From Little Tokyo, With Love

by Sarah Kuhn

  “No, Rory-chan, you are correct,” Auntie Och says, nodding vigorously. “He does fucking suck.”

  “He’s no match for our Rika,” Belle says, beaming at me.

  “Still fighting as hard as the day she was born,” Auntie Suzy says, her eyes lit with pride.

  “Mmm, what a rude boy,” the mochi-demo Auntie murmurs. “I’ve been wanting to tell him off for years.”

  I smile at all of them, my nure-onna hissing contentedly. I feel so powerful.

  I slayed some kind of fairy-tale villain. And as I look around the room, I realize: I didn’t do it alone. They all stood with me. They fought with me.

  They wouldn’t let me throw myself away.

  “It shouldn’t have taken years to condemn such hateful attitudes!” Auntie Och exclaims, slamming a hand on one of the tables. “This nonsense we put up with for so long—all the secrets, all the shame in our community, all this making people feel like they don’t belong—it need to end now.” She crosses her arms over her chest, her regal white-streaked mane twitching indignantly. “We shouldn’t have lost Grace the way we did. Suzy always used to want us to stay hidden, make sure we don’t rock that boat. But sometimes the boat—it need to be rocked!”

  “Wait . . .” I murmur, realization flashing through me. I’m remembering the day of the parade, how Auntie Och agreed way too easily to my scheme. “You put me in that yukata—in my mother’s old yukata—on purpose!”

  “Hai,” she says, grinning proudly. “I knew Suzy was trying to keep you away from Grace—she wanted you working that restaurant shift because she was afraid your mother would see you.”

  I shake my head, trying to process. “You both knew she was grand marshal. You thought she might recognize me . . .”

  “Why this such a surprise?” Auntie Och says, giving me a look. “Listen, Rika-chan, when I put you in that yukata, I didn’t necessarily guess there would be all this chaos. But . . .” Her gaze turns sly, and now I can really see the hell-raiser she used to be. “I also don’t think chaos is bad. Like I said, communities need to change and grow along with the people in them, ne?”

  “Yes,” Auntie Suzy says. “And our community needs to be way, way better about condemning attitudes like Craig’s and Uncle Taki’s.”

  “That’s right,” Uncle Hikaru says, nodding at Auntie Och and Auntie Suzy. “When I think of how we all treated Grace back then, I am ashamed. She was a child, and she was ours. She deserved better.”

  “We need to strike back against those who try to cast people out,” the mochi-demo Auntie says. “I can see now how this damages all of us in so many ways.”

  “It tears the very fabric of the community,” Sensei Mary says. She beams at me. “I’ve always said that.”

  My heart swells as I look at each person in the room in turn. Sensei Mary, who always let me take lessons at the dojo, even when I started shit with other kids and my family was short on money. Uncle Hikaru, who never batted an eye when I sat in the back of his mochi shop for hours, reading my monster stories. My family, who has always loved me unconditionally—even when they couldn’t express it exactly right.

  I do belong here, and I do belong to them. I always have.

  But my heart was shut up too tight to ever see it. And the more I was hurt by someone’s words . . . the more I was convinced that I was a mistake . . . the more closed-off I became.

  “We need to try harder,” I say. “All of us.” I meet Belle’s eyes and smile at her, remembering her telling me that she also feels out of place sometimes—and how hard it was for me to believe that. “We all have to come together and rock the boat—so no matter how out of place people feel, they’ll never have to question whether they belong here or not.”

  Auntie Suzy pulls me into another tight hug—like she’s afraid I’ll disappear all over again.

  “We need to let Grace—my mother—know she’s welcome at the gala tonight,” I say. “And in Little Tokyo, period. We need to let her know that she’s part of this.” I gesture around the room. “That she always has been. And that we won’t let her go again.”

  “I agree,” Uncle Hikaru says.

  “Let’s welcome her home with open arms,” the mochi-demo Auntie says, jabbing a finger in the air.

  “But how we find her?” Auntie Och says, frowning. “She’s in hiding.”

  “Maybe I can help with that,” Joanna says, waving her phone around. In all the chaos with Craig, I’d forgotten she was here—but I feel a little jolt of pride realizing that she saw me finally channel all that anger. I meet her eyes and give her a small smile—and she beams back at me in a way that says she totally understands.

  “I have a pretty big social media following,” she continues. “And hey, Rika, you do, too, now!” She gestures to her screen.

  “The Secret Love Child business must have gotten me so many more followers,” I mutter, not sure how I feel about that.

  “So we can blast it out there,” Joanna says, tapping on her screen. “But we’re gonna need everyone’s help—you all have to boost these posts, make sure as many people as possible see them. So we know Grace will see them, too.”

  The room explodes with activity, everyone grabbing their phones and getting to work. I see Belle trying to teach Uncle Hikaru how Twitter works.

  I hug Auntie Suzy one more time and slump into a chair, all the layers of my dress crumpling under me. I still can’t even process everything that’s happened today. Or even in the last hour.

  I pull out my phone and make my post, urging Grace to come to the gala. I keep it short and simple: Dear Mom, please come home. We’re all waiting for you. I add the time and location of the gala, just in case she’s forgotten. Then I stare at the screen for a few minutes, as if this will make her magically appear.

  As everyone buzzes around me, I feel that door to my heart crack open once more, the tiniest bit of light spilling out.

  I do belong here.

  I still can’t get over that.

  I scan the room and catch Joanna’s eye again. She smiles at me, then goes back to her phone, brow furrowing with concentration.

  I remember her telling me I don’t believe in happy endings because I don’t think I deserve one.

  That’s only part of the truth, though. The other part is that I’ve always been scared to hope for one because I secretly knew it meant putting my whole heart at risk. It was so much easier to be . . . well, what I thought was the nure-onna. The nure-onna before she claimed her power, lashing out and wishing for revenge.

  But now I’m starting to see that princesses and nure-onnas can be what you make of them. What you really feel inside—not just what you think you’re supposed to feel.

  And I feel like I’m ready to open my heart.

  There’s one more person I need to open it to. The only person who knew what was really there, buried deep inside.

  I take my phone out again and tap Henry’s name in my contacts. My index finger hovers over the text window, trying to find the words.

  But they won’t come. When I think of Henry, all that comes to mind are the horrible things I said to him right before abandoning him at the beach. He scared me so much . . . because he truly saw me. And he was relentless in trying to see me. He wouldn’t allow my usual armor to deflect him, refused to be cowed by my lashing out.

  No matter what, he wouldn’t let me scare him away. He loved me, even though I make it so hard for people to love me. He loved me because of all the things I’ve always thought of as flaws. Not in spite of them.

  And I . . .

  “Are you trying to find Henry?”

  Suddenly Rory appears right behind me, peering over my shoulder. I yelp and nearly drop my phone.

  “I . . . yes,” I say. “But it doesn’t matter. I was awful to him. I pushed him away so hard, I—”

  “He’s at the beach
,” Rory interrupts.

  I shake my head at her. “What?”

  “We became friends,” Rory says, rolling her eyes at me. “That day he worked at Katsu That. We text each other ‘proof of life’ pictures sometimes. That’s our thing.” She grins to herself. “So I texted him this morning after the whole scandal broke and insisted he send me proof-of-life photos every hour to make sure he was safe.” She holds up her phone so I can see the screen. “See? He’s down by the Santa Monica Pier.”

  I take the phone and scrutinize the screen. The photo is of the ocean, framed by sky and sand. The lights of the carnival reflect off the water, a kaleidoscope of bright colors. His face isn’t in the picture, but he’s jutting a hand into frame, as if waving to Rory.

  Every feeling I’ve ever had courses through me, overwhelming all my senses—I’m at the top of the roller coaster again, right before the drop. And I know what I have to do.

  “Hey, Auntie Och,” I say, waving the phone at her. “Can I borrow the car—or can you drive me to the beach?”

  “What’s this?” she says, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I thought we all going to the gala . . . ?”

  “We are,” I say hastily. “But I need to . . . I really want to . . .”

  “Rika’s in love with Henry Chen!!!” Rory bellows. “And she has to go to him!”

  Everyone falls silent, all eyes turning in my direction.

  “Oh,” Auntie Och says. “Why you not just say so? I take you. I love young love!”

  “I have to go, too!” Rory proclaims, grabbing my hand. “It’s because of me that she even knows where he is!”

  “And I am definitely not missing any opportunity to see Rika get in touch with her mushy side,” Belle says, sidling up to me.

  “Well, if everyone’s going . . .” Auntie Suzy grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Then I suppose I should as well.”

  I know there’s no arguing with them, so I throw up my hands in surrender. “Let’s go, Rakuyamas.”

  Auntie Och orders Uncle Hikaru to keep an eye on the restaurant, and Joanna promises to keep the Get Grace to the Gala campaign going strong. And then all the Rakuyamas pile into Auntie Och’s Mustang—Auntie Och driving, Auntie Suzy in the passenger seat, and me and my sisters crammed in the back. Belle insists on bringing Nak, and I notice that Rory is now wearing my nure-onna shirt—which still looks better on her. My big princess dress squishes all around us, enveloping us in a cloud of sparkles.

  “Look at you,” Belle says, stroking my dress admiringly. “You’re finally Team Princess.”

  “I’d say Team My Own Kind of Princess,” I retort.

  “We’re all our own kind of princess, Rika-chan,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “It just took you forever to figure out yours.”

  I open my mouth to argue—and then I just smile at her. Because, hey, she’s right. She clasps my hand, and then we face forward. Nak faces forward with us, determined.

  My gaze lands on Auntie Suzy reaching over the gearshift to take Auntie Och’s hand. Auntie Och turns and smiles at her—and suddenly I can see them so clearly. The them of twenty years ago, when they fell in love. Soft and sweet and knowing that they can fight through anything, because they’ll fight through it together. It’s as if a glow surrounds them, creating something magical and precious.

  “Hey, Suzy,” Auntie Och says very quietly—like they’re the only two people in the car. “We do all right, ne? Create successful business, raise three beautiful daughters, maybe just start a revolution in our staid old community. I know it’s been hard, but we’re living our own happily ever after.”

  Auntie Suzy squeezes her hand, her smile turning brilliant. “We are,” she says fervently. “And our story isn’t over yet.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Auntie Och drives like a bat out of hell, honking and yelling at people and taking sketchy side-street shortcuts to route us around traffic. Belle keeps throwing out the “mom arm” to keep Rory and me from jouncing forward every time Auntie Och makes another screechy hairpin turn. Nak somehow manages to pass out, snoring in Belle’s lap. We arrive at the Santa Monica Pier in almost no time, which is quite a feat.

  Auntie Och forgoes the more civilized official parking lot, angling her Mustang right up to the edge of the sand. I’m pretty sure parking here is illegal, but my heart is beating way too fast to even think about that.

  “You ready, Rika-chan?” Auntie Och says, whipping around to face me. “You want us to come with you?”

  “God, Ma Och, no,” Belle says, shaking her head vehemently. “The whole family does not need to be part of this big romantic gesture.”

  “I’d say the whole family already is part of this big romantic gesture,” Auntie Suzy counters.

  “There he is!” Rory yells, gesturing wildly at a lone figure whose back is to us, looking out at the water.

  “How can you tell that’s him?” Belle protests, clutching Nak to her chest. “It could be any random dude checking out the ocean!”

  “It’s him,” I murmur, my gaze locking on the figure. I can’t even explain how I know. It has something to do with the way he’s standing—that inherent dancer’s grace.

  “Wait, is he leaving?” Auntie Suzy says, frowning as the figure starts to lope away from the ocean.

  “Oh no!” Rory exclaims. And before I can stop her, she’s rolling down the window and sticking her little head out. “Henry!!!” she bellows. “Don’t go!”

  “Oh my god,” I mutter, sinking lower in my seat. This is really not how I imagined my fairy-tale ending.

  Then again, if this week has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes your fairy-tale ending is not at all what you thought it would be.

  The figure stops and looks around, trying to discern where the voice is coming from.

  “Go, Rika-chan,” Auntie Suzy murmurs. She smiles at me, her eyes lit with that hope I haven’t seen in . . . well, maybe ever.

  Rory opens the car door and jumps out, making a sweeping gesture toward the beach. I eject myself from the car, gathering my big skirts around me.

  And I run. I run toward him, this lone figure on the beach who’s starting to walk away from me.

  “Henry!” I call out. “Please! Wait!”

  He stops and turns—and his eyes nearly bug out of his head. If I wasn’t feeling so desperate, burning up with this desire to get to him, I might laugh. I picture how I must look to him, a girl in a giant sparkly princess dress who’s a complete mess from the neck up. Well, and the ankles down, considering my sneakers. And actually, my princess dress is kind of ripped and dirty, so I’m a mess all over.

  I look wild. I look terrified . . . angry . . .

  Passionate.

  I look like the monster princess that I am. I have never felt more like myself, and I have never loved it so much.

  “Run, Rika-chan!” I hear Belle cry out in the distance.

  When I finally reach him, I’m out of breath. Running through the sand in a cumbersome ball gown is much harder than it looks.

  “Henry,” I gasp out.

  “Rika?” he says, looking utterly confused.

  We take each other in as I catch my breath. His dark eyes look so sad. His posture is droopy. Even his perfect movie star hair appears to be slouching a little. I want nothing more than to gather him close and never let go. But first, I have to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “About leaving you here this morning. And about the things I said to you. I just . . . I freaked out. I’ve been so scared and defensive and closed-off my entire life. I made it hard to love me because I didn’t believe anyone ever would. I put up so many walls to protect myself—even though doing that made me hurt even more. And . . .” My voice catches and I swallow my tears, determined to keep going. “You’re the only one who saw through it. Like, immediately. You wouldn’t let me put up
those walls. You just kept being so . . . so . . .” I blink hard, unable to find all the right words. “You’re so good, Henry. You really see people. You saw me in a way I don’t think I’ve ever been seen before. That made me so uncomfortable at first, but now . . .” I shake my head, and a tear slips down my cheek. “I feel safe with you. Like I’m home. Like I belong. I love your dorky snorty laugh. I love the way you see beauty everywhere. I love that you’ve always believed in my happy ending, even when I haven’t.”

  I take a step toward him and put my hand on his chest. It’s the opening move for our judo throw. I’m just waiting to see if he’ll catch me gently or throw me away.

  “I love . . . you.”

  He stares at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. His gaze goes to my hand on his chest. I can feel his heartbeat through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. Even if he does throw me away, I’m not sorry I’m opening my heart so fully. I wouldn’t trade this last week with him for anything.

  Slowly, he raises his head and meets my eyes again. I still can’t tell what he’s thinking. Like, at all.

  Then . . . he raises a hand and very gently tucks that unruly lock of bright red hair behind my ear.

  “Rika,” he murmurs—in that way that makes me melt. “Weren’t you listening this morning? Of course I love you, too.”

  “Oh . . .” I breathe. It comes out as a sob. “I—I did hear you. I was just so angry—”

  He catches my mouth with a kiss.

  I sink into it, tears flowing down my cheeks as he pulls me close. In the distance, I can hear my family cheering.

  When we finally pull apart, he touches his forehead to mine, his hands cupping my face. Holding me like I’m precious.

  “Angry,” he breathes out, a smile in his voice. “Passionate. And all the fierce, tender parts underneath. I do see you. The whole you. And I love everything I see.”