“Yeah, thanks. We’re heading out early so if I don’t see you in the morning, I’ll catch you when I get back.” My only saving grace is Dad hates mornings probably just as much as Finn.
Dad says something else, and I nod and smile enough that a minute later I’m staring at the back of my bedroom door as he whistles in the other room. I let the muscles in my face go slack as I lean back into my futon.
Finn’s bad news. Finn was in JD. Finn’s hooking up with that girl right now.
My dad is dating Finn’s mother and even he can’t give Finn a ringing endorsement.
“Fuck.” I exhale the curse word into the still air of my room and slam my hand into my pillow.
I wasn’t going to think about him anymore tonight. Now every thought that comes into my head starts and ends with “F.”
Fuck you, Finn.
Fuck you.
“S
o are you going to ask him?” Mindy whispers to me the next morning over Skype on the laptop. I tried her last night, but there was no answer and I fell asleep moping before I could try her back.
“Great idea. What do you think I should say? ‘My dad says you went to juvie. Want to tell me about that?’ I’m thinking no.”
Mindy’s eyes widen. “Don’t you want to know?”
“Of course I want to know,” I hiss. “I want to know if he hooked up with that girl last night, too, but I’m not going to ask that either.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Besides, he’s probably not even going to show.”
“You don’t think?”
“Well, if he is, he’s got till 8:01.” Ten minutes to go.
“Show me what you’re wearing,” Mindy directs. I obey and she rolls her eyes. “Damn, Zo, you can do better than that.”
I scan my frayed shorts and paint-splattered white tank. “I don’t want to do better than this. I wouldn’t make any more of an effort for you.”
“I know, but don’t you want to try a little?”
“No. He spent the night with some gorgeous Japanese girl. I’m not competing with that. The end.” In fact, I’m going to the opposite extreme. I glance at the clock in the corner of the screen. “I have to go. I’ll ping you later to see if you’re on.”
I cut her off before she can say anything and shut the lid of the laptop. I’m dead serious about not leaving any grace period. There is no way in hell I’m hanging around for him.
I grab my sweater and phone and I’m double-checking my wallet in the living room when the knock sounds. 7:57. I think about ignoring it, but he’d knock louder and Dad’s sleeping. And after last night, I absolutely don’t want him waking up before I go.
I open the door and Finn leans against the doorframe with two Starbucks cups in hand. He’s wearing green surfer shorts and a New York Mets T-shirt and looks like he’s slept versus being out all night doing…well, what people do. I did a fair bit of imagining exactly what he was doing last night unfortunately. In between everything else.
He holds a coffee out to me, and I take a sip before I say anything. Milk, sugar, and cinnamon. Just the way I like it. “Thanks.”
“You ready?” he asks. I nod and we slip out the door and down the stairs.
“I didn’t think you’d show.” I intend for this to sound conversational, but it sounds like I’m accusing him of something.
“No shit.” His tone is hard and unforgiving, and I don’t know how to respond, so we don’t talk again until we’re on the platform at the station. Even though it’s early on a Saturday, there are a lot of people here.
We move as far down the platform as we can before Finn asks, “Where did you go last night?”
“Home.”
His mouth sets into a firm line. “Why?”
“I just did. Why are you mad at me?”
He takes a step closer. It’s too close, but I don’t step back. We haven’t touched since that first night, not even accidentally. But now our chests would touch if one of us took a deep breath. “Did it occur to you I would worry?”
“Worry?” I let out a scoff of derision and roll my eyes. “No. I was tired and you were otherwise engaged.”
“Right.” The way he says it is curt and dismissive, as if he’s forgotten.
But I haven’t. “Did you have fun?”
“In general? Or are you talking about specifics? Because if there’s something you want to know, you should ask.”
That’s when I realize this is about jealousy and expectations. And not just mine. “Did you sleep with her?”
“No.” God, his tone is cold.
“Did you want to?” My grip tightens on my coffee cup.
“No.” His eyes burn through me, but I don’t look away.
“Why not?”
Finn’s eyes widen. “Why not?”
Mine narrow by contrast and I make sure to enunciate every word. “That’s what I said. Why not?”
“Not my type. Why do you care?”
The way he says it makes it clear that he has a pretty good idea why, but he’s mad and he wants me to say it. So I say the most innocuous thing I can think of. “Just curious.”
“If you were that curious, you could’ve stuck around,” Finn says.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Just the memory of him with his hand on that girl’s back makes my stomach sink. “It’s clearly none of my business.”
“Didn’t stop you from asking, though, did it?” His tone tightens another degree.
I shrug, even though his comment stings. “Yeah, well, I just think you can do better.”
He cracks a brief smile but still doesn’t step away. “Can I?”
“Oh, yeah.” And the way I say it leaves no doubt what I mean. None. And I really can’t believe those words came out of my mouth in that tone because I spent a hell of a long time yesterday telling myself and everyone else that Finn and I were friends and nothing more. And that tone just proved I’m not convinced. At all.
My stomach actually flips as he scans me up and down, lingering on my arms, my throat, resting back at my eyes. “Good to know.” I catch a faint whiff of aftershave as he turns to look at the oncoming train. Obsession for Men. Good Lord. “This is our train. Do you still want to go?”
If anything, I want to go more now than I did before. But I can’t say that. I can’t actually say anything, it seems. So when the train arrives, I get on and will him to follow. He does, taking a seat beside me on the hard plastic bench. I concentrate on sipping my coffee since I’m pretty sure I don’t have a single thought in my head right now.
Neither does he apparently. We don’t talk until the air between us stops buzzing, which truth be told, takes at least seven minutes. Even when he speaks, he has to clear his throat and his voice is low. “So any ideas where you want to go?”
I pull my phone from my bag. I’ve bookmarked some sites and scroll to the first one. “I looked last night and found some stuff.” I hold the phone between us so we can both see, and he inches close enough that I actually feel the hair on his leg against mine. When the train jerks to a stop three seconds later, we’re skin to skin as his leg slams into mine. Neither one of us pulls away. I try to sound casual when I speak, but my voice squeaks. “The big temples look cool and the Daibutsu.”
“There’s the Shakado Pass. I’m not sure if it’s anything, but it’s in a bunch of movies.” He points to the screen and I pretend to read it. I wish I could ignore the pounding in my chest as I wait for him to move away at the same time I hope he doesn’t.
He doesn’t.
I mean, he shifts a bit, but our hips and our knees touch all the way to Kamakura. It’s not that far, so I haven’t quite gotten used to it by the time we arrive, but at least I can breathe normally, even if our conversation hasn’t completely lost that undercurrent of tension.
It’s early by tourist standards, so we have the first temple pretty much to ourselves. Engaku-ji is the most famous temple in Kamakura, and it takes my breath away, starting with the steps leading to the inner gate. Everything, from the big bell to the huge trees that shade the garden, feels ten times more intimidating than the shrine in Ueno Park we went to our first weekend.
Or maybe it’s just that everything feels that way today.
We take our time, exploring every nook and cranny, alternating between reading the
Lonely Planet
online and the signs in English. We don’t make a lot of conversation, but our fingers brush while we pass my phone back and forth and we lean into each other as we both peer at the signs. It’s not as cautious as the first time, but it’s not deliberate either. And it’s still pretty electric. At least for me.
The garden, called the Garden of Zen, is amazing, but as Finn’s hand brushes my back and—I swear to God—lingers? I focus on the trees and reading about cherry blossom season instead of wondering why we’ve suddenly broken our unspoken rule about not touching. Whatever the reason, I’m enjoying the unexpected jolts that run up my spine.
By the time we get to the next shrine, I collapse on a bench in the deserted observation area at the back. I didn’t sleep much last night, but even if I had, I’d feel drained from tensing my muscles all morning. Like I’ve been in one long yoga class. The dark wood bench is warm, and even though the day is hot, the heat feels good seeping into my skin. I close my eyes. “This is bliss. You should try it.”
Finn doesn’t answer, and I don’t look to see what he’s doing at first. When I crane my neck up, he’s alternately scribbling in a notebook and biting the end of a pen.
“What are you doing?”
“I had a thought and want to get it down before I forget.”
I lay back down. He’s done this before. “Song?” I see his shadow nod. “About what?”
“Peace.”
“This is pretty much it, isn’t it?”
When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “When’s the last time you were really at peace?”
“When I was fourteen.” I answer without hesitation. Pre-cancer. “You?”
“I don’t remember.”
“How about when you were fourteen?” I’m pretty sure our easy conversation is over, but I stay where I am, as if my lazy posture will take the edge off.
“No.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I was fucked up way before that.”
“Are you still?” Dad’s warning rings in my head.
“Without a doubt.”
I sit up and our legs collide. I put my hand on the green hem of his shorts a few inches above his knee. His skin is hot through the thin fabric and I can’t believe how nervous such a simple gesture makes me, but I squeeze a little before taking my hand away.
“My father used to beat the shit out of me. Started when I was eight. I used to think he was trying to kill me. The last time he was.” He looks me right in the eye, and I flinch. I can’t help it. I’m completely unprepared for that.
“Wow.” I should be able to think of something else to say, but I can’t. All I can picture is an eight-year-old version of Finn crying, cowering.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“I’m so sorry.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Yeah.” He thinks I’m talking about my initial reaction, and his voice is almost as tight as his fist clenched on the bench between us. “You didn’t have the look though. Two points.”
“I meant I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I put my hand over his. If I thought I was nervous before, that was just a warm-up because the way he tenses up and his eyes flash daggers at me, I’m pretty sure he’s going to slap my hand away. Or worse. For two seconds, I conjure up an image of a cartoon angel with Dad’s head whispering on my shoulder.
He said the knife
…what?
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. Every instinct tells me to move away, but I don’t. I can’t. I leave my hand where it is and keep my eyes on my legs until I feel him take a deep breath in. And then another.
It takes another minute before I breathe again, although we stay frozen until a group of schoolgirls come onto the deck where we’re sitting. Their chatter and laughter fills the air, and they steal furtive glances at us while pretending not to look. I catch a few words. Cute. Boyfriend. Hair.
Finn understands, too. “They’re talking about us.”
I move my hand away from his to Mom’s necklace, as much to save the schoolgirls further speculation as to save myself the embarrassment of a future conversation where Finn brings up the word boyfriend. We look like we’re holding hands; it’s a natural conclusion. But I’ll feel like a complete idiot if he ridicules the whole idea. I don’t trust the expression on my face and I duck to reach for my bag on the floor when I feel his fingers feather-light on my neck.
“I like your necklace,” he says.
“It was my mom’s. My dad gave it to her after she had me.” I straighten and swallow hard as he traces the circle of diamonds resting in the hollow of my throat. “Thirtysix hours of labor and a C-section.”
“Ouch. I hope you appreciated it.” His touch is so gentle as his fingers skim my neck. Deliberate. Careful. This is an apology for his reaction. More telling than any words.
“Of course not.” I reach for my bag then and pull out my phone, thumbing through my bookmarks to Japan Guide’s Tokyo day trips page. I’d bet a lot of money he’s never told anyone about his father before. Not like that, so stark and true. I still remember how I felt the first time I told someone who didn’t know. The hot and cold that flashed through me when I said the words.
My mom is dead
.
Like that was the end of the story instead of the beginning.
But it doesn’t mean I understand what happened to him, even if I’m pretty sure I understand how he feels right now.
“So where to next?” Finn asks.
I scroll to the section on Kamakura, and he bends his head close to mine as we look at the options. He says something, but this close his aftershave literally fills my senses. All of them. Finally I lean away and say, “You know what? Whatever’s fine.”
He furrows his brow. “Are you sure?”
I don’t even try to censor the words that come out. “One time Mindy and I were in the city, and I followed a guy down Sixth Avenue because he was wearing Obsession for Men and I wanted to see what he looked like.” Finn gives me this blank look. “Your aftershave?”
“Makes you chase guys down the street?”
“Kind of.” I roll my eyes in a “what are you going to do?” type of way.
“Good to know.” He moves an arm’s length away. “Better?”