And so that’s where I went now. Me and my suitcase and my big, pathetic hopes.
I laid my suitcase on the ground and sat on top of it, pulling my hood over my head. There were raindrops on the backs of my hands and my bare feet. I wiggled my toes. The adrenaline high from racing to Shibuya was starting to wear off. And I was left with the knowledge that this was over. That soon I would be on a plane, moving away from this week and this place and this life.
But strangely, I wasn’t panicking. It was like I’d passed the event horizon and I was being absorbed into a black hole, but I was done fighting it. I looked up. The buildings reached toward the sky like outstretched fingers, and the sound of traffic swelled and crashed over me.
When my thoughts settled, I was surprised to find they settled on this poem Alison used to have scrawled on her bedroom door. It was called “Parting,” by Emily Dickinson, and it was all about loss. About how, when certain things are gone, it can feel almost like death. Something sudden, violent, and final.
The end.
Once the dust of that ending clears, though, there’s possibility. I saw that now. Countdowns can be reset. In the wake of the end, beginnings can be made. I had no idea what my beginning would look like, but I thought it might be out there. Waiting for me.
But first, I needed to say good-bye to Tokyo. Hachiko sat stoically in the rain, so I reached up to pat his side before dragging my suitcase toward the crossing. It was comforting to be part of the morning crowd. People surrounded me, all of them facing forward, going somewhere. The sky was gray, but somehow that made the city even more brilliant. All these colors pulsing on the billboards and TV screens above me.
The light at the crossing turned green, and hordes of bobbing umbrellas started moving across the street at the same time, like they were part of a choreographed dance.
But I didn’t follow them.
I closed my eyes and listened to the rumble of footsteps and the echo of voices from giant screens and the whir of trains, coming and going. The rain continued to wash down on me, and it reminded me that this was real and I was real, and for one whole second, that was the only thing in the world that mattered.
When I opened my eyes, the light was still green. And Jamie was crossing the street toward me.
CHAPTER 34
SUNDAY
AS SOON AS JAMIE SAW ME, he started to jog. He didn’t stop until he was standing right in front of me.
I held back a surprised laugh. I gripped the handle of my suitcase like I was worried it would fly away.
“How?” he asked. “How are you even here?”
He looked wonderful. Like, so wonderful it hurt. Bright green shirt, messy morning hair, freckled skin. His smile was perfect. I stared at his overlapping front teeth and his lips, which were the color of pale pink strawberries.
“You reset my watch,” I said.
Even though I was doing my best, I couldn’t maintain eye contact. My gaze stumbled down to his feet. He was wearing red sneakers with white stripes.
“You didn’t respond to my e-mails,” he said. “I figured you debunked the stupid watch thing and changed it back.”
“Please let me say I’m sorry.” My voice cracked. “Please.”
“Okay,” he said softly. “You can say it. But just so you know, I’m sorry, too.”
I refused to concentrate on anything except his graying shoelaces. My vision blurred with tears. “Don’t be stupid, okay?” I rubbed my eyes with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “I’m the screwup in this scenario. Don’t try to take that from me, because I’ve earned it.”
He wrapped his finger around one of the ties of my sweatshirt and tugged. “Hey,” he whispered.
I didn’t look up. He tugged it again. “Hey. Sophia.”
My eyes met his.
He was so awake. He reminded me of the morning. Not this gray morning specifically, but morning in general. Something clear and hopeful. I could really see his green eyes now. They were as green as his shirt, as green as the stretches of land I’d seen from the windows of airplanes. Bright green. Neon green.
The light changed to red. People huddled on the cement banks of the crossing as cars filled the wide road. Someone’s umbrella partially covered our heads, but they weren’t paying attention to us. Everyone was looking ahead. And we were looking at each other.
“Ask me again,” I whispered.
He bit his lip and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Ask you what?”
“Ask me what I’ll miss about Tokyo.”
He looped the fingers of his other hand around my other sweatshirt tie. “Sophia Wachowski,” he whispered slowly, taking his time with my name. “What will you miss about Tokyo?”
I gripped the front of his T-shirt. “You, Jamie. Every time you asked me, I wanted to say, ‘you.’”
He pulled me toward him by my sweatshirt ties and kissed me just as the light turned green. The crowd moved forward and around us the way an ocean wave breaks around a rock and rushes to the shore.
Jamie rolled my suitcase for me. We went to Starbucks. He held my hand as we waited in line and as he ordered a green tea latte and as we walked out the door again. There wasn’t anywhere to go, no stores open or anything. The streets were small and twisty and deserted. We weren’t talking, so all I could hear was rain hitting the pavement.
We turned into the mouth of an alley that was even narrower and more deserted than the streets before it. Still not talking, still gripping hands. We walked and walked until we reached a brick alcove with a vending machine in it. There was no one else on the street.