by Amanda Sun
“Yeah, but it’s a bad connection.”
“I know. Turn on the machine, hon, and we’ll talk—
kssshh— get back, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, and Diane hung up. Had she ever called me “hon” before?
I stumbled toward the fax machine and pushed the button. It beeped a few times and hummed to life. Behind me I heard Tomohiro flip over on the couch. I was half-surprised he didn’t tumble right off onto the floor.
I turned to look at him, his eyes closed and his breathing slow. He looked so peaceful lying there. It was hard to imagine the nightmares haunting him. Was it true that someday he might not wake up from the horrible dreams? Or that one day he’d lose himself and come after me? I couldn’t picture it as he lay there.
Lies. They had to be. But they scared the crap out of me.
The phone rang again. The fax machine picked up the call with a high-pitched slew of beeps, and then the machine shook as it fed the blank paper through.
I stepped forward, covering a yawn with the back of my hand. My back throbbed as I leaned over to peek at the message.
Probably some kind of school forms or something for Diane.
But I hesitated. The fax being spit out was in English.
For once, I stumbled over my f luency. As weird as it seemed, I wasn’t used to reading without concentrating to try, and the fax paper was printing upside down, so it took me a minute to read the page.
The machine spat it out and started on the next page. I picked the paper up and turned it around.
It was for me.
All the beeping and printing woke Tomohiro, and I heard the couch creak as he stretched. I spun around, the paper pressed between the pads of my fingers.
He looked around slowly, but when he saw me, he bolted upright like he’d just remembered where he was. He face flushed a deep red and his eyes were big and round.
“Ah,” he stammered. “O-ohayo.”
“Um, morning,” I said, but as awkward as I felt— did it count as sleeping together? Oh god— I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the paper.
To the attention of Diane Greene, RE: Katie
“What’s that?” Tomohiro said.
Katie, sweetie, hope you’ve received our emails and phone messages. Here are the forms.
What messages? What forms?
Please fill them out with Diane ASAP so we can book the ticket. Love you, sweetie! Can’t wait for you to come home.
Nan & Gramps
What ticket?
Tomohiro padded over. He stood so close behind me I could feel his hot breath on my neck. It sent shivers up my skin.
My fingers started to tremble.
I grabbed for the forms as they fed through the fax machine, thumbing through them, freaking out.
“Are you okay?” Tomohiro said.
Hot tears formed in my eyes and I blinked them back.
They were custody papers. Gramps was in remission.
My head buzzed, and when Tomohiro wrapped his slender fingers around my shoulders, it took all the strength I had left not to collapse to the floor.
“They want me to go home,” I said.
“Home?”
“My grandparents. They’re booking me a ticket to Canada.”
Tomohiro was silent, his grip loose. “When?” he whispered.
“As soon as they can,” I said.
He didn’t say anything, and I just stared at the papers, my hands shaking.
I didn’t get it. This was what I’d waited for.
Wasn’t it?
So why the hell did I feel like someone had stabbed me?
“That’s great,” Tomohiro said eventually, and he lifted his hands off my shoulders. I turned around to face him and he looked so sincere, except his eyes didn’t match the rest of his face.
“But—” I said.
“It’s your home,” he said, but his words sounded so hollow. “It’s not the same as New York with your mom, but it’s where you wanted to be, right? With your grandparents.”
“Well, yeah, I thought so,” I said. “But I’m not sure anymore.”
“Katie,” Tomohiro said, and the low voice he used just about knocked me over. How did he look so stunning when his hair was standing at funny angles from sleeping on an ugly couch sized for Lilliputians?
“Tomo, I’m not sure I want to go back.”
“I think it might be a good idea.”
“Traitor.”
“If the Yakuza and the Kami come after you again… And I don’t think they’re going to stop…”
“And what about you? It’s okay if they come after you?”
Tomohiro gave me a hard look, his eyes like gleaming stones. “It doesn’t matter what they do to me,” he said. “It might even be better if they—stop me. But I need to know you’re safe.”
“Oh, and so what you need is so important?” I spat, but really I was shaking at what he’d said. More like what he hadn’t quite said. “How can I know you’re safe if I’m not here to save your pretty ass?”
“Katie—”
“Don’t ‘Katie’ me!” I shouted. “You all think you know what’s best for me. It’s my life! I get to choose!” He stepped back, stunned, and the tears spilled down my face. “You want to be in control of your life. Well, I do too!”
I let the tears curve down my cheeks, not caring if I looked awful. And suddenly Tomohiro blurred toward me, and his arms wrapped around me. He held me so tightly I thought I might break, and then he let go a little and my lips found his.
He gently reached up and smoothed my hair over my shoulders, cupping my neck with his warm hands. He kissed the tears off my cheeks, until my head buzzed with the warmth of him, until I forgot about the black hole about to swallow me up.
He leaned back, shaking the bangs out of his eyes. A second later they fell in again.
“Do you really think my ass is pretty?”
“Shut up,” I said, and he grinned.
The doorbell rang, and we stood there stunned. The grin dropped from his lips, and the warmth in me turned icy cold.
“Is it—” I whispered.
Tomohiro curled his hands into fists.
The doorbell rang again.
“Stay here,” he said and padded toward the door.
“Don’t answer it!” I hissed as I followed him around the corner. The papers dropped from my hand as I grabbed the phone off the table to call 911. No, wait—crap! Why did I still not know who to call?
Tomohiro pulled the door open and peered out.
Tanaka and Yuki stared into the genkan, and their faces flooded with red as quickly as ours did. I panicked. We must have looked like crap, still in our dirt-and ink-stained clothes from yesterday, our hair totally messy, and— oh god. And our lips swollen from kissing. We stood there, all four of us looking like tomatoes.
“Tomo-kun!” Tanaka stammered.
“I-Ichirou.”
Yuki put her hand to her mouth and stared at me, the edges of a huge grin visible between her fingers. I knew exactly what she was thinking. And I had no clue how to convince her it wasn’t what it looked like.
“Um,” I said. Wow, real articulate.
“Ohayo,” Yuki said, bowing to Tomohiro. He folded his hands across his chest, trying his tough-jerk look from school, but I’d never seen his face so red.
And knowing he was thinking about that made me go lobster-red. I swear my ears felt like they were burning.
“It’s great weather today! Um, can we come in?” Yuki said, looking at me funny. She was trying to save me.
“Of course,” I said.
They shuffled into the genkan and slipped out of their shoes, while Tomohiro and I moved back to give them room.
“We tried to call, but you didn’t pick up,” Tanaka said, tugging at his shoelaces. “Yuki-chan got worried, so we came to check on you.”
“Because you’re supposed to be staying at my house while your aunt is away,” she said. “But of course, I see you’re fine.�
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“Um, I wasn’t— I, um, we were practicing kendo at school yesterday and he came over afterward. We were so tired we just—”
Yuki started waving her hands madly. “Oh, I know, I know,” she said, which meant she totally didn’t believe a word I was saying. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Maybe we should go,” said Tanaka.
“It’s fine,” said Tomohiro. “Come in. Did you have breakfast yet?”
They exchanged glances.
“What?”
“It’s almost noon,” Tanaka said. Yuki looked like she was going to burst. She kept stifling her nervous giggles.
“Well, lunch, then.” Tomohiro grinned. Somehow the color had returned to his face and he looked filled with confidence.
I really hated him.
Tomohiro pawed through the fridge and pried out various bowls and bottles. He lifted a pot onto the stove top and started mixing dashi powder into a stock.
Yuki grabbed my elbow and yanked me into the hallway.
“I can’t believe it!” she squealed in a whispered voice. “You and Yuu last night!”
“It’s not like that.”
“What’s he like?” she said. “I bet his tough thing is a facade. He’s got a gentle touch, right?”
“Yuki!”
“Okay, okay.” She giggled. “But he cooks? I never expected our kendo champ to cook. Next thing you’ll be telling me Ishikawa does creative dance.”
I listened to her babble while Tanaka chatted with Tomohiro in the kitchen. The smell of bonito fish and miso wafted from the kitchen, Yuki’s excited Japanese curling off her tongue.
Why were all these things so familiar to me now?
Did I really want to leave all this behind?
Chapter 18
After lunch, Yuki squeezed my hand and told me she and Tanaka were going for karaoke. For a minute I swore Tanaka was blushing, but the next minute he looked normal.
“I can’t,” Tomohiro said. “I have to visit a friend in the hospital.”
“I’m going, too,” I said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
We waved to Tanaka and Yuki in the lobby of the mansion and walked to Shizuoka Station, where we hopped on a yellow-and-green bus bound for Kenritsu Hospital.
Ishikawa was on the second floor, in a room with white walls, a white floor and white sheets. Everything was white, which made his bleached hair fit right in. The only splash of color was the purple ring around his eye, the bruises all over his face and arms.
His shoulder was plastered with wrapped bandages and his arm hung in a funny way around the bulky cloth.
He’d been staring out the window when we came in, but at the sound of our footsteps, he turned his head.
“Oi,” he said quietly. He looked so defeated, like all the strength and fight had been punched out of him.
Tomohiro held out the flowers he’d bought in the lobby; white, like the room.
“Oh. Sankyu, ” said Ishikawa, an English thank you that had been absorbed into Japanese culture. Kind of like I had.
Tomohiro set them down on a tray near Ishikawa’s bed and unwrapped them from the crinkly cellophane.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like shit,” Ishikawa said.
“Just as well,” Tomohiro said, reaching for an empty vase behind the hospital bed. “I would’ve beaten the crap out of you anyway.”
“Ha,” Ishikawa said, but the laugh spluttered out and turned into a rattling cough.
Tomohiro passed me the vase and I looked for a sink in the room where I could fill it up. I found one and walked over, while Tomohiro put his hand on Ishikawa’s shoulder as he coughed.
I felt oddly betrayed and jealous. Shouldn’t he be pissed off for the danger Ishikawa had put us in? Why were we even here?
I watched the water rise up the stalks.
But Ishikawa had taken the hit when it mattered. He’d changed his mind and tried to save us. And if he hadn’t jumped in front of that bullet— The water overflowed the vase and I twisted the tap shut.
Ishikawa had stopped coughing, and as I put the vase down by the window, he didn’t meet my eyes.
“Guess you’ll win the prefecture tournament, Yuuto,” he said after a minute.
I’m sorry, was I the only one who’d experienced the past two days?
But Tomohiro acted like this whole conversation was perfectly normal.
“I would’ve won anyway,” he smirked.
“Just look out for Takahashi,” said Ishikawa.
Tomohiro shrugged. “I don’t think he’s a problem, either.”
“Huh?”
“Broken wrist.”
Ishikawa grinned. “Busy night, huh?”
“Guess so.”
Silence, then. The hospital room was stuffy and the air was stale. I could feel the sweat filming on my skin. I wished I could run out of the room.
Just when I couldn’t stand it anymore, Tomohiro said,
“Well, I guess…”
“Yuuto,” Ishikawa said. He took a heavy, rattling breath and I thought he might start coughing again. “I didn’t— I mean, I—”
Tomohiro looked down. “Power is an ugly thing,” he said.
“Run from it while you can.” He strode toward the door and I followed behind him. I watched him reach for the door handle to slide it closed, stared at the wristband slipped over the crisscrossing of old scars, and then I knew what he meant.
They were different types of power, but Ishikawa and Tomo hiro were both trapped. And despite how much I wanted to punch Ishikawa in the gut, I started to understand why the two could be best friends, even after all this.
They were both afraid and alone, in over their heads with no way out.
And now I was going to abandon Tomohiro, too.
When Diane arrived home with her roller suitcase in tow, I was slouched on the couch flipping through Japanese game shows. I stumbled to my feet and met her in the genkan, while she bent her leg to pull off her blue pumps.
“Tadaima,” she said, surprise in her eyes. I probably looked like a raving lunatic, and it was time for the raving part.
“We need to talk,” I said.
She hesitated. “Did you read the fax?”
I nodded. Then the tears I’d been holding back started to sneak down my cheeks. I brushed them away, but Diane lunged forward and wrapped her arms around me.
And somehow her embrace felt a lot like Mom’s.
“Oh, hon,” she said, squeezing me into her navy blouse and the smells of fresh makeup. She let go then, her hands on my arms as she studied me. “But it’s good news, right?
Gramps in remission.”
“Yeah,” I said. Every inch of my body felt numb, like I was hearing her through a tunnel.
“Nan told me they cleaned out the attic for you. They’re fixing it up really nicely. They want to know when you want to book the ticket.”
“The thing is,” I said, feeling ready to explode, “I’m not sure I want to go.”
Diane hesitated, her eyes growing big and wide. Then she shook her head.
“Let me get some tea,” she said, “and we’ll talk.”
“Okay.”
She went into the bathroom first, so I poured what was left of the black-bean tea into two glasses. When she came out, I was already sitting on the couch, so she grabbed her cup and sat down on the zabuton cushion across from me.
“What’s changed?” she said, and the directness of the question hit me. I felt like guilt was oozing out of every pore in my body. I should say that I liked living with her, that I liked her curry rice and her nutty game shows. And partially it was true. I liked my life here, even if reading signs was still a bit like deciphering hieroglyphs. I liked my friends—hell, even the kendo I enjoyed. But above all that, the events of the past few days throbbed through my mind.
What’s changed?
Tomohiro. Period. That’s it.
&nb
sp; And how stupid would that be, to throw away my life for a guy? Even if he was a gorgeous kendo star, even if his drawings were so beautiful they sent butterflies knocking around my stomach. Even if he loved me.
My whole life was ahead of me: university, career, everything. And if I stayed here, I might be choosing death. And how the hell was I supposed to tell Diane that?
And that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. I had ink inside me somehow. I was connected to the Kami. If I left now, I would never really know who I was or what I was capable of. I’d never know how far my own power might reach or why there was ink lost in my veins.
“Katie?” Diane said, and I looked at her, how her shoulders hunched over the way Mom’s always did when she worried about me. She was waiting for an answer, but I didn’t know how to give one.
What’s changed?
“I have,” I said. My mouth felt dry, but I tried to swallow anyway. “I’ve changed.”
“You don’t want to move back?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s so complicated.”
“Well, let’s work it out.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I mean, I can’t just make a pros-and-cons list of my life,”
I said. “How am I supposed to know what’s the right thing to do, where I should go? Sure, Nan and Gramps will be happy if I move back, but what about my life here? We’re halfway through the Japanese semester. They don’t start the school year in September like they do in Canada. If I move back, how is that going to work? And—” And I like living with you. But I wasn’t about to admit it after all the whining I’d done about moving back. How could I have known how well Diane and I would fit together as a family?
“I’m sure the schedule can be worked out, so that’s not an issue,” said Diane. “Knowing where we’re headed in life isn’t easy for anyone. No one really knows what’s going to happen.
We just sort of keep moving forward because we have to.”
“I think it’s deeper than that,” I said.
“Deeper?”
I looked at Diane, wondering if she understood what I was saying. Give it four or five months, she’d said. “It’s been four or five months.” I belong here.
It took her a minute to get it, but when she did, the smile curled along her lips.
