Unbreak My Heart(26)

I eat, savoring the food. My chopsticks dive into the bowl again, scooping up another heaping spoonful of rice and soy sauce and raw fish.

“Hey.”

I look up and see a guy I know. “Hey, Mike.”

He smiles and reaches over the counter to smack my arm.

He’s my age, and he worked here the last time I visited. He was into music, always playing some cool Japanese tunes on low on his little stereo while he served up fish. We’d sometimes trade song recommendations. His English is perfect, and I remember that from being here—most people our age know English well.

“How’s it going, man? I remember you. Ian’s brother, right? Andrew?”

I’m glad he remembers me and that I don’t have to dive into a lengthy explanation or reminder. “Yeah, I’m just here for—” I stop for a second. To see if I can ever be happy, or even remotely human, again. Would you happen to have the magic cure? “To see Tokyo again.”

“How’s Ian doing?”

There it is. That all-too-familiar moment when I have to tell someone, and we all become uncomfortable.

“Actually, he died last month,” I say, clunky and awkward. Maybe it always will be.

Then the look. The tilt of the head, the heavy oh, like he’s said the wrong thing. “Oh, man. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks.”

“Damn, I’ll miss him. He was here every day when he was in town.”

“Yeah, he dug this place.”

“He did.” He pauses, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “How are you doing?” he asks.

The question startles me. Strangers rarely ask. “I’m okay,” I say, and it feels true. I decide to test out more honesty—the simple kind. “I was supposed to take the bar next month, but I’m not. I pushed it off, and I’m glad I did.”

Mike grabs a ceramic mug of tea from behind the counter and raises it high. “That deserves a toast.”

I lift my tea mug and clink. “It does?”

He nods intensely. “You’re taking a stand against the tyranny of tests.”

I laugh. “I’m not entirely sure that’s what it means, since I won’t be able to practice law without it.”

Mike wiggles his fingers. “Work with me here, man. You’re an anarchist.”

I laugh some more and take a gulp of the hot beverage. “To anarchy.”

He puts down his cup, grabs a blade, and pulls some fish onto a cutting board. “Speaking of anarchy, did you hear this new band, the Anarchist Sages?”

Before I know it, I have a list of new bands to check out, and he has the same from me.

“Thanks, Mike. It’s good to have new tunes as I rebel against the tyranny of tests.”

He points his knife at me in a you know it gesture. “And you’ll need a playlist for the ladies too. Don’t forget the ladies.”

“I could never forget the girl.” Singular, not plural.

He slices a piece of tuna. “Your brother was like that too. He was here with his girl a lot. I told him it was radically unfair that he snagged the prettiest Japanese girl around and didn’t give the local men a shot.”

I laugh, and it feels damn good because I can picture Ian’s reaction to that comment. A what-can-you-do shrug, paired with a slightly cocky smile.

“She’s a nice gal,” Mike adds as he works the blade through another fish. “So was your sister.”

My chopsticks clatter to the wood counter, as I stumble across the dossier to one of the murder mystery clues—the connection to the postcard on the desk. The trouble is, a searing pang of jealousy pounds into me, thinking Laini might have known why Ian was here, why he wasn’t taking his meds, maybe even why he sought alternative treatments.

“When was my sister here?” The words feel bitter.

Mike looks up for a second. “A few months back? Maybe January, maybe February?”

“That’s great,” I say to Mike, but it’s a lie. It’s not great that I thought I knew my brother better than anyone. Now I feel like he’s slipping further away from me.

Mike turns to take an order from another customer, and I glance down at the remains of my rice and fish.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

I look up to see Holland.





17





Holland



His eyes are edged with hurt, but not the kind I saw in Los Angeles. This is different. Not as painful. More like a surprised kind of hurt, and I’m not sure how to read him, or what’s gone into this new emotional cocktail.

But then he says, “You found me,” and his tone seems even, so I keep mine even too, so I can try to figure out where he’s at.

“I’m a huntress.” I take the seat next to him and say hello to the guy behind the counter. “Also, I thought you’d be at this food stall when you said the food stalls.”

“It’s the best one here,” he says, but his response is far too one-note for my liking. Something is amiss.

I ease into the conversation. “Did you win the fight against jet lag last night, or did it take you down too?”

“It definitely pulled me under.” He takes a bite of his food, then tips his chin at me. “You crashed hard last night.”