? ? ?
I draw five Japanese women with very different faces, but all of them are equally beautiful because beauty is not just one thing.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Dad calls to ask how I’m doing in California. Mom’s been telling people I came out here to celebrate graduating. As annoying as it is that my mother is a liar, I don’t have the heart to tell Dad about Uncle Max. Upsetting him wouldn’t help anything. Giving him something extra to worry about when he has two little babies isn’t an option. I won’t make him unhappy just for the sake of needing someone on my side. I won’t be like Mom.
So we talk about beaches and the weather instead. I tell him about Hiroshi, how I ate ramen and mochi with his family and how I went to Chinatown for the first time.
He tells me he’s happy I’m getting to have these experiences. He says he wishes I could’ve had them when I was younger. He starts to tell me a story about Mom telling him to stop making Japanese food because it “made the house smell awful,” but he seems to change his mind before he says too much. He says it’s not good to complain about the things we can’t change. And after we hang up, he sends me pictures of the twins. It feels nice, like I’m included in his life. It makes me feel like I have a family.
Mom calls an hour after him. I swear it’s like she can sense when I’m moving further away from her, like an ex-boyfriend who never shows any interest when you’re dating, but calls the moment you feel like you’re in a good place without him.
I don’t tell her I talked to Dad, but I’m not sure I could fit it in anyway. All she wants to talk about is herself.
She tells me about the fight she had with a woman at work over wrapping paper. According to Mom, the office had an unofficial agreement to never bring their kids’ school fund-raising catalogs to work. The woman did it anyway, and Mom decided it was her job to chastise the woman in front of everyone. Obviously the woman didn’t appreciate it.
I don’t bother telling Mom she should have said something in private instead of in front of the whole office. Who wants to be publicly scolded by their coworker over wrapping paper? But there’s no point in saying this to Mom—she’s in a good mood, at least by her standards. I’m too relaxed to get into an argument.
She tells me about her website, too. Apparently it doesn’t look professional enough, so she wants to pay a web designer to make it better. I don’t comment on any of this either—I don’t want to get into an argument. I’m trying to relax.
Then Mom tells me Taro went to stay with one of his college friends for the rest of the summer. And that Shoji doesn’t do anything to help clean. And that she wants us to get our hair done together when I get “home.”
I’m not relaxed anymore. I’m having a brain aneurysm. When did I become one of Mom’s friends? Are we friends? Is that why we’re having a conversation where she’s managed to avoid saying a single negative thing about me?
Mom asks me to call her tomorrow, and we hang up. There isn’t room to think about the twins anymore. All I can think about is what this is supposed to mean.
? ? ?
Jamie holds the camera up to his face. A second later I hear the click of the shutter.
His hands drop to reveal a smile. “So when do I get to see your painting?”
“When it’s finished.” I scoop up another bite of white chocolate and raspberry ice cream.
He leans back in his chair and sets his camera on the table. We’re surrounded by pink and blue, like we’re in a pool of cotton candy. There’s a neon sign on the wall shaped like an ice-cream cone, black-and-white tiled floors, and a jukebox in the corner. It feels like we’ve stepped into a time warp.
But I guess being with Jamie feels like a time warp all the time. We’re kids again, finishing what we started all those years ago.
He slices his metal spoon into a glass bowl filled with two perfect scoops of mint chocolate chip. “Are you going to miss it? When you finish the painting and you don’t get to see Hiroshi anymore?”
I press my thumb against the spoon tightly. “I hadn’t actually thought about that.” I’ve been spending so much time with Hiroshi that he’s starting to feel like a friend. I guess a part of me forgot this was a temporary arrangement.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.” Jamie blinks at the table, thinking.
My trial period is almost up. We both know it. We just don’t talk about it.
Hiroshi isn’t the only one I might have to say good-bye to—it’s Jamie, too. Because I can’t live in his parents’ home forever, just like I can’t paint in Hiroshi’s studio forever. I’ve invaded their lives, and eventually, if I can’t figure out how to survive here by myself, I’ll need to return to the life I left behind.
I feel sick. I’ve gotten used to Jamie and Hiroshi and California. I don’t want to go back to living with Mom, existing alongside my brothers without ever really speaking, never going anywhere because Emery isn’t there to go with me, and occasionally seeing my dad. This—right now—feels more like a family than I’ve ever had.
I kind of need them. I need Jamie.
The world seems too scary without him.
Click. Jamie’s face is once again obscured by the camera lens. I cross my eyes and make my nostrils flare. Click. He laughs, and I do too.
“I’m going to keep that one forever,” he says.
“Forever is a long time to keep a silly picture of me,” I say.
“It’s not the picture.” His voice is gentle. “It’s the memory. I want to remember you forever, Kiko Himura.”
I don’t say a word. I’m too busy glowing.
? ? ?
I draw a thousand fairies circling around a girl so that she can finally fly away.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
When my car gets a flat tire, I’m overwhelmed by the realization that my bank account is rapidly depleting. It scares me, worrying about money and things going wrong and not having a source of income. It makes me wonder if I’m being an idiot for hiding out in California when I have a job waiting for me back home.
Since Jamie and his parents all know my time in California may be limited and my time with Hiroshi definitely is, Elouise offers to drive me to the studio while Jamie picks up a new tire for me.
I’m grateful to both of them. To their whole family.
I need every spare minute I can get. I want this painting to be perfect. It has to be perfect.
Every time I’ve been close to Elouise I can smell the sour bite of wine. But today she smells fresh, like honeysuckles and soap. Her dark hair is parted neatly in the center and tucked behind both ears. She’s beautiful the way a vampire would be, with red lips, a cold stare, and dark circles under her eyes. But unlike a vampire, Elouise isn’t pale. She’s so bronze her skin is practically metallic.
She seems like she’s been tired for a very long time.