Swimming to Tokyo (9 page)

“Sure.” He watches me fill the kettle. “What were you surfing on?”

“Facebook, the Japan Guide, someone’s blog about scary movies. Don’t ask.” I lean against the counter, waiting for the kettle and cross my arms over my chest. My pink tank top is thin, and I’ve got the AC blasting. Much as I’d half-like to see his reaction, the other half wins. “What have you been up to?”

“Today? About the same until an hour ago, although I missed the blog on scary movies.”

“Very funny.” The kettle whistles and I pour. “What did you do yesterday?”

“My mom and I went to Yokohama pier, walked around. What about you?”

I hand him his coffee. “We went to Yoyogi Park. There was a concert Dad thought I’d like, some band called Orange Range or something. He feels guilty he has to work on my third day here.”

And he feels guilty about Eloise. He must have brought her up twenty times yesterday in between songs. How nice she is. How much she enjoyed meeting me. How this summer is such a great opportunity for all of us to get to know each other. I kept mostly quiet, although I agreed with that. It’s a great opportunity for something.

“Nice. This coffee is disgusting.” He doesn’t put it down but he makes a face.

I laugh and hike my arms over my chest again. “It’s all there is so my standards are low.”

He laughs. “Good to know. Do you want to go get something that’s drinkable?”

“Sure. I just need to change.”

His lips twist into a grin. “You could go like that.”

So he did notice. If I were Mindy, I’d have a smart retort ready. Of course, if I were Mindy, I wouldn’t even be here; I’d be out exploring the coolest parts of Tokyo. I halfheartedly roll my eyes and say, “No, I really can’t.” I point to the laptop. “I need, like, ten minutes. You can surf if you want.”

“Sure, thanks.” Finn walks over to the couch. “Will I find anything incriminating?”

I bite my cheek. I’m right in the middle of an email to Mindy. The tab is open, right next to Facebook and Google maps. “Don’t read my email.”

He has the laptop in hand, but studies me instead. “I thought you said you were at, like, a seven on the honesty scale?”

“Six, actually. But my email’s a ten.” Maybe more.

“Why? Who are you emailing?”

That’s the easy question. “Mindy.”

“About what?”

You
. The word is right there, and I have a feeling he knows it. “None of your business. Promise.”

He gives me a slow nod. “Sure, okay.”

It’s all I can do not to go over and just close the tab, but I head into my room and push the door shut behind me. I’m in the middle of telling Mindy about Friday night. Complete with commentary about Finn. In fact, most of it is commentary about Finn, starting with my shock that he’s here, the train, the bar, after. I pull a T-shirt dress from a hanger over my head. He promised. That’s got to count for something.

All through braiding my hair, I have to talk myself out of running back out there. But, despite my trepidation, I use my ten minutes and then some. When I open the door again, Finn glances up from the couch, and his expression isn’t appalled or amused. “Hey. Do you want to go to Ueno? It’s about thirty minutes away according to the Japan Rail website.”

“Sure. That’s good. I have a
Lonely Planet
. I’ll bring it.” My laptop sits back on the table, and he’s got a notebook open in his lap.

“You’re bringing an actual guidebook? Do people do that anymore?”

I stick my tongue out at him, which feels really immature the minute I do it. “I do, so hush. Besides, I don’t have a phone, remember?”

He closes the notebook and shoves it back in his bag. “Just wondering. You have a hell of a lot of friends on Facebook, by the way.”

My face warms at least ten degrees. “Hey. You promised.”

“You said your email was off-limits, not Facebook. I wondered if we had any friends in common.”

“Do we?” I know the answer to this already.

He grins. “Nope, although I’m surprised you’re friends with Kathy Johnson.”

“Oh, come on, are you really friends with everyone you’ve friended on Facebook?” I follow him down the stairs and watch his calf muscles tense and relax, tense and relax. Even if hadn’t told me Friday night, I’d guess he was a runner from how well-defined his legs are.

“Not at all. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s hypocritical.”

We exit and the heat wraps around me like a blanket. According to Dad, it’s due to rain and that should help, but for now it feels like being stuck in a sauna. Who the hell knew Japan was so hot?

“So how many of your so-called friends are you really friends with then?” I ask.

“Five maybe?”

“Out of three hundred something, you’re friends with five?” My hand flies to my mouth. Oh my God. I’ve just admitted to Facebook-stalking him.

I see from his sudden grin he didn’t miss that either, and I brace for a smart remark. Instead he says, “That’s about right. I could add you, make it six.”

I brush my hand through my hair. Not a smooth move at all, considering the braid, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to let it slide. “Sure, but how do I know I won’t just be one of the masses?”

“If you were one of the masses, I would’ve read your email.”

I laugh. “I’m still not sure you didn’t.”

He stops at the foot of the stairs to the station and turns abruptly. “Really? Aren’t you?”

Cold flashes through me, settling in my stomach. It’s the look on his face. A combination of hurt and anger and, I swear to God, longing? I feel like his dark eyes drill right through me. Searching past my skin, my eyes, into the place where I store my truths. Plural. “No. I mean, yes. I mean… I…sorry.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you. Not about that.”

I curl my fingers around the strap of my bag. “What would you lie to me about?”

“I don’t know.” He pauses for a second. “Nothing yet.”

I force a grin to ease the tension. “Well, you’re the one who said you were a four or five on the honesty scale. Maybe you sell yourself short?”

It works. He smiles a little, and it feels like coming up for air after swimming in the deep black water of a lake. “Yeah. We’ll see. Do you want to go or get coffee here?”

“Let’s go and get one when we get there. And I owe you from ages ago, so it’s on me.”

“Ten thousand miles and she finally pays me back.” His voice has a hint of teasing now.

“Better late than never. I was waiting for the right moment.”

“Yeah, me too. And this is it?”

“Apparently.”

“Good to know.” He gives me a slow smile that verges on flirtatious before it settles firmly into friendly.

And he’s nothing more—or less—as we walk around Ueno Park, skirting the museums and shuffling around Toshogu Shrine, taking turns reading what few signs there are in English. It’s impressive walking underneath the
torii
, the wooden arches leading to the temple, and the lantern by the first gate is the biggest I’ve ever seen. In between oohing and aahing, we talk about our respective trips to Tokyo, college, Westfield. By the time we wander into Kabaya Coffee, I know he flew over two days before I did, is studying pre-med, and hated Westfield even more than I’d originally thought.

“So why did you come then? If you hated it?” I ask.

“I didn’t really have a choice.”

He’s not going to tell me unless I ask, but the way his expression hardens makes me back away from it. I don’t know Finn well enough to be able to really read him yet, but he gives the “back off” signal better than anyone I’ve ever met. So back off is what I do.

“There are worse places. At least it’s close to New York.”

“True. I used to go in and wander around for hours. I spent a whole day once riding the Staten Island Ferry. I think they thought I was homeless, but they left me alone and just let me stay on.” He looks down at the table and half-smiles at the memory.

“I used to do that. I’d go up to the second deck and stand outside. One day I rode it so long that the guy actually brought me a chair.”

“Why?”

“Why did he bring me a chair?”

“No, why’d you stay on?”

“My mom didn’t want a grave, so we spread her ashes over the Hudson and the Vistula in Krakow, where she was from. I always imagine her out there somewhere. The water was a huge thing to her.” That statement makes it official. I’ve talked about Mom more with Finn than I have with anyone else, except Mindy, Dad, and Babci.

“Is that why you swim?”

I sit up straighter. “How do you know I swim?”

“I didn’t exactly live under a rock when I was at Westfield. Weren’t you co-captain of the swim team?” Finn asks.

“Yes.” A million “buts” follow that statement in my head, but I leave them all spinning there, along with the realization that, even though Finn said he stayed off the grid in high school, he was a hell of a lot more tuned in than he let on. And tuned into me, apparently.

Huh.

“So? Did you swim because of your mom?” he asks again.

I nod. “She started trying to teach me when I was six months old. We’d go to these Mommy-and-me swim classes at the Y. There was never a time I don’t remember swimming.”

“What was she like?” Finn leans forward, and there it is again, that intensity that earns him a ten.

I smile a little. “Beautiful. Funny. Genuine.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I mean, she was pretty, but it was more than that.” The waitress places our coffee on the table between us, and I talk as I pour the milk and sugar, focusing on the mug and Finn’s hands on the table. “I remember when I was little and I came home from school one day sad because someone had been mean to me. My mom made me a peanut butter sandwich, and we sat on the window seat in my room under a blanket and she read me at least ten stories in a row. She didn’t tell me everything would be okay or that those girls were mean. She just held me until I felt better.”

When I look up, Finn’s got a funny look on his face. “You’re like her.”

I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement, but I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”

“It’s got to be hard being a girl and losing your mom. I mean, female shit is a total mystery to guys.” Finn sounds one hundred and ten percent serious.

So I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Female shit? Really?”

He laughs a little, but at least has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Oh, come on. You know what I mean. Are you really going to talk to your dad about clothes or makeup?”

“Really?” I make my eyes widen. I’m only wearing a little mascara and my dress, a pink T-shirt dress from the Gap, isn’t exactly a fashion statement. It feels strange to be mocking myself in front of Finn, but for this minute, he’s not the hot guy I had a crush on. He’s a guy who’s making me laugh, which feels infinitely better. “Really?”

He laughs again, louder this time. “Give me a break. You know what I mean. I just think it’s tough being a girl and losing your mom. It is.”

I have to nod. “It is. Last year was hard with all the senior stuff to do. Graduation announcements, prom… My mom would’ve been great at that stuff.”

“See. That’s what I mean. Definitely mom territory. My mom would’ve been great at that, too,” Finn says.

“Did you not go to graduation either?”

He shakes his head and looks sheepish. “Nope. I refused.”

“Wow. Harsh.” I’m happy to have the focus off me for a bit, and I run with it. “I mean, how many times are you going to graduate from high school?”

“I was an ass. I swear to God, all I heard from April to June was prom, graduation, prom, graduation. I think in the end I didn’t go to either at least half out of spite.”

“Well, you could’ve had a date to prom easily.” I shrug. “Not that you missed much. But you should’ve gone to graduation.”

“So I’ve heard. Repeatedly.” He leans back and takes a sip of his coffee. “So let me ask you something. Would you have gone to prom with me if I’d asked?”

My pulse accelerates. I’m more prepared to talk about my mom than I am about this. Missing Mom is familiar, even if talking about it isn’t. This is uncharted territory all around. I make myself hold his gaze.

“Yep.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I told you before you probably could’ve gone with anyone you wanted.”

“I’m asking you.” He gives me that look again that makes me want to fidget and look away, although I make myself stay still.

But I do give in to my instinct to deflect. “Um, I hate to tell you, but it’s a little late.”

“That was a three.” He rolls his eyes at me. “Who are you kidding? You’re miles away from a seven.”

“Six,” I say. “And it’s a fair point.”

“Bullshit.” I’m about to protest when he says, “I always thought you had a boyfriend anyway. Girls like you always have boyfriends.”

“Girls like me?” Now I know what we’re doing—drawing lines in the sand, establishing boundaries. But that still stings. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, come on. You’re pretty. You were semi-popular. Plenty of guys were interested in you.” He says this like it’s a given. Like I should know. And like he didn’t just call me pretty. To my face.

“Contrary to what you might have heard, they weren’t exactly lining up.”

“That’s another three, by the way.”

I feel the heat rising in my face. “What kind of answer are you looking for?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. How about a ten?”

I look around the café. It’s overflowing with couples. I read that Sunday is the most popular date day in Tokyo, and I wonder if anyone assumes we’re on a date. I feel Finn’s eyes boring into me, but I keep mine fixed on a couple at the counter.

“It’s what you said, that night, about how many people really know you. Me.” I smile a little. “I had a boyfriend, but we broke up when my mom got really sick. He said he couldn’t handle it. I mean, I couldn’t handle it, so…”

“That’s bullshit.” Finn looks pissed off on my behalf, and while I appreciate it, I don’t want to go there. Kevin’s a blip on the screen of my past, a nonevent next to Mom’s cancer.

I shrug. “It is what it is. Mindy always says I should just hook up. It’s no big deal. Maybe she’s right. I don’t know. Getting through the look alone is usually enough to put me off.”