Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(67)

A single sad shake of my head. I don’t want to talk about it. Can’t. I wander my room, touching the down comforter on the bed. I dreamed of so many things here. My eyes land on the gold chest. A bonsai tree has been left in place of the original iris flower arrangement. I study it. The branches are bent, disjointed. Like me. A bone wrenched from its socket may be set back in place, but it’s never the same. That’s what happens when Japanese Americans return to Japan. They bear the resemblance of the body they originated from, but they are different. Askew. Foreign. And that’s the god-awful truth.

I don’t belong here. So much separates me from Japan. I’ll never fully understand the customs, the culture, the rules. My final lesson has been learned: princesses don’t date bodyguards. Like pointing, or walking in front of the Crown Prince, or wearing sweats to the airport, or mentioning the prime minister’s sister, it just isn’t done.

“Izumi-sama?” Mariko says.

“I’m okay,” I say, lifelessly. Or at least, I will be. The closet is my next stop. I bypass the racks of pastels and dig out my red duffel bag from the bottom shelf. The color is garish, a gash among all this finery. Oh, the irony. How could I think I’d ever fit in?

“What are you doing?” Mariko hovers, expression flickering between pained and gentle and reluctant.

“I’m going home.” One fact is irrefutable. If I hadn’t come to Japan, none of this would have ever happened. I was foolish to believe my roots could expand past all these walls built around me. Your life can only be as big as the container you’re planted in, after all.

I stuff yoga pants, sweatshirts, Care Bear underwear into the bag. My phone buzzes. A crown lights up the screen—the emoji I’d designated for my father. He leaves a message, then follows with a text. We need to talk. Leaving soon. I clear the screen.

Mariko watches. “You’re not telling him you’re going?”

We need to talk. Last time he’d said those words, he’d been so angry. I can’t imagine how mad he is now. I don’t think I want to find out. Besides … “It’s better this way,” I say. Clean breaks always heal best, because the thing is. The thing is. Everyone will be fine once I’m gone, probably better off. Everything will go back to the way it was, except for Akio. I’ll never forgive myself for that.

My packing frenzy continues. Mariko stands by, bearing witness to the absolute destruction. I dial my mom and stick the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“Zoom Zoom?” Her voice is sleepy.

“I want to come home. Can you help me book a flight?”

I hear shuffling, then the sound of a light clicking on. “What’s going on?” I stay silent. My jaw is tight. “Izumi. Talk to me.”

I breathe in. Breathe out. Sniffle. “Tokyo’s a mess.”

“What about your dad—”

“Please, Mom,” I blurt. “Just help me get out of here. I’ll tell you everything when I’m there.” All that matters is getting home in one misshapen piece.

She takes a moment to respond, but her voice is level. “Okay. Give me a few minutes.”

I hang up. She’s on it. The duffel is full. I go to zip it.

“Wait,” Mariko says. She fetches the file of my mother’s family history from my nightstand. She thrusts it forward. I clamp my hands around it. She doesn’t let go. We tug-of-war it out. “Please, rethink this.”

“My mind is made up.” She must see it in my eyes. I shall not be moved. Her hold loosens and I place the file in the duffel, closing it.

“So that’s it?” Mariko asks flatly, but her eyes are glossy. “You’re just going to leave?”

“That’s it.” Tears fall unchecked, hers and mine. “But you should know … you’re the best lady-in-waiting I ever had.”

A slight eye roll. “I’m the only lady-in-waiting you’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, but I know. You’re the greatest. To top it all off, you’re a really awesome friend, too.” Mariko should’ve been born a princess. “You’re worth so much more than all the Akikos and Norikos and school bullies who made you feel so low. I won’t ever forget you.”

Mariko sniffles. She finds a handkerchief hidden in her sleeve and blows her nose. “What’s the plan? How are you getting out of here?”

“I’m going to catch a cab out by the highway.”

She shakes her head. “No. That won’t do. I’ll order you a car. It will meet you by the highway sign.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course,” she says, all prim and proper again. “I’m your lady-in-waiting. It’s my duty and honor.”





30


In 1991, a study was conducted in Japan around the phenomenon of neurovegetative responses to psychological stress leading to LV dysfunction. This state is called Takotsubo cardiomyopathy.

So, hard evidence: broken heart syndrome is a real thing.

The flight home is uneventful. As I deplane, the flight attendant says, “Have a nice day.” Her smile is bright and well meaning. It’s a canned speech. I nod out of habit and reply, “Thanks, but I have other plans.”

I am tired and mourning. Feelings are a real son of a bitch. First chance I get, I’m going to turn mine off. Unfortunately, I am positively grotesque with emotion. The movies on the plane made me cry. The couple on their way home from their honeymoon made me weep. When the flight attendant asked if I wanted the fish or salad with goat cheese and pickled radishes, I burst into tears.