“No. You’re being human,” he says.
“That was a really nice speech,” I say.
Hiroshi looks out at the water, his hands folded behind him. He’s wearing another one of his loose-fitting tunics, this one navy blue, with black bottoms. His hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and his cheeks seem to have caught a little more sun than usual.
“I see you, you know. The way you paint with such love. And you always stare back at the painting as if you aren’t sure you’re truly worthy”—he hesitates—“of being loved back.”
I push my tongue against my cheek, fighting the tears that are trying so hard to give me away.
Hiroshi places his hand on my shoulder. “You are, Kiko. And the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be to accept what you cannot change.”
I nod too many times, because I’m too shaky to do anything else.
He nods back, just once, and disappears back into the restaurant.
It takes me a while to leave the ocean. It’s dark outside, and if I curl my hands around my eyes like binoculars, all I’d be able to see is stars and sky and sea. And it feels like a safe place to be, where nobody else can see or hear me.
Akane has a sun goddess to remind her to be strong. Maybe my inspiration comes from a hundred stars—a hundred suns—all reminding me that I’m not alone.
I turn around and look through the window. Jamie is standing with Rei and her friends, blending in like he always does. He doesn’t see I’m watching him, and I’m glad.
I think it’s better if he doesn’t know he’s one of the stars. I think it’s better if I don’t admit it out loud.
Jamie loving me would make my mother not loving me hurt so much less.
I don’t want to scare him away. I don’t want to risk losing him.
I don’t want to lose him.
And maybe I should be worried about how much that would destroy me, but right now all I want to do is kiss him.
When I find him inside, that’s exactly what I do.
? ? ?
I draw fire and water forgetting all the rules and morphing into something new.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Ifinish my painting. Hiroshi calls it “exquisite.” Jamie takes a photograph of it because he says he can’t stop looking at it.
I’m in such a good mood after dinner that when Mom calls I forget all about our conversation from last night.
By the sound of her voice, she’s forgotten it too.
She’s happy on the phone. It’s like she’s treating me the way she treats people who don’t really know her—like she’s a nice person.
I fall for it because my guard is down and because—let’s face it—I always fall for it. I tell her about the party—but not the kissing—and about finishing my painting and how great it turned out.
“It sounds like you’re having such a good time over there.” She pauses. I can practically hear the ticktock of her brain. “Has Elouise asked about our family at all?”
I make a face even though my mother can’t see it. “No. Why would she?”
She answers too quickly. “Oh, no reason. We used to be friends, that’s all. I thought she might be interested in our lives.”
“Well, she didn’t ask anything.” I want to talk about something else. I don’t like where this is going. “Did Shoji get his new belt yet?”
Mom’s silent.
“Umm, hello? Mom? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” I know I can’t see her, but I swear to God she’s grinding her teeth right now. I can feel it—she’s about to explode and I have no idea why.
I need to hang up. It’s the only way to avoid whatever is coming. “It’s getting pretty late actually. I’m going to go to bed.”
“What’s she been saying about me? I know she said something.” Her words are sharp and quick.
A heavy, disheartened sigh escapes from me. Of course the niceness wouldn’t last. “Nothing, Mom. Why do you always think people are talking about you?”
“Because people always talk about me. I have amazing intuition, and right now my ears are ringing.” She sounds so proud of her imaginary superpower.
“Well, she wasn’t.” I really, really want to get off the phone. I was in such a good mood before when— “I don’t believe you. This is why I don’t trust you.” Her words rip through the phone like paper cranes attacking my face until I’m covered in stinging cuts.
“What do you mean you don’t trust me?” I say from a thousand miles away.
“You’re always trying to make people think bad of me.”
“Seriously, what are you talking about right now?”
“I don’t know; I just have a feeling.”
I wish I could crush the phone in my hand until it becomes dust. “A feeling based off what, Mom? You can’t just tell someone you don’t trust them and not give them a reason.”
“I don’t need a reason. I already told you, I have a feeling.”
WHAT I WANT TO SAY:
“YOU ARE A PSYCHOPATH.”
WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY:
“Well, you’re wrong. I don’t try to make anyone think bad of you. I don’t even talk about you.”
She scoffs into the phone. “You mean to tell me you don’t talk about me to Jamie?”
“I talk about me to Jamie, and maybe how I feel about the way you treat me, but not about you.”
“That is talking about me. I don’t want Jamie knowing my personal business.”
“It’s my personal business!”
“Family issues should stay private,” she snaps.
“They aren’t family issues! And sometimes I just need someone to talk to. It’s not like you ever listen to anything I say.”
“Oh, here we go again. You always act like you have all these emotional problems. It’s pathetic. Do you think it’s cool? Is that why you act this way?”
I’m crying again. God, I wish I could seal up my tear ducts just so I could stop letting my mother hear me crying.
At some point we both hang up the phone.
? ? ?
The next day she calls again. Jamie suggests I change my phone number.
Mom doesn’t apologize about yesterday, but she does ask a lot of questions about Jamie. In the middle of the conversation I leave his room because I’m embarrassed he’s going to find out what my mom is talking about.
“Do you think you’re in love?”
“Well. Yeah.” My heart reacts quicker than my brain—because if my brain were faster, I would know better than to tell Mom anything this personal. It’s like giving her the exact recipe to poison me in the most painful way possible.
“How do you know? I mean, what does being ‘in love’ even mean?”
“I can just tell, I guess. I’m happy around him. And I feel like myself. And I feel like I love him unconditionally, and he feels the same way back.” Yup. This is a terrible idea, Brain says. Retreat. Retreat.
“What is unconditional love?”
“Loving someone for no reason other than that you just love them, I guess. Like you’d love them even if they got gray hair and wrinkles or didn’t like the same movies as you or thought Star Wars was stupid.”
She’s quiet for a minute. “Yeah, I’m not sure I believe in that. I mean, I love you guys because you’re my kids, but unconditionally? No, I don’t know what that even means.”