“Have you heard anything back from any schools?” she asks, her eyes focused on the road.
“Not yet.” I pause. Maybe she’s trying to get a better idea of when I’m planning to leave. Or if I’m planning to leave. “I put down my mom’s address in the application, so that’s where they’ll mail the letter.” My chest tightens thinking about how fast the time seems to be going.
Her brown eyes look like they’re coated in shiny polish. “I know we all haven’t seen each other in years, but it’s been nice getting to know you again, Kiko. I mean that.”
“Thanks for letting me stay in your home. It’s been the best vacation I’ve ever had.”
Her tongue slips over her bottom lip. “You probably don’t have many to compare it to. I remember how much your mom hated to take vacations.”
“That’s true,” I say quietly. “We tried to go camping once, but we were only at the camping site for an hour before Dad had to get everything back in the car and drive us all home. She said it was because she didn’t want to share a bathroom with strangers. We didn’t even finish putting up the tent.”
Elouise shakes her head so slowly I would have missed it if I wasn’t staring right at her. “That sounds about right. Angelina hated public bathrooms. She only lets people see what she wants them to see.” Wincing, she tilts her face toward me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I don’t say anything because I wasn’t expecting her words. I didn’t know Elouise even knew Mom besides the occasional run-ins at birthday parties and school events. But the way she speaks about her . . . I don’t know. I get the feeling she really knew her.
I want to ask her if she was friends with my mom. I want to ask why she said what she did. But it’s uncomfortable now, because I’ve waited too long and because Elouise is turning up the music on the radio and tuning me out.
She stops at the side of the road opposite Hiroshi’s café and studio. Her foot pressed against the brake, she wipes a finger beneath her eye. Was she crying? It’s too hard to tell.
“I think you’re terrific, Kiko. I hope you know that. We were always very fond of you, even when you were little. There’s something magical and irreplaceable about a childhood friendship. I’m glad Jamie gets to share that with you. I’m sorry if we ever got in the way of that, with the move and everything.” She doesn’t look at me when she speaks—she just says everything she is prepared to and blends into the background noise of the radio.
I step out onto the street awkwardly, thank her for the ride, and she drives away in a hurry to erase what was just said between us.
My hands are anxious for brushes and paint tubes, mostly to give them something to do besides tremble against my legs. When I find Hiroshi, I’m hoping for the calming inspiration I’ve grown accustomed to.
Instead, I find a tearful, middle-aged man with his hair draped against his back and his wife sitting beside him with a hand on his knee.
What is going on with people and their emotions today? I’m usually the emotional one—not the rest of the world.
“Sorry.” I catch my breath, feeling the rush of the door as it closes behind me. “I can leave.”
“No.” Mayumi holds up her hand. “I go.” She plants a gentle kiss on Hiroshi’s cheek and slips past me like a deer.
Pressing his hands to his small eyes, Hiroshi shakes his head like he’s shaking away his tears. “I’ve always believed emotion is good for painting, but I’m afraid I’m not in the best mood to create anything today.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask quietly, the worry thick in my voice.
“Oh yes. Everything is fine.” He forces a smile. “I’ll leave the keys with you. Can you bring them downstairs when you’re finished today? I think I need to rest my head at home. A little bit of recharging will do me good.”
“I don’t want to chase you out of your own studio.”
“No,” he insists, pressing his hands over my shoulders and leading me to my almost-finished painting. “This is where you belong.” He drops the studio keys on the nearest table.
The studio feels eerily still without him in it. It’s like all the color has been drained from the room.
I paint anyway, because I’m running out of time, and because I’m painting the girl today, lingering in the shadows. Today, gray is good.
Mayumi knocks on the door before she enters. She’s carrying a cup of tea and a slice of cake. “Energy,” she says simply, placing it near me.
“Thank you.”
I watch her eyes trail over to my painting. She nods a few times, taking it all in. “Why she so happy when little girl not?”
“I guess she’s happy because the little girl isn’t.” I shrug. “I haven’t decided for sure.”
Mayumi sighs. “That’s very sad. Everyone sad today, I think.” She doesn’t take her eyes away from the canvas. “My daughter leave for college soon. Both our children will be far away. Hiroshi is hurting inside”—she presses her hand to her chest—“because I think he will be too lonely without anyone around.”
“He has you,” I point out.
Her laugh is pretty. “Yes, but it’s not the same. We have our work to keep busy. Hiroshi likes being a father. He likes to teach. Some people need to be heard. To be appreciated.”
“People appreciate him all over the country. He literally has fans all over the place.”
“I tell him that too, sometimes.” Mayumi hums. “But it’s not the same. I think it’s because he did not have good relationship with his father. He makes up for it with his own children.”
I never thought of Hiroshi as someone still seeking approval or acceptance. He’s so comfortable in his own skin and confident in his art—he’s the opposite of me. Is it possible we have such a big part of us in common?
I hope when I’m Hiroshi’s age I’m not still suffering from my mother’s disinterest in me. I’m deeply afraid I’ll never be free of the hurt, or the rejection, or the indifference.
“You know . . .” Mayumi’s hazel eyes close in on mine. “We need someone to replace Akane in café.” She looks around. “Hiroshi hoped she go to college nearby and stay in studio. We were going to make bedroom.” She points to the back of the room.
We stare at each other for a while. I can’t explain how, but I know what she’s thinking. I know what she wants to suggest.
Oh my God, please ask.
“Would you consider working in café full-time? You could stay in studio as part of arrangement. We work your schedule around classes too, if you like.”
Oh my God, she asked!
My eyes are wide. I can feel them expanding out of my face. “Are you serious?” Yes. Say yes, Kiko. “Would Hiroshi mind?” Why am I giving her the opportunity to change her mind? What is wrong with me?
“I discuss with him later, but I do not see any problem with it. He sees something in you. Maybe something he wished he had seen in our daughters too, but they are not artists. Think about it, yes?”
I don’t have to. The answer is yes.
I nod like my head is about to fall off. “I will.”