Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(58)
“Relax.”
She doesn’t exactly do my bidding, but she does settle somewhat, long enough for me to enjoy the rest of the three-minute ride. I focus on Akio in the front. A night ago, I found a folded airplane on my pillow, a note on the wing.
Staring at the clouds
I find it impossible
To walk, to run … to stay
How to remain grounded when
I am always filled with sky?
I’d replied yesterday, tying my poem to a little piece of cake and handing it off under the guise of the chef wanting Akio’s opinion on a new dessert recipe.
Born a foreigner
I carry two halves with me
Loose skins I pull on
To go places and don’t fit
Like apple pie and mochi
Too soon, my musings are cut short. I’m out of the car, being escorted through the back entrance into the hospital. Dozens of royal handlers surround me—a mass of men in black and navy.
The ribbon cutting goes off without a hitch. Cameras flash. It’s the whole shebang—the imperial press club, mainstream press, and hospital publicists. I smile robotically, keeping my distance from the Shining Twins. Noriko whispers out of the side of her mouth, “Cousin, your dress is so bright. Good for you. I could never pull that off.” Akiko follows up with, “I love how you can just wear anything.”
Quickly afterward, we’re ushered into the new ward. Already, there are a few patients, though I suspect they’ve been planted there. The new mothers and babies look way too good—combed hair, cashmere robes, pink-cheeked babies swaddled tightly. Hansani has a little sister. A bonus baby, her parents call it. The months after her delivery, Hansani’s mom described herself as feeling like warm garbage. She admitted more than a dozen times to forgetting to put on underwear. Also, she pees when she laughs. I didn’t want to know that, but there you go. I cross my legs whenever I see her.
Curtains separate the beds. For each mom, there is a tiny, pinkish creature in what looks like a clear Tupperware bin on a rolling rack. I don’t know. I’m sure there’s a medical term for the cradles housing the tiny humans. The Shining Twins are ahead of me, distributing bears with overlarge eyes. I’m on blanket duty, handmade and crocheted by the empress and her lady-in-waiting coven. A photographer, Mariko, Mr. Fuchigami, and Akio trail me.
I stop and chat with a woman who looks slightly older than me. She gave birth two days ago and isn’t quite up and around. She knows a bit of English. I know a bit of Japanese. We meet somewhere in the middle. She wants to know what it’s like to be a princess. I dress it up a little, but keep it politically correct. I speak about my love for Japan. Her baby sleeps soundly nearby. I’m about to gush all over the infant when a shout splits the air.
A baby in the next curtain over wakes and cries. Then, another baby wakes. Soon, they’re all keening. Then, a clatter echoes. Gunshot? I don’t know. Everyone scrambles. Chaos ensues.
Without thinking, I throw myself over the baby in the Tupperware bin. My nostrils fill with the scent of baby powder. My heart beats like a hammer inside my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait. A body covers me. Hands curl over mine. “Stay down.” It’s Akio.
Seconds tick by. The silence is loaded. Slowly, I raise my head. One by one, people wake from their stupors. A camera flashes. Not a good time for pictures.
“I said stay down,” Akio hisses. His words skirt against my neck. I’m all too aware of how he’s pressed against me.
“I think we’ve established I don’t follow directions well,” I whisper. Akio’s hold tightens and I am contained. I manage to turn my head, though. All at once, I see it. Another imperial guard has someone on the ground, knee in his back, one hand like a pair of cuffs around his wrists. It’s one of the new fathers. I recognize him from two curtains ago. His eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep. Behind him is an overturned cart of blankets. The Shining Twins make a sound. They’re farthest away from the cart, shielded behind two imperial guards.
Mr. Fuchigami holds up his hands and speaks. I don’t catch everything, but I do hear the word jiko—an accident.The new, sleep-deprived dad must have knocked over the cart.
At this, Akio slowly releases me. He exhales tightly. Another picture is snapped. The room comes back to life. The new mother beside me bursts into tears. Hormones plus near-death experience equals not a great combination. I reach out and squeeze her shoulder. Between the sobs and hiccups, I can’t make out a word. She is mixing Japanese and English. Finally, she settles on her first language.
I cast a glance at Akio. He’s closest to me. My hands are shaking, but he’s steady. “What is she saying?” I ask.
Akio listens for a moment. She’s repeating the same thing. “She’s thanking you. You went to save her son before yourself.” His voice drops and he says quietly to me, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Of course I should’ve,” I volley back.
He stands there and exhales slowly. The tension eases from his body. “You’re right,” he says voice measured, deliberate, soft. There’s a glint in his eyes, unguarded and affectionate. “My mistake. I won’t forget again. You lead with your heart.”
* * *
That evening, Mariko knocks on my door, a secretive smile on her face. She’s hiding something behind her back. “May I come in?”