Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(71)

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I force Noora to go home.

Then, it takes a good two hours to sort out my father’s mess. There are police. The Japanese Ambassador. Even the president calls and invites my father to dinner at the White House. The Imperial Household Agency is on their way. My father’s chamberlains and imperial guards will be here by tomorrow morning. Until then, there are four police cars and a smattering of secret service agents on loan outside our house. Because none of the local hotels have been vetted by security, we have no choice but to keep him.

My father seems pleased as punch. Completely unfazed. My mother is disheveled, vacillating between making surprised eyes at my father and a bad case of nerves. I’ve never seen her this way. She spills an entire cup of water while setting the table for dinner, burns the ravioli, then apologizes profusely. “I’m sure this isn’t what you’re used to…” Mom says, taking in the table—the pasta in a cracked bowl, the mismatched place settings, the flea market dining set. She’s also slipped one of her work cardigans on over her T-shirt.

“This is wonderful.” He seems genuinely happy. His movements are fluid as he undoes his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves. Just a man ready to dig in.

As for me, I’m still not sure how I’m handling all this. Things have certainly taken an interesting turn. “Would you like a beer? You still like beer, right?” Mom asks. “I don’t have any, but I’m sure Jones does. Remember, he went through that whole brewing phase?” Mom says to me. Yikes. So much word vomit.

“Who is Jones?” my father asks, placing a paper napkin in his lap. I never saw a paper napkin at the palace. They were all cotton or linen, neatly pressed and folded. The silverware was either warmed or cooled for the dish we were eating. Ours is fresh out of the dishwasher, water stains and all.

“Mom’s stalker.”

My father chokes on his sip of water.

“Zoom Zoom,” Mom chides. “He’s our neighbor. Very kind.”

“He’s in love with Mom.”

“He may have a little crush,” Mom says. “It’s not a big deal.”

My father frowns into his plate. Does he not like the fork scratches he sees? “His feelings are unreturned?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Mom and him grew pretty close while I was in Japan. You know, lonely spring nights by the fire…”

My father misses my mother’s WTF wide-eyed stare. Trust me. I’m doing her a solid. In my romance novels, this always works. Everything you read in books is at least half-true.

After dinner, Mom does dishes and I give him a tour of the house. It lasts all of five minutes. We spend the most time in my room. The bed is still stripped.

He walks the perimeter. I did the same in Akio’s childhood room, snooping and soaking up everything about him. Must stop thinking about Akio. I’d love to confide in him. My father showed up. Is he here for me? My mom? Both of us? Didn’t he get the memo when I left? Princess Izumi out.

My father stops and takes in a Hedwig and the Angry Inch poster, courtesy of Noora. Fairy lights have been strung up around it. “Much different than your room at the palace,” he remarks.

I’m picking up armloads of clothes and shoving them in my closet. I blow bangs out of my face. Does he remember asking about my room that first night in Japan? “Yeah. I’m sorry it’s not very clean. I haven’t had time”—or really, the will—“to tidy up.”

He resumes course, then pauses at the framed pictures on my dresser. All of them feature Glory, Noora, Hansani, and me. The two most mortifying are: a photo Noora snapped of me where I’m laughing at the same time Tamagotchi is licking me so it looks like his tongue in my mouth and the entire AGG squad in the fifth grade wearing coordinated denim outfits. ’Nuff said.

I’m trying to read my father. Is he disappointed by what he’s found? His focus shifts. Scratch the above. There’s an even more mortifying photo. It’s a picture of Forest—rather, what’s left of a picture of Forest. I’ve blacked out his eyes and drawn devil horns on his head. Confession: Akio’s photograph isn’t the first I graffitied. I’m just thankful there aren’t any penises on this one. This is Izzy’s pre-penis earring phase, circa junior year—a lonely and angry time.

“That’s Forest. Ex-boyfriend,” I say.

He considers the photo then me. “We’ve never talked about boyfriends.”

“Not much to talk about.”

“The imperial guard…”

“It’s over.” Though, I’m still stuck on how much it hurts to love him. How much it hurts not loving him. Such a paradox.

My father comes to me. “That might be for the best.”

“You wouldn’t approve?” I ask grimly.

His forehead bunches up. “My approval doesn’t matter. Though I hope you would choose someone who loves you as much as I love…” Your mother. He was totally going to say your mother. “Someone a bit braver, perhaps. If this guard couldn’t weather the press storm, then perhaps it’s better it ends now. It takes a certain sort of person to date a member of the imperial family.”

“How do you know I didn’t leave him?”

“You fled Japan. I have some experience with love and running from it.” He winks at me. “Therefore, I must surmise a broken heart is the reason you left.”