eyes and demand a break sometimes. You deserve everything good in this world. You are a third of my heart. And like Amaterasu, you shine as bright as the sun.” He clears his throat, wiping his cheeks with his fingertips. “Thank you for giving us the honor of being your parents. We love you so very much.”

  Everyone claps. Everyone except me.

  Because I’m not paying attention to the clapping, or Akane hugging her parents, or the fact that Jamie is squeezing my hand so hard I think it might crumble to ash.

  I’m too busy crying myself, thinking of how it must feel to be loved so wholly, so unconditionally.

  The tears burn my eyes and blur my vision, and by the time I manage to wipe them all away with the backs
of my hands, one of Akane’s uncles is making jokes to Hiroshi across the table and everyone but me seems to have moved on from the speech altogether.

  “I’ll be right back,” I whisper to Jamie, slipping out of my seat and finding one of the doors to the balcony.

  I take in the fresh air, hoping the breeze will help dry my tears. I don’t know why I’m so emotional. I mean, it’s a speech for Akane, not me. And I’m not family, or even a close friend, really.

  But his words—and the place they come from—speak to everything deep inside me.

  I know not every family is the same. We all have different personalities and names. Different colors in a box of crayons. Different shades in a box of graphites. And maybe love looks different to different people, the same way beauty looks different.

  But the kind of love I need isn’t the kind I have. I guess I’m still trying to find a way to be okay with that.

  “I wonder if this is going to be a habit,” Hiroshi says from behind me. “Having serious conversations on balconies while looking out at the ocean.” He holds up his hands like he’s framing a portrait around me.

  I laugh and wipe my face one more time to make sure the tears are all gone. “Sorry. I’m just being weird.”

  “No. You’re being human,” he says.

  “That was a really nice speech,” I say.

  Hiroshi looks out at the water, his hands folded behind him. He’s wearing another one of his loose-fitting tunics, this one navy blue, with black bottoms. His hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and his cheeks seem to have caught a little more sun than usual.

  “I see you, you know. The way you paint with such love. And you always stare back at the painting as if you aren’t sure you’re truly worthy”—he hesitates—“of being loved back.”

  I push my tongue against my cheek, fighting the tears that are trying so hard to give me away.

  Hiroshi places his hand on my shoulder. “You are, Kiko. And the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be to accept what you cannot change.”

  I nod too many times, because I’m too shaky to do anything else.

  He nods back, just once, and disappears back into the restaurant.