The Art of Us

by Hilaria Alexander

  She went along with my crazy plan, and what had she gotten out of being friends with someone like me?

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was the reason she was gone.

  I was the reason she never got her college diploma.

  I was the reason she would never get any of the happy endings she deserved.

  AMOS

  I was afraid Lena was going to fuck this up.

  At first, she wasn’t being herself. Her sketches were not on par with the quality of her usual stuff. They were not nearly as good as the ones we’d published as fanfiction on the website, and we had to scrap the first couple of days of work.

  I was afraid Rika-san would throw a fit and have us sent back to the US, but after a while, it became clear that, like us, she didn’t have much choice in the situation.

  I often thought about telling Lena things with Olivia had been over for months. I wondered if that would have changed anything between us.

  However, part of me was afraid of how it would impact our already strained relationship. Would it make it better or worse? Was it wise to tell her I couldn’t stop thinking about her? Should I tell her when we were in the middle of working on the most important project of our life?

  No, I decided I should probably wait a little bit, especially since we were just now starting to get somewhere with the comic. With the storyboard already written out and three of us working on it, we made good progress. Lena sketched the characters, I worked on the panels in Photoshop, and Akane applied the finishing touches and filled the balloons with text on the computer.

  It had been awkward at first, sitting around a table with Rika Ishikawa, waiting for her to give us instructions on how to handle her characters—the beloved, famous characters she’d created and lived with for the greater part of her adult life.

  After the first few days of just handing out instructions, she’d started asking Lena and me questions. She asked about Portland, what it was like to be a comic artist in the US, and what our lives were like.

  Lena tried to dodge a few questions, but I managed to learn a little more about her. She’d mentioned at the wedding that her parents didn’t have a happy marriage, but I hadn’t known she didn’t have a relationship with her mother or her father.

  I wished I could have erased the sadness in her eyes, which she promptly tried to hide when she caught me staring at her.

  Rika asked about Lena’s time in Japan, and I noticed her shoulders tense up. She straightened her spine and took a deep breath.

  “It was a great experience. Ano jikan de, hontou tanoshikatta,” she said with a slight bow, a Japanese mannerism I’d found myself adopting. Whenever I said something these days, it would always be with a slight bow. I was very happy, she’d told Rika, but there was something in her eyes that told me she was lying.

  My eyes met hers and she immediately looked away.

  Then, Rika shifted her attention to me and asked about my family, about when I decided I wanted to be an artist.

  “It was after my brother died in Afghanistan.” Rika gave me a compassionate look while Lena’s eyes shot up and met mine, clouded by a mix of surprise and confusion. “It’s true,” I said with a slight nod. “After my brother died, I started seeing things differently. I always had this idea that I was going to join the military, but I didn’t want to inflict that kind of pain on my parents again, especially on my mother. I thought my father would agree, but he hasn’t been very pleased with me ever since.”

  “I’m sorry about your brother,” Lena said in a somber tone, her eyes cautious. “How old was he?”

  I swallowed. “He was twenty. He is…was two years older than me. I was about to start my senior year of high school.”

  The mention of my brother darkened the mood, and thankfully Rika decided to switch topics. I was glad she hadn’t asked about my current personal life.

  “Why did you two start drawing Aiko together?” Her English wasn’t bad at all, but when she pronounced words with the letter R, her voice had a bit of the Japanese drawl that came out with certain consonants. She’d asked Lena the question, but when Lena didn’t answer right away, I jumped in without even thinking.

  “Lena started drawing first. I was inspired by her,” I replied without missing a beat. “I started drawing in her notebook, and I then convinced our boss to put it online,” I proudly stated. Lena narrowed her eyes at me, and Rika-san’s face was leaning toward an expression that said she was not amused.

  “Thanks, Amos,” Lena said, her face scrunched up with an expression of playful disdain.

  “You’re welcome, Lena,” I replied, mimicking her snarky tone.

  “So, we have you to thank for this,” Rika chimed in, pointing her index finger at me. Her eyes were a shade of brown similar to that of coffee beans, darker than mine and a bit smaller. She was wearing very little makeup, and her age showed more than usual. Up close, I could see all the little wrinkles around her eyes and the sides of her mouth.

  Although she seemed to spare us when we were working, we had seen her smoking in her room and outside in the garden. Smoking wasn’t good for anyone, and I doubted it was good for someone in her condition. She probably did it in hopes of easing her tremors, but I wondered if it made her feel any better.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I guess it’s all my fault.” My tone was sarcastic to say the least, and I was worried she wouldn’t get the joke, but a smile stretched across her face and then she let out a laugh.

  “Demo, shikataganai ne?” Shikataganai—if I recalled correctly, it meant, There’s nothing we can do about it. She laughed again, giving me one more look before turning to Lena and going back to work on a panel she’d been sketching for the last hour.

  Weeks went by, and as summer approached, so did the monsoons. It had been raining almost every day for the last week, and I had been told it would last for a month or so. In a way, the rain reminded me of Portland, so I didn’t mind it much, but the weather seemed to affect Rika-san’s health.

  The rainy weather seemed to make her vertigo worse, and for this reason we hadn’t been able to make much progress today. We had opened all the screens of the patio to watch the rain fall. Rika was lying down and had asked Hiroyuki to bring one of her blankets, so she could still hang out with us.

  “Hiroyuki,” she said in a low voice, “chotto engaku enshite kudasaimasenka?” I didn’t get the whole sentence, but I understood one word, engaku, and after Hiroyuki complied with her request with a lazy smile, grabbing his electric blue Gibson Les Paul, I understood she wanted him to play some music. He tuned his instrument first, and then connected it to a small speaker. The rain kept coming down steadily, creating a soothing background noise.

  As soon as Hiroyuki started strumming the guitar, Rika-san closed her eyes, her lips pressed together in a content smile.

  I knew she loved listening to him play. She’d asked him to play many times since we’d been there.

  Lena had been staring at the rain, her back pressed against the frame of the screen window we’d opened up. Hiroyuki was sitting on the opposite side, right across from her.

  Her eyes snapped open, as if she’d suddenly remembered something.

  Hiroyuki met her eyes.

  “Kono uta shitte iru no?” he asked her—Do you know this song?

  “Hai.” She nodded a yes, her face illuminated by a smile. She explained that it was a song by a band she liked a lot. She looked over in my direction and said, “I used to sing their songs all the time when we went to karaoke.”

  Hiroyuki let out an exaggerated, “Hontoni?” asking if it was true. “Rena-san, kotoba obete? Utatte kudasai,” he said, asking her to sing the song if she remembered the words.

  A faint pink colored her cheeks, and she nodded hesitantly. She wrapped her arms around her legs and began to sing.

  I’d never heard her sing, let alone heard her sing in Japanese. For some reason, we hadn’t yet gone to a karaoke place.

  Her voice was a bit hoarse, but sh
e could keep a tune. She kept her eyes closed, only opening them to exchange a look with Hiroyuki from time to time. The song was a bluesy, melancholic tune, with a few English words here and there.

  Lena seemed to remember the lyrics well enough to keep along with Hiroyuki’s playing. Her voice was full of emotion, and I wished I could understand what she was singing about. I could only make out a few words, like yume, which meant dream, ame, the Japanese word for rain, and inu, which meant dog.

  A knot formed in the pit of my stomach, and I found myself moved by the song in a way I didn’t expect. My racing heart was pulsing in my throat, and before I could get ahold of my emotions, my eyes welled with tears.

  I wasn’t sure what had gotten into me. I was taken aback by how honest she sounded, how vulnerable. I blinked my tears away and sniffled just as she stopped singing. Hiroyuki strummed his guitar for a few more seconds, a smile stretched across his face, and Lena replied with a shy nod. She looked my way for just a second, cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, and then promptly looked away.

  Questions raced through my mind as a warm ache spread through my chest.

  I wanted to ask her what the song meant for her, but I didn’t get the chance.

  LENA

  Selfishly, I had hoped our situation wouldn’t work, hoped maybe the Japanese publisher would call it off, but, deep down, I knew my hopes were in vain.

  Amos and I hadn’t really worked side by side in Portland, and still, our work blended together in a seamless way that never ceased to amaze me.

  He had specific duties in Japan. I was the only one sketching the characters, while he focused more on the background and the inking. As much as our relationship was constantly strained, working with him was incredibly easy, and he had an uncanny ability to anticipate what Rika Ishikawa would like and approve.

  I had successfully kept him away for years, but now he was right in front of me, every day, and trying to keep my instincts on mute was utter torture.

  The electricity between us was always there, ready to spark with just a word or a glance. It was wrong to want him, but I felt I was on the brink of not being able to maintain my self-imposed good behavior.

  My cold, frozen heart had been slowly thawing, opening up to him, and I didn’t know how to stop the process.

  I couldn’t go back to being indifferent. I’d never ached for someone’s touch like I ached for his. I’d never longed for anyone.

  I always took what I wanted from men and ran away, but I knew it would be different with Amos.

  I didn’t know how much longer I could go on and continue to restrain myself.

  His body, all tall and masculine, was a constant distraction. When he smiled at me, the corners of his lips curved enticingly. It looked like an innocent, friendly smile, but it made me thirsty, awakening the desire I constantly tried to suppress.

  His eyes were glued to the screen in front of him as he sat across from me.

  Eyes locked on him, I started imagining how it would feel to touch him again, to run my fingers along his skin and feel his hands all over my body.

  My throat went dry, and I swallowed as I tried to cast aside my forbidden fantasies.

  Rika-san caught me staring at him, and I darted my eyes back to the paper in front of me, ignoring her questioning, piercing brown eyes.

  In the main living area of the house that served as our workplace, there was a big kotatsu, a low Japanese-style table that occupied half of the room. We mostly worked together on that table since it was big enough for all our tools, but when our asses got tired of sitting on the tatami, the floor made of bamboo straws, we’d switch to a Western-style desk. We had two positioned side by side in the opposite corner of the room. One of them had a big Mac desktop with a 21-inch monitor, while the other one was mostly empty. It was one of those that had a working table I could lift and angle however I liked.

  It was late afternoon already, and I was getting restless. Supaa–’s executives made no mystery of the fact that they expected us to work at least ten hours per day.

  Often, by the time six rolled around, I felt empty and drained, without much energy left for anything else. On the days I did feel like going out, I would slip my shoes on and leave the house without telling anyone.

  I liked to go on long walks and roam around Tokyo’s districts as aimlessly as I had when I was younger. I hopped on the subway, headed for my favorite quarters, stopped in little cafes, and had dinner at random ramen places bustling with customers. I loved to blend in, to listen and watch people going about their day.

  The first few weeks hadn’t been easy. The memories assaulted me in a way they hadn’t in years. So many places around town reminded me of when Maggie and I were carefree twenty-year-old girls ready to discover the city.

  “Does anyone want something to drink?” Rika offered in English as she called on Akane for help, bringing me back to reality.

  I replied, “No, thank you,” in Japanese, and Amos did the same.

  The sound of his voice alone sent a shiver down my spine; my hand froze, and all of a sudden I couldn’t keep drawing. Sometimes, I still didn’t understand how I could have gone from willingly staying away from him for months to wanting him so badly, every minute of every day.

  Yes, I was past the point of denying it. I wanted him—body and soul, all of him.

  “Ne, Rena-san, koibito ga imasuka?”

  I stifled back a laugh. The old lady seemed determined to stir up trouble today; she’d just asked me if I had a boyfriend.

  Rika-san was a shit starter.

  I could feel Amos’ eyes on me, but I didn’t look his way.

  “Iie, koibito ga imasen.” I don’t have anyone. I’d never had any trouble saying that before, but for some reason, the words burned in my throat as I said them out loud.

  “Doushitano?” Why? She asked the question as if she didn’t think one could ever have a valid reason as to why they didn’t have a partner.

  “Jishin no onna desu,” I explained. I’m my own woman. It was the truth. It had been what was best for me so far. However, just as I thought about how much I loved and valued my independence, the thought of Amos and me together crossed my mind. The vision of us writing, drawing, working side by side as we were now was alluring. Sighing, I wished I could program my brain to stop thinking about him altogether. Why hadn’t science accomplished that, already?

  Rika let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement, which surprised me. I made the mistake of glancing in Amos’ direction; he was smiling at me, lips pressed together almost as if he was stifling a laugh.

  I stared at him and he held my gaze for a few seconds, and his expression turned serious.

  There was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before, a mix of intensity and defiance. We stared at each other in silence until he looked away, his lips curled in a cryptic smile.

  Rika then turned to Amos and asked him the same question.

  I winced. Amos was the reserved type, but Ishikawa seemed to be on the hunt for gossip, and I wasn’t ready to hear Amos go on and on about his koibito.

  I had no ill will toward Olivia, but I knew she wasn’t right for Amos. I also didn’t appreciate that she’d accused me of sleeping with him.

  “Koibito ga nai,” Amos replied.

  For a moment, I thought I’d heard him wrong, but the way his eyes regarded me told me I was right.

  “What?”

  I don’t have a girlfriend, he’d said.

  “How? When? I mean…what happened?” The questions kept pouring out of me before I could stop them.

  He shrugged and looked in Rika-san’s direction. “Shikata ga nakatta,” he said simply, tipping his chin up, as if to recall a joke.

  There was no other way…no other way for what?

  What had happened?

  This couldn’t be because…oh, silly girl, don’t even go there—this is not about you.

  Still, even as I tried to convince myself of that, my heart started racing in my chest,
my throat tightened, and I couldn’t stand still anymore. I couldn’t bear to be sitting across from him, making small talk.

  My heart was lodged in my throat and I felt dizzy.

  I have to get out of this room.

  Pretending to work for the next fifteen minutes, I avoided the glances of the other two people in the room. I checked the time on my phone, which read 6:25. I organized my things on the table and stood up.

  “Otsukaresamadeshita.” I bowed in the direction of Rika-san. I loved saying otsukaresamadeshita, even though it sounded like a tongue-twister.

  It was what everyone said upon leaving work at the end of a long day. It was the equivalent of a goodbye, but literally it meant, We worked really hard, it was a long day. I used to say it when I would leave my baito at night, the part-time job I had while I was there as a student.

  Now I was using it to escape an uncomfortable situation.

  I could barely breathe, my lungs running short on air. I needed to relax, stat.

  A bath—a bath was going to ease my nerves.

  “I’ll see you later,” I said to both of them then headed for the ofuro.

  The house we’d been living in was a rectangular, bigger than average Japanese-style house. It had essentially two wings that shared a common area, the living room we worked in. Rika-san and Hiroyuki occupied one side, and Amos and I had the rooms on the opposite side. At the back of the house there was a fully stocked kitchen we essentially just used for coffee, tea, and breakfast—our meals were usually delivered or picked up at nearby places by Akane or Hiroyuki. Next to the kitchen was the full-size bathroom. Amos and I shared one closer to our rooms that had been upgraded with a shower, but in the back of the house was the only one with an ofuro, the Japanese-style tub.

  Soaking in the ofuro was a great way to unwind.

  I needed that. The latest revelation about Amos’ love life had left me on edge. I didn’t like what I was feeling in the slightest. Yes, I had a crush on him, but the speed at which my heart was beating was rather alarming.