“Don’t ask me,” Jamie croaked. “I didn’t do it.”
The trains were up and running again. Jamie bought a ticket, and I dug out my Suica card, and we idled in front of the barriers. I was headed for the Fukutoshin line; Jamie was taking the Hanzomon.
“I’ll probably spend the next three days sleeping,” I joked.
Jamie laughed, but he seemed distracted. He pushed his hand though the front of his hair and shook it out.
“You won’t miss your flight,” he said. “You’ve got an alarm.”
“Ha. Yeah.”
We stood for another second or so, swaying on our feet. The electronic board above me flashed one minute until my train arrived, and I checked my watch to make sure it had the same time. “Well, guess I’ll see you later.”
“Later,” he agreed.
I went through the barrier and down to the train platform. I tried to smile, but the corners of my mouth were way too tired for that.
I unlocked the front door as quietly as I could and stood in the genkan, peeling off my shoes. They were still damp from walking through puddles all night. Guilty shoes, I thought, and dropped them on the ground.
The genkan was a dark, peaceful cave, and I was still so tired. I sat on the floor, on top of a pile of pizza and sushi delivery flyers someone must have shoved through the mail slot. I closed my eyes and came dangerously close to falling asleep.
Wake up, I told myself. Go upstairs.
Upstairs. To my room. Where I could put on my favorite pajamas and sleep all day and dream about last night. That was all I wanted to do. Hold on to last night for a little bit longer, keep it from becoming morning and afternoon and evening.
I thought about Jamie, pushing the hair off his forehead. About the warmth radiating off his skin, like the steam that evaporates from sidewalks after the rain. I missed him. Even though I’d seen him less than an hour ago. Even though I would probably see him again soon. If I missed him now, how would I feel when I actually left? But I couldn’t care about that yet. The memory of him was better and stronger than the fear of anything else.
I stood up and pushed open the door to the rest of the house. Mom was sitting at the dining room table talking on the phone. When she saw me, she said, “I’ll call you back.” She set the phone on the table, and then she was standing up, and then she was hugging me, pulling me to her stomach. Her grip was tighter than I’d anticipated.
“Sophia,” she said. “What have you been doing all night?”
“I was—” I was a mess. Rain-encrusted and makeup-smudged and Starbucks-scented. “I was with Mika. We stayed up all night, but it’s okay. I’m not drunk or anything.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened?”
I squirmed out of her grasp. The paper screens were pulled back from the windows, making everything in the house look garish and overexposed. “I don’t know which ‘what’ you’re referring to.”
“Your sister said the two of you had a fight. She said you stormed off and disappeared somewhere all day.”
“Technically, she’s the one who stormed off. I just stormed to the bathroom. And when did she tell you all this?”
The worry lines on Mom’s face were more pronounced than usual. “She woke me up a couple of hours ago. She was frantic because she hadn’t heard you come home. She told me you were really upset earlier.”
“I was with Mika,” I repeated. “I texted you and you texted me back. We do this all the time. There’s nothing to worry about.”
In the apartment buildings around us, doors were opening and closing. People were waking up. Mom smoothed the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail behind my ears. She really did seem concerned. There were dark circles under her eyes and a tea stain on her shirt. She picked up her phone from the table. “I have to get ready for work, but we still need to talk. Do you want any breakfast?”
I shook my head numbly and followed Mom to her bedroom. It was much bigger than my room or Alison’s. She had her own bathroom and enough space for a queen-size bed. It seemed even bigger now because she’d cleared out so much stuff. There was nothing left on the nightstand, nothing hanging in the closet.
I collapsed onto the bed while Mom shoved her laptop into a leather satchel. She stood in the bathroom and brushed her teeth and pinned her hair back with a tortoise-shell clip. It was warm in the room, but I wrapped myself up in my grandmother’s quilt and lay down on a pile of dark green throw pillows. The quilt smelled like my mom’s almond-scented moisturizer and reminded me of being a kid. From the window, I could just make out the purple peak of Mount Fuji.
Mom sat at the end of the bed.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked.
“No,” Mom said, fiddling with the ends of her scarf.
I propped myself up but kept the blanket bundled around my shoulders. “I’m not drunk. Or on drugs.”
“That was your dad on the phone.”
“What?” I scooted down the bed. “Why did he call so early? Did something happen?”
“I called him,” she explained. “I couldn’t sleep after Alison woke me up. We were talking about you. About how hard all of this has been for you.”
“Duh, it’s hard. Going back to New Jersey isn’t exactly a dream come true.”
Mom placed one hand on my knee. “I meant this whole arrangement, all this living between places. You haven’t had much time with your father, and that hasn’t been fair.”
I worked my fingers through the knitted loops in the blanket. I hated this. When Mom talked about Dad, it made her sad. I’d once seen a picture of Mom and Dad walking around Kamakura when they were first married. She was laughing at something Dad said, her head thrown back, swatting playfully at his arm. I’d never seen Mom laugh that way.
“Mom,” I said. “I almost lived there, remember?”