Swimming to Tokyo (15 page)

“That’s what they say.” I disagree. Entirely.

He leans down to kiss my cheek before drawing away. I feel cold in my damp shorts without him close. “I don’t buy it,” he says.

We stand there for a long minute; the two feet between us may as well be the Hudson River. Finally I look down at my keys and I’m about to turn the lock when I ask him, “What if I’d won earlier? The race?”

“There was no way in hell you were going to win.” A smile starts in his eyes and moves lower. “Even if I had to trip you coming out of the water.”

I don’t even try to think of a reply. I just watch him turn away and walk down the street.

I
’ve changed twenty times. Discarded clothes lay all over my futon, trailing onto the floor. I trip over a skirt on my way out to the living room where my now-cold cup of coffee sits on the
kotatsu
. I take a sip, make a face, and click on Skype again. Still no Mindy. Not that there’s any reason she should be around at ten o’clock on a Saturday night, but I have an hour to go before Finn gets here and I can’t do this for the next five minutes, let alone sixty.

Thank God Dad’s not here. It was bad enough last night trying to sound nonchalant. Yes, Kamakura was gorgeous. We had a great time. A lot more interesting than I expected. None of it was a lie. If lies of omission don’t count.

I press the button on my phone and go to my texts. After spending twelve hours together yesterday, Finn and I spent another hour texting last night. I was barely out of my wet shorts when my phone buzzed with,
What time tomorrow?
Somehow we’d agreed on noon, lunch instead of dinner. Maybe both. No, he wouldn’t tell me where we were going. And, yes, goodnight would be way too long to wait for that kiss. Another zing through my chest.

I glance at Skype again. I have $4.82 in Skype credit to call actual phone numbers. God, I miss Mom. I don’t even know if we’d be close, what I’d tell her about Finn, but I want to think I’d tell her everything. I click on Babci’s number and listen to the ringing at the other end. Calling the US is $.02 per minute. I need $.40 of Babci’s time, tops. She’s not Mom, but she’s good at talking me down.

“Hello?”

“Babci. It’s me.
Jak się masz?
”

Babci’s voice rises, and she says ten things in a row. She’s fine. She misses me. How’s Dad? How’s Tokyo? What am I doing? What am I seeing? I’ve called her a few times from here, and the first five minutes are always the same. Like she has to get everything in as quickly and as loudly as possible. I’ve tried to explain that calling her via Skype is cheap, but to no avail. So I answer her questions just as quickly before we settle into a less frantic conversation.

She finishes telling me about her last doctor’s appointment and asks what I’m doing today. “Dad got called to work really early. Some server went down, I think?”

“But you have friends there.”

“I actually have a date.” I take a breath and plow through the rest. “A guy I knew in high school. Well, sort of knew. He’s here. His mom…we’ve been hanging out. But today we have a date.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. He won’t tell me.” I suck in a breath that sounds a lot like hesitation.

Babci hears it, even over six thousand miles. “What is it, Zosia?”

“I like him. And he likes me. But something bad happened to him. I don’t know the whole story, but…it was bad, Babci.”

Babci’s quiet for a minute, then she asks, “Is he in trouble?”

“No. No, it’s nothing like that…”

She doesn’t let me explain. “So what’s the problem? You like each other. He has something bad before. So do you. So does everybody.”

“I know.”

“So what are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid I can’t handle the truth.” I have a ridiculous flashback to that Tom Cruise movie.

“Can’t or won’t?” Babci takes a deep breath in. “Zosia, your mother. She won’t tell me about the cancer. She thinks it will kill me. But I know something is wrong. She can’t eat. She’s thin. Tired. But I let myself think she’s fine. Just tired. Just thin. Because I am afraid of the truth. So afraid. I should have made her tell me.”

I’m biting my lip. “I can’t make him tell me.”

“But you can make it easier for him if he wants to.” Her voice softens. “I make it so hard for your mother. I pretended she was fine and she thought she has to be.”

“He doesn’t have to be fine.” I think back to yesterday at the shrine, and my voice drops three notches, remembering how Finn looked when he told me. “He doesn’t have to be fine.”

“What does your father think?” Babci asks.

“He doesn’t know.” I let it hang out there between us and hold my breath.

“Why not?”

“He thinks I’ll get hurt.”

“Will you?” Babci’s tone is matter-of-fact.

I don’t answer for fifteen seconds. I know because I’m watching the counter on Skype. “It’s definitely possible.”

Babci doesn’t answer right away either. “You weigh the risks, no?”

“Of liking him or not telling Dad?”

Babci laughs. “Both. But your father…he might surprise you.”

“If we weren’t in Tokyo, he wouldn’t even know.” In Westfield, Dad and I barely saw each other during the week and we didn’t do a lot of hanging out when we were home. It’s not so different here, except this tiny apartment makes it seem like we’re involved in each other’s lives when, really, we just navigate around each other in a much smaller orbit.

“And that makes it okay?” Babci’s tone makes it clear it’s anything but okay.

“I just…” I struggle to find the right words. “I just wish I could figure out if this is even anything before Dad starts telling me all the ways this guy is bad for me.”

Babci laughs. “Well, I didn’t like your father for a long time. You can remind him of that.”

“That would go over well.” I can just see Dad’s expression if I brought that up like it’s something anyone’s ever talked about.

“Maybe. But, Zosia, give your father a reason to trust you.”

“I’ve never given him a reason not to trust me.” My voice rises.

“Well, if you think you like this boy, don’t let this be the first.” She says this like that settles it. And maybe it does.

We talk in Polish for a few more minutes about her neighbors in Queens and my latest debacles trying to navigate in Japanese before I glance at the clock and realize I’m still not dressed and I need to be.

I finally end up settling on the white skirt and sleeveless green blouse from Harajuku that, with a little bit of makeup, makes my eyes glow. I’ve left my hair down for now, even though I’m pretty sure it will be up in an hour. One more glance in the mirror for no obvious straps or snags and I start picking up my scattered clothes, making a project of hanging them and folding them just so to fit in the tiny drawers.

I’m not quite done by the time the knock sounds at the door, and I slam the drawer on my finger when I jump. I have the red tip of my forefinger in my mouth as I open the door.

Finn raises his eyebrow at me as he comes in. “What are you doing?”

“I slammed my finger in the drawer. It hurts like hell.” At least it keeps my nerves at bay a little, gives me something else to focus on besides the fact that the black T-shirt he’s wearing clings to his muscles in all the right places.

“Let me see.” He takes my hand and looks at my finger. “You should put some ice on it.”

“We don’t have a freezer.”

He presses my finger to his lips. It’s still throbbing, but now other parts of me are joining in. He kisses it lightly before taking it away, although he doesn’t let go of my hand. “Sorry. That probably doesn’t help.”

“I think it might actually.”

The next minute we’re kissing.

His hands cradle my neck and my face, tangle in my hair. Our lips are soft and tentative for twenty seconds before he draws me closer, teasing with his tongue. Little pinpricks of light explode everywhere he touches me. My back. My arms. My ribcage. His touch is gentle at first but grows more demanding as our kiss deepens. I rake my nails down his back, and he moves from my lips to my throat. My body arches against him, and his lips follow the collar of my blouse. I gasp as he reaches the V of the button and his mouth is on mine again, demanding and urgent. He backs me up against the door; there’s no air between us and it’s still not close enough.

I don’t know how long we kiss like that, but I know it’s Finn who pulls away. “Jesus, Zosia.”

I lick my lips. They’re swollen and pulsing. Pretty much like the rest of me.

“Yeah. Wow.”

“We should probably, um, go out.”

As opposed to staying here. Even I can see that. “I just need my stuff.”

I brush by him and head back to my bedroom. I’ve been kissed my fair share and I would guess Finn has too, but I’m pretty sure he’s as unnerved as I am. Not from the fact that it was good because it was always going to be, but from the way we went from zero-to-wild in 4.4 seconds. Maybe less.

I’m not sure whether to mention our kiss, let alone how. So I don’t. But that doesn’t mean Finn’s not going to. We’re on the train when he brings it up. “So what happened back there?”

I glance around. It’s crowded, per usual, but speaking English in a sea of Japanese always feels like a private conversation, despite the very public place.

“I don’t know.” I shrug a little. “I don’t have a lot of experience with that kind of thing.”

“Is that your way of telling me you’re not that kind of girl?”

“Well, apparently I am.” I hesitate for just a second because if we’re going to talk about this, we’re going to talk about it all the way. “And you? Are you that kind of guy?”

He nods. “You could say that.”

Jealousy makes me grip the pole a little tighter, but my voice stays even. “Why?”

This isn’t the question he’s expecting. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why Lexy Newton and not, say, Mindy?” I know by saying this I’m pretty much admitting I’ve scoured his Facebook profile, but we’re friends on Facebook now. He doesn’t have to know when said scouring occurred.

“Lexy Newton.” His mouth twists a little as he says her name, and I wonder if she’s not one of those girls, but something more. “She’s the one who hooked up with my father.”

Oh. Wow.

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

His hand is no longer near mine on the pole, and I’m pretty sure that’s not an accident.

“We were together before I moved to Westfield. Did the whole break-up/make-up thing and then got back together over last spring break. She came to Boston a couple of times; I went to see her. I knew she hooked up, but she was familiar. Easy.” He gives a wry smile. “I went down there before I came here to break it off. It wasn’t like I thought she’d be pining away for me, but I figured I’d never see her again and, you know, one more…”

“Fuck?” The word feels strange rolling off my tongue in its true meaning.

“Yeah. I guess.” He looks away. “It feels weird. To tell you this.”

“Really?” I’m surprised. We’ve talked about worse, as far as I’m concerned. “Why?”

“I want you to think I’m a better person than that.” He still doesn’t look at me when he says it.

“Don’t put things I haven’t said into my mouth.” I slide my hand up the pole to cover his. “What happened?”

His throat bobs, but he continues, “We talked and it was cool. It didn’t change anything. We still hung out. And then I stayed with Jamal for a couple days. The day I left, I stopped by my father’s. He’d sent the ticket. I wasn’t going to take it. I was never going to take it. But my mom convinced me and I finally agreed. I was going to stop by and…I don’t know what. I hadn’t seen him since…” Another hard swallow. “When I got to the house, Lexy was there and it was pretty clear she wasn’t selling Girl Scout cookies.”

“Wow.” I can’t imagine.

“I should have known. What you see is what you get.” Finn twines his fingers with mine around the pole and raises his eyebrows. “Although you come across as all sweet and innocent.”

I flutter my eyes at him. “I am. I told you.”

“Bullshit. You’re about as sweet and innocent as I am.” His face is close to mine, his breath hot on my cheek, and it’s very hard not to squirm.

“I think you’re forgetting you kissed me. I was just following your lead.”

“That’s never a good idea.” His eyes are steady on mine, and he doesn’t close them as he brings his lips to mine. It’s a totally different kiss from the one in my apartment. Soft, sensual, barely there. But I feel it just as much.

Maybe more.

He breaks away, and his arm goes around me like it did last night, although it wanders from my shoulder to my waist and back again. And even though I thought I’d gotten used to it yesterday, I’m really conscious of him touching me.

The way his fingers skim my neck. His hand, hot on the small of my back. His thumb tracing the waistband of my skirt. The only saving grace is we get off the train at Odaiba, and I don’t think he notices the way I startle when his hand hits skin he hasn’t touched before. Because Odaiba is this crazy man-made island on the other side of Tokyo that has something like four major shopping malls, a boardwalk, museums…even a coliseum. From the replica of the Statue of Liberty to the giant Ferris wheel, it’s another world, over-the-top even by Tokyo standards.

We spend the first couple of hours walking around gawking. There’s no other word for it.

“Did they film
Transformers
here or something?” I ask, pointing to a huge robot-like statue in front of us.

“Not that I know of.” Finn peers at the plaque, written in Japanese and English. “It says here this guy’s name is Gundam, from some anime series. Apparently there’s a whole museum inside if you want to take a look?”

“Me and anime? I don’t think so.” I laugh and hold up my hand. “And before you give me a hard time, remember I read your damn book.”

“My damn book? Is that any way to talk about my extremely thoughtful gift to you?” Finn asks, his face contorting in mock-horror.

The book he bought me in Kinokuniya,
Kafka on the Shore
by Haruki Murakami, was an extremely thoughtful gift. If only because Finn said it’s one of his all-time favorites. If I’d loved books—or, hell, even liked books—I’m sure I’d have thought it was amazing. As it was, it was long and confusing and I’m still not really sure I understood it. Finn said that’s part of the whole Murakami reading experience, but it’s not an experience I’m eager to repeat.