He frowns. “Nobody should look that mad while they’re eating doughnuts.”
“She’s hangry,” I say. “It’s when you get so hungry, you feel angry.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is.”
Jamie laughs and sets the book back down. I decide I don’t want to be finished with my copy, so I pay for it at the counter.
“The signing starts in an hour,” the man at the register says.
Jamie and I wander around the rest of Chinatown to waste time, except it doesn’t feel like it’s being wasted. I’m having the most fun I’ve had in years.
When we find a store called Paper Tokyo, we walk down separate aisles that stop right below our chins. Every time we see something cool, we hold it up for the other person to see.
I lift a box of highlighters, all shaped like boiled eggs. “How cute are these?”
Jamie holds up a giant eraser that’s shaped like a piece of toast with a face on it.
I hold up a notebook with the word “Wishes” written on the front. Just below it is a giant walrus holding a magic wand.
Jamie finds a pair of fake eyes that you put on your eyelids. The box says they’re supposed to trick people into thinking you’re awake, but really they just look scary.
I find a set of drawing pencils with erasers shaped like pieces of sushi at the ends.
Jamie finds a back scratcher that looks like a bear paw.
I laugh. “What does that have to do with stationery?”
He shrugs, grinning. “Even people who sit at desks get itchy.”
I buy the notebook with the walrus because I don’t want to leave such an amazing store empty-handed.
“You should’ve gotten the fake eyes,” Jamie says as we’re walking out the door.
When we’re standing in line for the book signing, I tell Jamie I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.
“You say ‘hi’ and tell her you like her work.” He points to my bag. “You could tell her you like the picture of the hangry girl.”
I feel my heart start to race. My eyes count the people in front of me, assessing how much time is left before I have to speak to a complete stranger. “Is this going to be awkward? It feels like it’s going to be awkward.”
“Breathe. She does this for a living. She’ll probably do all the talking. All you have to do is say ‘hi.’?”
When I get to the front of the line, I don’t say ‘hi.’ I freeze, drop the book on the table like it just came out of the oven, and look at all the space around Tanya Fujisaki’s head without ever looking directly at her.
I think she asks me a question—something about if I’m from California—but I’m having trouble concentrating on anything besides passing out, so I keep nodding my head at everything she says until she smiles, hands me the signed copy back, and thanks me for coming by.
I clutch the book against my chest and tear away from the desk like I’m trying to find somewhere to breathe.
When I find a place away from the crowd, I look up at Jamie with large eyes. “Was that as bad as I think it was?”
For a second he just stares at me, and then he’s laughing so hard he shuts his eyes and tilts his head away from me.
And even though I’m embarrassed, I’m not angry at Jamie for laughing. It takes only a few seconds before I’m laughing too.
“I did try,” I say, my eyes pooling with happy tears.
“It’s my fault,” Jamie says. “I was trying to help you figure out what to say when I should’ve been reminding you not to assault the artist with her own book.”
The skin between my eyes pinches together. “I did kind of throw it at her, didn’t I?”
He nods. “You really did.”
I sigh, and a smirk spreads across half of my face. “Today was going so well.”
“Come on,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s get something to eat.”
We find a Japanese bakery and buy a selection of anpan—red-bean buns. Some have sesame seeds on them and some are coconut flavored, but they’re all so delicious. In fact, they’re kind of all I want to eat for the rest of my life.
Jamie pushes the last anpan toward me. “I’m stuffed,” he says, picking his camera back up from the table. He’s been taking photographs all morning, and I’m pretty sure half of them are of me.
I eat the last anpan like it’s still the first one—it tastes like happiness.
“Do you come to Chinatown a lot?” I wipe my empty fingers on my crumpled napkin. “Because I would come to this bakery every day and become the fattest person alive. I never knew how delicious this kind of food was.”
Jamie snaps another picture of me, and I don’t even flinch. “Not a lot, but I’ve been a few times. I like the architecture here. And there’s all this graffiti in one of the back alleys—it’s great for photos.” He pauses, letting the camera sink toward his chest. “Didn’t your dad ever make you guys Japanese food when you were little? Or take you to a Japanese restaurant?”
I shake my head. “Mom hates Asian food. She says it’s too greasy.” She also makes a lot of comments about the hygiene at Asian restaurants, but I leave that part out.
“It’s weird. You’re the only Asian person I know who doesn’t know anything about her own culture.” He makes a face. “Sorry. That sounded rude. I didn’t mean it in a bad way; it was a stupid observation.”
“Well, it’s true. And I think it is a bad thing.” I would have loved to have known about anpan and mochi and boba tea when I was a kid. I would have loved to have known about any part of my heritage that didn’t make me feel so alone in the world.
And I would have loved it if I knew something about being Japanese that didn’t make my mother turn her nose up.
A group of teenage girls walks past our table. They’re staring at Jamie and giggling in the most obvious way possible. Of course they are—Jamie is perfect. But they’re kind of perfect too, with their smooth skin and cute sandals and layers of shirts and vests that I’m guessing is what Asian hipsters wear.
I bite the inside of my cheek and pretend I don’t notice.
“I’m not looking at them,” Jamie says softly. “I’m looking at you.”
When I bring my eyes up, I’m looking at him, too.
Like, really looking at him. It’s hard to breathe when all the colors of his face are so rich and intoxicating—pale blue eyes, a honey tan, and dark chocolate hair. How could someone so beautiful be looking at me the way he is, with half of a smile and affection in his gaze? What does he see?
And then I realize. He sees the same thing I see when I look at him.
He sees something beautiful.
I know if I look at him for another millisecond I’ll vaporize into mist all over the bakery, so I shift my eyes to my bag and rummage for my phone for no reason other than to keep my mind busy.
He drops his gaze to his camera and makes himself busy too. The next time our eyes meet, we realize we’re still smiling at each other.
I tell Jamie I want to go back to the grocery store before we leave. I buy enough Hi-Chews, Pocky Sticks, and cans of Royal Milk Tea to fill up my bag, because even though it seems silly, buying Asian food makes me feel connected to a part of my heritage I never knew what to do with before.