Jamie’s hands are open. “I’m so sorry.” His face is lost in the blur.
“But now I know they split up because my mom cheated. And you knew, because your parents moved to get away from her and try to mend their family. Your family.” I’m choking on my tears. “I needed you, Jamie. You were my friend, and you were the person who knew the truth. You didn’t write back. You didn’t come to see me when you visited. And why? Because you didn’t want to tell me the truth?”
“I didn’t know what was happening with your uncle,” he says. Clear pools fill his eyes. “I didn’t know how much it was going to affect you.” He takes a breath. “God, Kiko, I was a kid! I’m not perfect.”
“You’re not a kid anymore.” I bite my lip to stop it from trembling. “You had weeks to tell me the truth.”
“You think it was easy for me not to? I desperately wanted to tell you. My family didn’t even want me to hang out with you anymore. That’s why I couldn’t write or visit you. They didn’t want to open up old wounds with my mom.” He looks away and blinks. “Your mom and my dad almost destroyed two families. Mine is still broken.”
“Your parents are still together. You had both of them, regardless of whether they hate each other. And you don’t have a brother who tried to commit suicide because his split-personality, narcissistic, psychopathic mom pushed him toward it.”
Jamie steps closer to me, his face falling back into kindness. “That’s good, Kiko. Say what you want to say. Say everything. I’ll listen to it, and I won’t fight with you. Because I love you, and because I know this is what you need. So tell me you’re angry. Tell me how terrible I’ve been. Tell me I made the wrong choice. And then, Kiko, forgive me. Because I’m sorry. I’m sorry, and I love you.”
He kisses me even though I try to raise my hand to stop him. And then I don’t stop him. His lips mold against mine like they’re perfectly shaped for each other. He tastes like mint and smells like himself. I want him to hold me forever. I want him to make everything better.
And then I realize this is all wrong.
Because the truth is, I’m not really mad at Jamie. I mean, I’m mad that he lied, but I’m not really mad at him.
I’m mad because I need him. I need him to be perfect and strong and to protect me from everything in the world that’s terrifying. I need him to hold my hand as I walk through life because it’s so much easier than doing it alone.
And needing him is a mistake.
I don’t want to need anyone. I want to stand on my own two feet. I want control of my own life and my own emotions. I don’t want to be a branch in someone else’s life anymore—I want to be the tree on my own.
I want all the strength to come from me. I don’t want to depend on anyone for anything ever again.
I pull my face away from Jamie and it literally hurts so much I have to grip the desk to keep from falling over.
I can’t hide from the truth anymore. I let Jamie become my crutch. I let him fill all the voids in my life—family, friendship, love—and it hurts so much to know what I need to do now.
Panic is in his eyes. He senses what I’m going to say next.
Because even when we’re hurt, we still know each other. We know each other without words.
I say them anyway. “I’ve spent years trying to forgive myself for ruining my family. I blamed myself for everything—my uncle, my parents, my mom not loving me, and now I even blame myself for Shoji. I don’t want to be angry with you, Jamie, but I don’t want to be angry at myself anymore either. I need to get rid of the guilt. I need to figure out how to forgive myself. I need to apologize to my brother.”
“What are you saying?”
We’re both so hollow and cold. What happened to us? How did a single hour change us so much?
WHAT I WANT TO SAY:
“I love you, Jamie, but I don’t want to love you this way. I’m broken in too many places and I can’t let you be the one to put me back together. If I’m going to survive in this world, I need to learn how to take care of myself first. I need to heal, so that my heart can be whole again. I need time. A lot of time.”
WHAT I ACTUALLY SAY:
“I need to go home.”
? ? ?
I draw a girl on a plane, leaving her heart on the runway.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Idrive straight to the hospital because I’m not ready to see Mom yet. Not until I talk to Shoji.
The doctors are keeping him under observation, but Dad says he’s going to be released soon. He says he already has a lawyer trying to work out the next step in getting custody of Shoji.
The lawyer says the easiest way is for Mom and Dad to work it out between them, amicably.
Dad doesn’t think amicably is an option.
Shoji is covered up to his waist in a blue blanket. He doesn’t have any tubes or anything sticking out of his arms—not like I thought he would. He’s just sitting still, like he’s waiting for what to do next. There’s not even a book in his hands.
“Did you like California?” he asks sheepishly.
I sit next to him—Dad motions that he’s going to wait out in the hall so we can talk.
“You could’ve called me, Shoji. Before you . . . you know.” I try to sound strong, but it comes across as awkward.
“I didn’t plan it. It just kind of happened.” He rests his head against the pillow, the blacks of his eyes peeking out of his puffy eyelids. “Who called you?”
“Mom.” I roll my eyes, and Shoji laughs because he knows what I know.
“Does she know I want to live with Dad?”
“She knows.” I drop my hands between my knees. “I’m sorry. I feel like I should have noticed sooner. I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention.” Maybe I was too wrapped up in myself. Maybe I’m a starfish too.
It’s a thought that makes me want to rip out my insides and replace them with anything else. I don’t ever want to be a starfish.
“It’s okay. We kind of all ignore each other.” He shrugs. “Taro called and said the same thing as you. Maybe we’re all the same person, split into three pieces.”
I nod quickly to hide the tremble in my jaw. If we are all three broken pieces of the same being, we should have tried to put ourselves back together a long time ago. Maybe we needed each other because being a third of something was never enough.
Maybe we had what the other person needed all along.
Taro doesn’t take Mom personally. Shoji knows where he fits into the world. I dream about a new life.
Maybe by splitting into three pieces, we robbed each other of what it felt like to be a full person. If I had Taro’s thick skin or Shoji’s confidence, I might’ve fought back a long time ago. I might’ve realized sooner that it’s okay to be different.
And if Shoji had my ability to dream, he might’ve cared more about his future than ending his pain.
We’re no good as broken pieces. We failed as siblings.