And on the next line:
I asked her. Jesus
.
Another one:
Your skin is hot. You moan and say you’re just about to scream. Kaboom. I wake. And fuck it’s just another damn wet dream
.
That’s so unexpected I read it twice before turning the page. Angry black lines nearly rip through the paper, covering the words underneath. But not enough so I can’t read them.
I never wanted to see you again. I never wanted to see you again
.
And the next page.
You think you can come here with your swagger and your smile and ask me to forgive? Why should I? To make it easier for you to live…with what you’ve done? Who you are and all that you’ve become? Or is it so you can pretend you still have a son?
A lump rises in my throat, and I look up across to the peony garden. His words are raw. Real. So real I doubt for a second if he really meant to give this to me. But he wouldn’t make a mistake like that. He offered it specifically. His heart in my hands. That’s what it feels like.
If I had any doubt, the last page erases it.
She looks like she’s flying on gossamer wings
The night is so black, you can’t see the strings
She’s soaring, she’s floating, she’s touching the sky
She’s an angel, a vision, a trick of my mind
.
The song. From that first night. The same except the last verse.
She kisses the stars and closes her eyes
Dancing in circles she lights up the sky
She’s beauty and love and goodness and light
She’s real and true and somehow she’s mine
.
The tears stream down my face. I fly off the bench, my sandals slapping on the stone slabs of the walkway through the temple. Past the meandering tourists. The school kids. The big bell.
I dig in my bag for my phone, stopping in the pathway when I feel its smooth case. People stream around me as I press the button, the screen filling with a photo of me and Finn I took in a random noodle bar. We both have huge grins on our faces, and I half-smile at the memory before realizing I’ve got no texts, voicemails, or missed calls. Should I stay here? Maybe. But, good Lord, I can’t just sit here and
wait
.
Even sitting outside the coffee shop would be better than this.
I start again, more slowly this time, looking through the crowd for a dark head that towers above the rest. There are a few tall guys, but none of them are Finn. Is that good or bad?
I’m near the
ema
when I see him.
Through my tears, it’s impossible to tell where his shirt ends and the bright white of the sun begins.
But I run. As fast as I can. Toward that sun.
I’m completely out of breath when I reach Finn. So much that I have to actually put my hands on my knees and gulp in air. Shows what three days of moping and a coffee-only diet will do. The only good thing is that he can’t tell I’ve been crying until I straighten up, and by then I’ve gotten it a bit more under control.
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Whoa. Are you okay?”
I nod. There are a million things I need to say, and I try to say them all at once. “Your father. I didn’t expect…I mean, he’s…you…you were coming to the temple. And the book. It was your notebook. You gave me your notebook. I can’t believe you did that. It’s…I…”
“I wanted you to read it. In case you didn’t know.” The way he’s looking at me with his head tilted up and the sun striking a shadow on his face, he looks almost sad.
“In case I didn’t know what?” My throat starts to close up again, and I swallow.
“Who you are to me.” His voice drops, the way it does at the end of a sentence when there’s nothing more to be said.
Still, I half-expect him to say something else. To label it. Me. Even though it was all in the notebook. I bite down on my tongue. Hard.
This. Right now. Is not about us.
“How was it? In there?” I nod toward the coffee shop.
“Yeah.” He glances over. “He’s, um, still there.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I mean, he said he wanted to make amends. I thought it was bullshit. But he’s…I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m seeing what I want to see. He’s still an asshole, but he’s sorry. He’s never been fucking sorry for anything. Ever. But now he says he’s starting over. Moving to Sydney and he wants to go with a clean slate all around. He went to counseling or some bullshit, but he says that’s what got him here, what gave him the courage to contact me in the first place. It’s fucked up, but I don’t know. He actually sounds sorry.” Finn’s grip tightens on my shoulder while he’s talking, and it gets another degree tighter. “He asked about you. He wanted to meet you. I mean, you met, but…”
I loosen his fingers, taking them in my hand. “I told you before. I’ll do anything you want me to do.” I look to the door and take a deep breath. “Including going in there.”
“I know. It’s just…I feel like…”
He won’t ask. I get that. “I need the bathroom anyway.”
He grimaces and shakes his head. “Are you sure?”
Not even a little bit. Aloud I say, “Yeah. I’ve had a lot of coffee.”
This is true, and now that I say it, I really do need the bathroom. I yank on Finn’s hand to propel him toward the door.
I won’t let myself look around when we walk in, heading immediately for the bathroom. It’s Western-style, thank God, and I have it to myself. After I use the toilet, I splash water on my face and take the band from my wrist and pull my hair up. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are still bright from crying. I’m not a crier. I never have been and even less so after Mom died. I cried for her a lot. Until I decided one day I didn’t want to feel that close to the edge anymore. I didn’t want to feel that much, period.
Now, though, it all bubbles to the surface. Finn. Mom. Hurt. Love. Longing. Hello. Goodbye.
My eyes well up again, and I yank my ponytail tighter. I grab a piece of toilet paper and rub my eyes. I need to go out there. I said I’d do anything.
That’s the thought that gets me out the door. Sitting at the table next to Finn. Facing John. The café is crowded. Much like it was the first time we were here, but today it’s a mix of families, couples, and tourists. English swirls through the air, and I catch a few words before I look up at John.
“So…” I don’t get more than that out before the waitress sets a coffee in front of me. It comes in its own little pot this time, with cream and sugar alongside.
Finn goes to pour but stops as John reaches for it. “May I?”
I nod and watch him fill my cup. It’s Japanese custom to pour for others at the table. There’s some status involved in who’s supposed to be pouring for whom which I don’t understand, but I know women typically pour for men. It’s a running joke between Finn and me, and I smile a little when I look back to John. “Thanks.”
He notices my smile. He’s got Finn’s eyes in more ways than one. “So Finn says yer headin’ to University of Rhode Island?” He doesn’t let me answer. “What are ya’ gonna major in then?”
“Um, math probably?” I take a sip of coffee, even though it scalds my throat.
“That’ll serve ya’ well. Ye can do a lot with that,” John says.
I squirm a little in the chair and my hip brushes Finn’s. He hasn’t said anything since I sat down, and from the look on his face, he isn’t planning to. But it feels really inane to talk to his father about my possible college major. And I have nothing to lose.
“Why did you ask to meet me?” I blurt it out and take another sip of coffee to cover the way my face flushes.
Finn’s leg tenses against mine, but his eyes stay on John and I think he doesn’t know either. The corner of John’s mouth goes up. “Yer important to my…to Finn. I doubt he’s been generous in what he’s told ya. I wouldn’t be. I’m not sure I expected ya to agree.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but we just sit there staring at each other until I turn my attention to my coffee like that’s what I came in here for.
The silence stretches from seconds into minutes.
I stare at my coffee, pushing my tiny teaspoon around and around the delicate china cup. I don’t know what to say, although I’m pretty sure if anyone’s going to break the silence, it’s going to be me.
Finally John clatters his cup and clears his throat. “I should probably let ya get on with yer day.”
What?
Finn nods. “Sure. Yeah.” He squeezes my fingers. “I, um, need the bathroom and I’ll be right back, okay?”
He rises before I can protest, and my eyes follow him until he closes the door behind him.
“Thanks for coming.” John’s voice is soft.
“I…I…”
“You two take good care of each other.” He puts his hands on the table and pushes himself up.
“Wait. Where are you going? What are you doing?” I stand, too, splashing my coffee all over the table.
“Like I said, I’ll let ya get on with yer day.” If I didn’t know him—or about him, anyway—I’d feel sorry for him. For the way he looks so sad and lost.
“He’ll be back in a minute.” I point to the bathroom door. “Don’t you want to wait?”
“No.” John shakes his head really slowly, and my God, his eyes practically swallow me whole. “No, I don’t.”
This is the moment where I’m supposed to say something that will make him open up to me. That will make him tell me everything so that, when Finn comes back from the bathroom, there will be this big emotional outpouring between the two of them. All the things they can’t say. Hearts laid bare. Etcetera. Etcetera.
But I just watch him walk away.
I’m still standing there when Finn comes out of the bathroom. His glance skitters across my face to the empty chairs at the table.
“He, um, left.” I half-wait for him to blame me for John leaving. To ask me what I said. Or didn’t.
He just nods and points to my cup. “Do you want to finish your coffee?”
“No.” I expect him to say something else, but he doesn’t.
We gather up our stuff and leave the coffee shop. Outside I blurt out, “I don’t know why he just left. I’m sorry. He should’ve stayed to say goodbye.”
“He said goodbye a long time ago. Besides, he got what he came for. He said his piece and looked me in the eye when he did it.” Finn doesn’t sound sad. Or annoyed. Or much of anything.
“What about you? Did you get what you came for?” I say it really softly, in case he can’t answer.
He doesn’t answer for two minutes. I know because I count to sixty twice. “Maybe.”
I let out a long, slow breath. “Good.”
This was a test. His test. Entirely self-imposed. Does that mean he passed? I literally bite my tongue so I won’t ask. I want to. I want to hear it. See his face. Look into those eyes. But I won’t.
Won’t. Won’t. Won’t.
“Where are you headed now?” he asks.
“I don’t know. You?” I literally have not thought beyond this moment. At all.
“I just…I really want to go home.” For a fraction of a second, his shoulders drop.
Which is what finally makes me put my arms around him. One around his back, another around his waist. As tight as I can.
He sinks into me. His arm circles my shoulder, and he inches closer, kissing my hair before letting go. “I can’t do this, Zosia.”
At first I don’t understand. All I hear is, “I can’t.” My throat closes up.
“Finn…”
“Let’s go home. I need to go home.”
H
ome.
Home turns out to be Finn’s. His room. His futon.
He leads me through the empty apartment, closing the door to his bedroom firmly behind us before he sinks down on the futon, drawing me down with him. Our legs thread together, his jeans rough against my bare legs. The shell button of his shirt digs into my cheek when I rest my head against his chest. It’s not comfortable. Usually we’re skin-on-skin, at least from the knees down, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Finn in anything other than shorts and a T-shirt. Nine times out of ten he ends up losing at least his shirt at my prodding.
But not today. Today I don’t say anything about his shirt or otherwise. I haven’t said much at all since we left Ueno. An occasional comment on the train and that’s pretty much it. It takes all my effort not to fill the silence between us. The only thing that makes it even possible is the way he holds my hand. Tight. Like a lifeline.
Which is why I don’t squirm or move away. My leg falls asleep, but I still don’t move. Finn’s breathing slows and deepens, and I wonder when he last slept. If he’s known about this since last week, I’d guess it’s gotten less and less as today approached.
I remember when Mom had to go in for a biopsy of a lump in her breast. It was after the first round of radiation. It was supposed to be taking the tumor away, not growing new ones. But one day she found a bump. The biopsy was four days from when she first told the doctor. The night before I didn’t sleep at all. I lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling and crossing my fingers like that really worked. Like wishing would make it so.
I’m emotionally drained, so it’s no surprise I fall asleep caught somewhere between missing Mom and aching for Finn. It makes for a restless sleep, and I wake up sweating, with my shirt twisted around my ribs. When I open my eyes, Finn’s propped up on one elbow looking at me. It’s dark, but the light from the streetlamp outside the window reflects in his eyes. Stars in the night sky.
“Hey.” His voice is soft.
“Hey.”
“My mom texted. She’s on her way home.”
“That’s…fine.” I shrug against the pillow. “Is my dad with her?”
“Probably.” Finn clears his throat. “I can’t imagine he’ll be thrilled to find you here.”
No, I can’t imagine that either. But I shake the thought from my head and shift so I face Finn. “How are you?”
“Yeah.” He closes his eyes for a beat. “Thanks for coming with me today.”
“Anytime.”
His smile is sad. “I’m pretty sure that was a one-shot deal.”
I’m pretty sure it was, too. Finn won’t be seeing John again. If either of them wanted that, they would have said goodbye. “I’m—”
“Don’t. Please.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so I won’t. There is no right thing to say.