Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(10)

Princess Izumi. Princess Izumi. Princess Izumi.



* * *



The door slams shut. We’re inside. I am momentarily deaf, kind of like after you go to a concert and your eardrums are numb. All my synapses are firing in different directions. I struggle to form words, thoughts. It doesn’t help that Tamagotchi won’t stop barking. A fine time for my stinky, sleepy dog to find his backbone. I pluck him off the ground, shushing him.

“I told you not to get out of the car,” Mom says.

Know what I don’t like? When my mother tells me I told you so. I hit her with my most withering look.

Noora slumps in a chair close to the window. “That was intense.” The blinds are closed, but through the slats, I spy shadows. They’re still out there.

I don’t swear often but now seems the appropriate time to say, “What a shitshow.”

A throat clears.

Oh, we’re not alone. Mom shuffles to the side. A group of Japanese men sit at our kitchen table. All three are dressed in navy suits. You know, the standard uniform for fifty-and-over politicians. They stand and execute fluid deep bows. Their leather shoes are polished to a high shine. And wow. I never noticed how yellow our linoleum floor is or how worn the cabinets are—and not in the trendy, shabby-chic way, either.

One of the men steps forward. He’s slight and wears round glasses. “Hajimemashite, Your Highness.” He bows again.

Mom’s smile walks an apprehensive tightrope. She extends a hand by way of introduction. “Izumi, this is His Excellency Ambassador Saito from the Japan Embassy. He’s flown all the way from Washington, DC.”

It’s too late, but now I remember seeing a black town car parked outside with little flags. I didn’t pay much attention. Note to self: stop being so self-obsessed.

“I tried calling you,” Mom says.

“You know my preferred method of communication is through the written word,” I reply through my teeth. Texting. I mean texting.

Mom seems pretty frazzled. It could be because she’s entertaining a foreign dignitary in her cat house slippers and a T-shirt that reads Woman Up. I’m not wearing much better. Black Bear Diner calls for elastic waistbands and big T-shirts. I’d barely managed to throw my hair into a bun this morning. I did put on a bra, though, so that’s a win. Go me.

Noora is rapid-fire scrolling through her phone. “You’re all over the foreign press.”

Ambassador Saito says, “We apologize for the media. We’d hoped to get here first, but our flight was delayed.”

“How did they even find out? How did they get our address?”

Ambassador Saito steps forward. “An unfortunate turn of events, but not entirely unexpected. The press in Japan is similar to America’s. They have ways of obtaining information. The Crown Prince regrets this situation could not be handled with discretion, and he sends his sincerest apologies he could not be here himself. In addition, he apologizes for any undue stress this has caused you or your mother. He wishes circumstances were different.” All right, then. So I’m a dirty little secret. “He also wishes for you to join him in Japan.”

One of the men at the table produces a large envelope from inside his jacket and passes it to Ambassador Saito. The move is very cool, very smooth. I’m sure I’ve seen something similar in spy movies when agents exchange sensitive information.

Ambassador Saito presents it to me with both hands and a bow. Mom and Noora are watching me. I take the envelope. It’s heavy, white, and crisp. My name is written on the outside in an elegant script.





Her Imperial Highness Princess Izumi


泉内親王殿下

The moment seems too big for our humble two-bedroom home. Noora and Mom peer over my shoulder, their breaths brushing against my neck. Personal space isn’t a thing between best friends and mothers. I slide my finger under the wax seal, a golden chrysanthemum. A single card is inside. The calligraphy is loopy and black, clearly inked by hand. Another golden chrysanthemum stamps the top.





On behalf of the Empire of Japan, His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince Toshihito requests the honor of his daughter, the Princess Izumi, to visit and stay at his personal lodgings, Tōgū Palace.


The Ambassador cuts in. “The Crown Prince wishes to explain that this invitation is open. He is happy to receive you upon your convenience.”

My eyes connect with Mom’s—hers are dark fathomless pools. It’s impossible to decipher her thoughts. Is she remembering Harvard nights with my father, this stoic man? Or is she concerned about the press on our lawn, that our veil of privacy has been ripped away? But there’s no going back now. Only forward. All she says is, “What about school?”

I swallow.

Noora grins. Her thoughts are much more transparent. Go. Go. Go. “Spring break is soon. Zoom Zoom could go then and the week after?” she helpfully chimes in. Then adds, “Last semester of senior year is basically a wash, anyway.” Noora elbows my mom. “Amiright?”

Mom sighs, rubbing her forehead. “I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world if you miss a week or two of school. It’s your choice, honey. Give it some thought. I’m sure Ambassador Saito doesn’t need an answer right this minute.”

Ambassador Saito is utterly serene. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”