I Love You So Mochi

by Sarah Kuhn

Not at all.

  Oh, crap.

  Am I actually stuck? Did I, like, visualize this into being? And are all these people with their cameras cued up going to take a photo of me permanently stuck inside Buddha’s nostril? I picture my hapless picture going viral, my mother covering her face in embarrassment. My heartbeat speeds up again and my palms get all slippery, sliding along the base of the pillar.

  “Kimi.” Akira crouches down, his brow furrowing. “Don’t panic, okay? There’s a bit of a tricky spot right there in the middle, but just be patient and twist your hips a little.”

  I take a deep breath. Meet his eyes. He looks so earnest, so concerned. That deep intensity is there again and even though I’m currently stuck in the most ridiculous position possible, I feel a rush of warmth. He’s taking this so seriously, he believes so much that I can do this. He’s not rushing forward, all manly-like, to pull me through with his brute strength. And he’s not laughing at me for looking like a total dork. He just wants to help me complete my mission, this thing I suddenly had to do.

  “You are a badass,” Akira says, still earnest. Then his face softens into a little half smile. “You know, an ass that is bad.”

  I find myself smiling back.

  I take a deep breath, twist my hips a little, and start wriggling again.

  That’s right, I tell myself firmly. I am an ass that is bad, dammit! Battle Kimi, rawr! Look at me go!

  I wriggle with all my might and suddenly I feel the bottom half of my body slide through and my palms plant on the floor and I’m gasping for breath like I’ve been underwater.

  “You did it!” I feel Akira’s hand on my shoulder, giving me a triumphant pat. He holds out his hand and I take it and he pulls me to my feet. I finally look up and meet his eyes and he’s grinning at me like I’ve just run a marathon or won an Oscar or some equally impressive feat of excellence.

  A slow smile spreads over my face and I realize that … yeah, I did it! I pushed myself through Buddha’s nostril. Next-life enlightenment will be mine, dammit! Yatta! Exhilaration blooms in my chest and giddiness fizzes through my veins and then I realize that Akira is still holding my hand. The warmth of his palm pressed against mine makes me even more giddy—he’s holding tight, like he doesn’t ever want to let me go.

  We’re standing so close to each other and it’s another one of those moments where it feels like the rest of the room melts away and there’s that crackle between us. Those dark eyes are searching mine with the same intensity he seems to give everything. My heartbeat is so loud, it seems like it’s thundering through my ears, and all I want to do is close those last teeny, tiny centimeters of space between us and—

  Kiss! Him! Kiss! Him! Atsuko and Bex chant in my head.

  But … no. This isn’t the perfect moment. I’m all sweaty and gross and … and maybe I’m imagining the way he’s looking at me! Maybe he’s just checking me over to make sure I didn’t hurt myself or something. Maybe I’m being totally KY—totally unable to read the freakin’ air. And anyway …

  Are you worried about your first kiss? Atsuko’s voice says in my head.

  Argh. I mean, I said I wasn’t. But now that it’s actually within the realm of possibility, now that it’s literally staring me in the face … what if it’s bad? What if I, Totally Inexperienced Kisser, am bad at it? What if it’s so terrible, it ruins everything?

  “Kimi?” Akira says softly. He’s still looking at me in that way that … I don’t know if it’s friendly concern or something more. I drop his hand and take a step back.

  “Sorry,” I say. “That was … Wow. Thank you for helping me accomplish that feat.” I gesture to the pillar, where a new school tour group is pushing themselves through one by one, cheering each other on.

  “Of course,” he says. He tilts his head at me, his expression puzzled—or maybe I’m imagining that, too?

  Ugh. I just don’t know anymore.

  “I think that could definitely be a clue in my whole self-discovery mystery thing,” I say.

  “Oh, really?” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I mean, it’s like I broke through that barrier so now I know I can break through other barriers. In my mind. Or something.” Great, now I’m babbling. Filling up those formerly good silences with not-so-good chatter.

  “That sounds like a good first step,” Akira says. “Ano … this might seem out of nowhere, but are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” I say automatically—and then I realize it’s true. Squeezing yourself through a minuscule, sacred nostril-space definitely works up an appetite.

  “Excellent,” Akira says, his puzzled look melting into a half smile. “I know just the place.”

  “McDonald’s? Really?” I put my hands on my hips and give Akira a look. “I thought you were taking me somewhere more … more …”

  “What?” he says, feigning innocence. “You were expecting a place that is more …” He affects a bouncy, Valley girl–like accent, stretching out his vowels. “… like, totally authentic Japanese?”

  “Is that supposed to be a California girl voice?” I say, my explosive giggle tumbling out. “I do not sound like that.”

  We took a long, meandering walk to get to this McD’s, wandering through gorgeous green nature-scapes peppered with those adorable deer. A few of them tried to follow us, hoping we’d stop and feed them. But Akira marched on, determined to get to … an American fast food place? An American fast food place that, make no mistake, I enjoy greatly, but that I can also have whenever I want. Okay, okay: I’ll admit maybe I had been expecting something more, like, totally authentic Japanese.

  “We need french fry fuel before we go feed the deer,” Akira says, opening the door for me. “And anyway, I believe our McDonald’s has a few offerings that yours does not.”

  We step inside, and it looks like … well, a McDonald’s. Bright lights and primary colors and the good ol’ golden arches. But as I glance up at the menu, I realize Akira wasn’t joking: alongside the Big Macs and Filet-O-Fishes, there are several unfamiliar items: a “Teriyaki Mac” burger, a fried chicken patty you shake up in a bag with spices, and something called an Ebi Filet-O.

  “Shrimp burger,” Akira explains when I point it out. “Shrimp smashed together into a patty and fried in panko. Highly recommended.”

  “You had me at panko,” I say, holding up a hand. “I love panko maybe more than anything in the world. I haven’t even tasted this yet and I’m all ready to start a petition to make the Ebi Filet-O a thing at McD’s in the States.”

  “It is most definitely petition-worthy,” Akira says, nodding solemnly.

  We order a Big Mac for him, an Ebi Filet-O for me, sodas, and two large fries.

  “Let me,” Akira says, waving me aside when I pull out my money. “I am taking full responsibility for your first authentic Japanese McDonald’s experience.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I say. Then I lengthen my vowels and give him my own version of the California girl drawl. “I, like, so totally appreciate that.”

  He laughs. “Mine was better. More authentic California accent, ne?”

  We get our food and sit at one of the plasticky tables, the scents of grease and salt mingling in the air surrounding us. I have to admit, there’s something comforting about this heavy, greasy aura—it sinks into my bones and soothes me, reminding me of home and getting fries after school with Atsuko.

  “Ah, smiling before you have even taken a bite,” Akira says. “Already, my McDonald’s is winning.”

  “Who said anything about a competition?” I say, arching an eyebrow as I pick up my shrimp filet and take a bite. “Holy crap.”

  The flavor explosion of the Ebi Filet-O cannot be overstated. Tender shrimp, crispy panko, and some kind of sauce on top that is sort-of-but-not-quite Big Mac sauce. Wow. It’s rich and comforting and I can totally see Dad doing a killer version of this at his restaurant. I’ll have to tell him about it.

  “This. Is. So. Good!” I exclaim, pointing emph
atically at my sandwich with every syllable.

  “Ah, you see, Kimi from America?” Akira gives me a smug look and pops a fry in his mouth. “You were prepared to be disappointed by my lunch selection, but I have … what is the expression?” He puts his elbows on the table and leans forward, affecting an ultra-serious look. “Blown your brain.”

  “Blown my mind,” I correct, laughing. “But you know what, my brain is pretty blown, too.”

  He grins and sits back in his seat, popping more fries in his mouth.

  “You get so excited about things,” he says.

  “What, like food?” I say, taking another delectable bite of panko and shrimp. “Yeah, I love food. A lot of people love food.”

  “But you are always exclaiming over it,” he says with a chuckle. “You seem to … how do you say it? Like, enjoy in an especially excited way. You … you relish it.”

  I shrug. “There’s so much awesome food in the world. Why not relish it?”

  “Not just food,” he says. “You get excited about other things, too. The beauty of the temple earlier, or the girls in yukata at the bamboo grove the other day. Or when you were talking about where you’d wear that dress you drew—the imaginary party for your friend Atsuko with all the fantastical decorations. You got that same look as you were describing it, like you were relishing just thinking about such a party and such a dress.”

  “Is that weird?” I say, cocking an eyebrow.

  “No.” He smiles at me. “I like it.”

  I flush and look down at my food. Once again, I’m confused. Does he mean, I like it and I like you, weird, overenthusiastic American girl or I like it as an element of someone I want to be friends with, full stop?

  Totally KY, Atsuko says in my head.

  “You get excited about things, too,” I say, polishing off my filet. “Creepy medical texts, American detective shows, Buddha’s guts. And surely you have some outrageous fantasy you like to indulge in, much like my whole party thing.”

  “Ah, un, un,” he says, his smile widening. “Sometimes I imagine I am already a successful doctor, spending my days cracking the medical mysteries of my patients and doing important research. I am making enough money to get my family all the things they have always wanted. I buy Ojisan a permanent mochi stand where he never has to worry about rent ever again. He can concentrate fully on perfecting all of his recipes.”

  “Is rent at the market expensive?” I say.

  “It keeps going up,” Akira says. “So far, Ojisan’s profits have been enough to keep him going, but the margin gets smaller every year. Luckily he has the best employee in all of Japan to help him out.” He grins and points to himself.

  “Or the only employee in all of Japan who’s willing to dress up in a mochi costume and dance around like a dork,” I say, grinning back at him. “But you know, Akira: There’s a big difference between your fantasy and mine.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Yours could actually come true,” I say, making a face at him. “You’re going to be a doctor. And you’re so excited about it. That’s awesome.” I toy with my ketchup-stained napkin, tearing it into tiny little pieces. “My fantasy, meanwhile, is destined to remain pretty firmly in fantasyland.”

  “You could not make dresses for you and all of your friends for a party?” he says, his brow crinkling. “Or do you think such a party could not take place?”

  “No, I have no doubt Atsuko will someday have tons of parties dedicated to celebrating her genius,” I say, smiling slightly. “I guess I just assume that by then, we’ll be actual adults and I won’t have time to fool around with clothes anymore. Because I’ll be doing … whatever I’m supposed to be doing with my life. Before all this, I thought I’d be painting. Becoming the great Asian American artist my mother was so convinced I’d become. But now … now, I don’t know.”

  “Ah, but we are going to figure this out, ne?” Akira says, giving me an encouraging smile. “And I have to think: Someone who gets excited about so much in life shouldn’t have too much trouble finding her passion. Surely it is lurking right around the corner.” His face gets all serious for a moment and I lean in, wondering if he’s about to impart some major insight. “Yes,” he says, nodding. “I think I see it—”

  I lean in closer.

  “Right behind you!” he cries out, pointing dramatically at a spot just beyond my left ear, his serious face collapsing into a goofy expression of exaggerated shock.

  “Ha-ha,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him. “And here I thought you were about to offer me some life-changing words of wis—”

  “Wait, but the deer is behind you!” he exclaims, making me jump. “The one who wanted food! She’s back to—”

  “Whaaaaaaaaat?” I yelp, whipping around in my seat.

  Of course, there’s nothing there.

  “Oh my god,” I say, turning back around and throwing my napkin at Akira. He dodges easily, laughing.

  “We do have some deer to feed, though, ne?” Akira says, sweeping our empty food wrappers onto a tray. He inspects his fry box, notes that it still contains a few precious golden potatoes, and tucks the box into the front pocket of his backpack. “Shall we get to that?”

  The amount of hungry deer in sight is no joke.

  They really are everywhere, roaming the green of the park. And they’re aggressive, relentlessly seeking out tourists buying shika-senbei from vendors and nose-bumping them until they get fed. Some tourists are surrounded by entire packs of deer, pestering them for sustenance.

  “Dang, the deer really love these cookies,” I say, brandishing the pack of shika-senbei we’ve purchased. They’re round, wafer-thin, and held together with little crisscrossing pieces of paper.

  “Careful,” Akira says, holding up his hand to cover the cookies. “They see you waving those things around and they’ll be all over us.”

  But it’s too late; I’ve given us away. A cluster of three deer frolics over, noses eagerly sniffing the air. They nudge the bottom of my dress and I hold the cookies up high so they can’t reach them.

  “All right, all right, calm down,” I say, my explosive giggle spilling out of me. “Oh my gosh, you’re all so cute.”

  I hand them cookies one by one, and they gobble them up eagerly. Akira purchases another packet of shika-senbei and starts handing them out himself. More deer, having heard the rumor of our cookie riches, trot up and sniff at us and before I know it, we’re surrounded.

  “This is so cool,” I exclaim, laughing as one of the deer licks my hand. “I feel like a freaking Disney princess attracting a whole squad of woodland creature pals.”

  “They will be your ‘pals’ until we run out of shika-senbei,” Akira says, cocking an eyebrow at me. He’s looking at me like he was earlier, when he kept talking about me getting excited about things. A little amused, a little intrigued, maybe a little … tender? I can’t tell if I’m imagining that part or not.

  My cheeks flush and I turn back to my new deer friends, focusing hard on distributing my shika-senbei. One of the deer bumps my hip, almost like she’s encouraging me to turn and look at Akira.

  No way, little deer friend. We have to be more subtle than that.

  I cast a surreptitious sidelong glance at Akira—and notice a deer nosing around in the open front pocket of his backpack.

  “Oh—Akira!” I yelp. “Behind you—”

  He gives me an amused look. “Trying to fool me like I fooled you earlier, Kimi? It will not work.”

  “No!” I say, gesturing wildly. “There is … the deer! It’s behind you!”

  The deer chooses that moment to get aggressive, craning its neck and plunging its snout more fully into Akira’s backpack pocket. He must actually feel it this time because he gets a funny look on his face and turns his head to look.

  “Wha—?” he says. “Oi!” He drops the rest of his shika-senbei on the ground and bats (very gently, I notice) at the backpack-plundering deer. “Stop that!”

  I try to
rush over to him, but there are so many deer between me and him at this point, and they’re all poking at me for food. I start to wind my way through, bribing deer with cookies as I go, doing the best I can.

  “Stop!” Akira repeats, trying to shake free. The deer, in response, head-butts him and he loses his balance and tumbles to the ground.

  “Akira!” I cry, trying to move more quickly through the deer mass. “Shoo!” I say to them. “Get outta here, Bambi!”

  The deer finally liberates the thing it was after from Akira’s backpack—the McDonald’s cardboard box half-full of french fries.

  “Oi!” Akira yells as the deer runs off, fry box clutched triumphantly in its mouth. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I could swear it looks a little gleeful.

  The other deer, sensing that deer has a cool new treat, take off after the fry thief, finally clearing my path to Akira. I run over to him.

  “Are you okay?” I exclaim, crouching down next to him.

  “Yes, fine,” he says, grimacing. “Perhaps a little embarrassed that I cannot seem to stop falling down in front of you.” He gives me a wry grin.

  “Maybe we’ve had enough deer-related shenanigans for one day,” I say, standing up straight and extending a hand to him. “Here, let me …”

  He clasps my hand and meets my eyes, but stays still, making no effort to get off the ground. “We’re always helping each other up,” he says. His voice is soft and that quiet intensity is flashing through his eyes. It’s almost like he’s saying it to himself—turning it over in his mind, trying to figure out what it means. I’m suddenly very aware of the warmth of his palm against mine again, of the way my cheeks always seem to heat up—

  CRAASSSSHHHHHHHHH

  Suddenly, the sky opens up and rain slams down on us. There’s no warning, nothing. One moment, things are pleasant and dry. The next, nothing but wet and cold and my bangs are getting totally drenched and sticking to my forehead.

  “Wha …” I yelp.

  Akira scrambles to his feet. “Come on!” he cries out, grabbing my hand.

  And then we run.

  I’m not sure where we’re running to, I can barely see—my bangs are now in my eyes and dripping everywhere. Grass squishes under my feet as Akira pulls me to the right and then to the left, trying to maneuver around the deer. It’s the kind of rain where there’s no space between the drops, it’s just like one big sheet of endless water.