“You look great.”
He always says that, and I nod vaguely as I dig through my purse for Chapstick. “Remind me to unpack when we get home instead of getting sucked back into the Internet. So where are we going?”
Dad tells me that we’re going to a hibachi place two stops from here and we need to move it, so I follow him out. Our apartment is on the third floor and we wind down the stairs, our shoes slapping on concrete the only sound. In fact, I’m stunned at how quiet it is because I remember from last night we’re not far from a major street.
And that major street is insane. Cars, motorcycles, sirens, people. And all the neon on top of that. We’re not even in Tokyo proper and it feels like Times Square. The train station is only two blocks away, and by the time we get there, I’ve got a serious case of swivel head because there’s so much to see.
“Wow, it’s overwhelming,” I say.
“It’s like New York. You get used to it.” Dad buys me a ticket from a machine that seems to have an English option, although what buttons he pressed to get that, I have no idea. He hands the ticket to me with a bunch of bills. “You should have money in case you need it. I’ll get you an ATM card tomorrow and we can get you a cell phone, too.”
“Who would I call?” I can’t imagine being without a cell phone in New Jersey, but here it seems completely unnecessary.
“You might make a friend.” Dad smiles and leads me to a platform where we stand with everyone else waiting.
There’s a timetable on a sign above our head, displayed in military time. 18:57. “We’re meeting some of the other expats for dinner.”
“Oh good. I can get hooked up for babysitting.”
“Some of the kids are older. Eloise…”
Right. Eloise. “Dad…” I interrupt him and then stop because the train approaches and a million people get off. Honestly, I have never seen so many people exit a train at one time, in such an orderly way. Not like in New York where, even though you’re supposed to step to the side to wait, people shove on anyway. Here, everyone on the platform waits for the passengers to get off and then they file in.
Dad and I end up in the middle of the car, which makes me a little nervous because he said we’re only going two stops and there are approximately three hundred people between us and the door. And, okay, that’s a slight exaggeration, but very slight. The girl next to me wedges herself into my ribs, and we both have to be fine with it because there’s literally nowhere else for her to go.
Dad laughs at my expression. “If you think this is bad, stay away from the trains in morning rush hour for a while.”
“I read about that, where the men shove you onto the trains because it’s so crowded.” I read one blog post by some girl who’d passed out standing on the train during morning rush hour and no one around her noticed until the train emptied seven stops later. The whole thought makes me shake my head in disgust. “No thank you.”
“It won’t be as bad coming home. This is still the work crowd.”
I notice people glancing at us, although they’re trying to hide it. Dad said I’m bound to get some stares because my red hair is so completely foreign, and I wonder if they’re staring because of that or because we’re speaking English? And if it’s the fact we’re speaking English, how much of it do they understand? If it’s a lot, they might get an earful in a second.
I clear my throat. I don’t know how to do this, but I know I have to before we get to the restaurant and come face-to-face with Eloise. “So did Eloise mind that we were going to be late?”
Dad shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. There are about twenty people going. They’ll just start to order and we can join in.”
“Do you go out a lot then?” The train lurches to a stop. One stop to go.
“Some. More than in New York. It’s different now that you’re here.”
“I know, but it doesn’t need to be, Dad. I mean, I can take care of myself, and you shouldn’t curb your social life because of me.”
“I want to spend time with you, Zo.” Dad looks confused. Shoot. I’m blowing this.
So I do the only possible thing and blurt it out. “I want to spend time with you, too, Dad. But I don’t think your girlfriend will understand if you just put her on hold all summer.”
“My girlfriend?” Dad says this slowly, and the girl to my right jabs me in the ribs. It feels like she’s chastising me for my lack of tact, although she’s staring straight ahead, so probably not.
“Eloise? Or maybe I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure there’s someone and you shouldn’t be worried about telling me. Mom died a long time ago and you should… be happy.” My palms are sweaty on the pole as I say it. I’m right. I know I’m right. Mom would want him to be happy. I want him to be happy.
Dad gapes at me now, but before he can respond the train stops and he pulls me toward the door. I half-expect the girl to follow us just so she can jab me again if I need it, but she’s still on the train when it pulls out and Dad and I stop in the middle of the platform as all the businessmen, aka salarymen, swarm toward the stairs.
“This isn’t how I imagined telling you, Zosia.”
He calls me Zosia, which means I am right. About something. “I’m a big girl. I can take it, Dad.”
He either agrees with me or feels backed into a corner. “Eloise and I have been seeing each other for a couple of months. But we were both offered the move to Tokyo before anything happened between us. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
I put my hand on his arm. “You have a certain tone, Dad, when you like someone. Everyone does.”
Dad looks confused by this. “They do?”
The platform fills up again with people for the next train. “They do. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
We don’t talk as we leave the station, but Dad stops about twenty steps outside. “If you’d rather not meet her yet, I understand.”
“Dad, I want to meet her. And I’d rather know meeting her she’s your girlfriend than find out a week from now or a month from now because that would be weirder.” I laugh, trying to make light of it. “I mean, what if I said something bad about her and then I found out?”
His face falls. I’ve said the wrong thing. Again. “I think you’ll like her. She’s not your mother, but she’s genuine. And she’s had a tough time—her ex-husband, her son…”
“Dad, stop. I’m sure she’s fine.” It’s the magic word and it propels Dad down the sidewalk with me a step behind.
I drag my feet. It’s not fine. I’m not ready to meet twenty people I don’t know, and I’m sure as hell not ready to meet Dad’s girlfriend. His first girlfriend since Mom. The fact that he didn’t warn me—wasn’t going to warn me—worries me more than anything because I know what that means. It means he’s already assumed “fine” on my behalf.
The whole way to the restaurant I imagine backing out. I’m exhausted. My stomach’s upset. I might throw up. I even open my mouth when we’re in the elevator like the most believable excuse might come out. But Dad’s not looking at me, talking about how most department stores have restaurants on the top floor and supermarkets in the basement, so you always know where to find food. He’s babbling like he’s nervous and this makes me nervous, too.
When the doors open, I smell cigarettes and food, in that order. My stomach lurches. All I’ve had is coffee all day, and the cigarette smell makes me feel like I really could throw up. If I don’t wet myself first. Neither my bladder nor my stomach is used to all that coffee.
“Um, Dad, I’m going to hit the ladies room first.”
“I’ll wait for you here.” He looks around and waves toward the far side of the room.
“No, really. I’ll find you. You’ll be the one with all the
gaijin
.” I move off before he can protest. There’s a sign for restrooms. Thank God that’s universal.
Inside the bathroom, I push the door open to a stall and stop dead. In front of me is a ceramic trough-looking thing in the floor. Toilet paper hangs on the wall on one side and a bar on the other. Seriously? I push open all the other doors. All the same.
You have got to be kidding me. I’m either going to pee or puke and my only option is the equivalent of a hole in the ground?
I know this is a traditional Japanese toilet. I saw pictures online. Mindy and I laughed. But I didn’t think I’d have to use one because the same site that had the pictures also said Western toilets were becoming more and more popular. And I thought the buttons were bad. Ha.
I step into a stall and lock the door behind me. My bladder reminds me it’s full to bursting and I glance again at the floor. Okay, this is like squatting in the woods. I’ve done that before. Not in a long time, but it’s certainly not hard. I crouch over the hole and pull my bikini panties down to my knees, holding them forward with a thumb. But I don’t grab both sides and end up soaking the back of them. So much that there’s no way I’m putting them back on.
I back away from the toilet, afraid I’ll stick my foot in it, and slide my panties down, holding the wet part away from my leg. They dangle from my finger, deep blue on one side, lighter on the other. So gross. There’s no choice but to throw them in the sanitary bin at the back of the stall and yank my dress down hard over my hips. I feel naked, even though my dress is more than long enough. Practically to my knees.
Still, looking in the mirror while I wash my hands, my cheeks are pink. A girl comes in and the pink deepens, as if she can tell. I take a deep breath and shake my head at myself, tightening my ponytail. Okay. I’m going to meet my father’s new girlfriend and I’m not wearing underwear. That feels all wrong, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
I pull the door and head out. The restaurant is crowded, but I see Dad’s group from the entrance. Eighty percent
gaijin
, a few Japanese. Dad leans down talking to a petite dark-haired woman. Eloise? My heart thuds, but I plaster a smile on my face and set out across the room.
I’m about six steps from the table when a guy sidles up next to the woman and puts his arm around her shoulder. Dad sees me and waves at the same time the guy says, “Mom” and they both turn toward me.
And I’m standing two steps away from Finn O’Leary.
“Z
osia?” Finn grabs my arm, as though he has to touch me to believe I’m real. I don’t blame him. His grip is the only thing stopping me from pitching right into him.
“Hi.” My voice sounds strange and high.
Dad jumps in before I can say anything else. “Of course you two would know each other. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, but you were in the same graduating class.” He says this like he’s proud to have figured it out.
The woman I presume to be Eloise smiles. “Zosia, it’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I swallow my urge to say I’ve heard nothing about her. “Thank you.” Finn’s hand still grips my arm, and he drops it as if he’s just remembered he’s touching me when I look up at him. “You’re in Tokyo.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” I don’t even try to think of something intelligent to say.
“Finn made Dean’s List at MIT, and his father thought it would be nice for him to take the summer off after all that hard work, so his ticket to Tokyo was a congratulations present.” Eloise purses her lips a little as she says this.
I come out with another, “Wow.” I can’t help it. Even though I knew he went to MIT, I would never have pegged Finn for Dean’s List. I’m almost more surprised by that than the fact he’s in Tokyo.
Finn’s shoulders stiffen. “Let’s call a spade a spade. My father isn’t in a position to offer much else.”
And then he goes back to the table to pick up a glass without another word. Someone starts talking to him, and I stare after him until Eloise breaks in. “Sorry. Finn and his father have had some rough patches. They haven’t really seen each other much, and I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.”
“It’s…fine,” I say. As much as I’d like to probe her about Finn, I’m on information overload as it is. And judging by his reaction, there’s a long story there. I file away what Eloise said to think about later and give her what I hope is a convincing smile. “So how are you liking Tokyo?”
She looks relieved and we start talking about the heat and the trains. She recommends a grocery store close to the station that sells some American stuff and tells me a funny story about trying to buy pants. She twirls her long black hair around her finger as we talk, which makes her seem young, even though she must be over forty. I end up sitting across from her at dinner, Dad and Finn at the far end of the table. A few interns sit near us and Amelia, one of the interns, goes to the University of Rhode Island, so we have a lot to talk about, and it all feels very normal.
Except I’m really conscious of Finn talking with my dad through a lot of the meal. What on earth do they have in common? And how well do they know each other anyway? From here, they look really comfortable with each other, which makes me think either Finn’s a lot more personable than he let on or Dad and Eloise are a lot more serious than he’s led me to believe. Neither of those thoughts sit very well with me, and I squirm in discomfort. Which reminds me I’m not wearing panties and makes me squirm some more.
By halfway through the giant platter of thinly sliced meat we take turns cooking over the small round grill in the middle of the table, I’m ready to leave. I’m full, it’s hot, and the cigarette smoke is overwhelming. Amelia says some restaurants have started banning smoking, but the general rule is that smoking is more acceptable indoors than out. She says you get used to it, but not on day one with jet lag. I catch Dad’s eye a few times, hoping he can read my I-want-to-get-the-hell-out-of-here signals, but he just smiles and nods.
We stay at the restaurant for a really long time, and when someone announces the last train is in twenty minutes, I’m the first one to jump up from the table. Everyone scrambles to pay and we’re leaving. A big group heads to the station, and I stick close to Amelia and Akihiro, another intern. Eloise walks ahead with Dad, and Finn must be behind since I don’t see him until we get to the platform. Almost everyone else is going toward Tokyo except Dad, Eloise, Finn and I, and another couple who are so into each other we may as well not be there at all. We’re heading to Yokohama.