Tokyo Ever After: A Novel (Tokyo Ever After #1)(75)

He blinks at me. “Lava?”

I flick a hand. “When you pretend the ground is hot lava and you can’t touch it or you’ll melt. It’s dumb.” But so fun. I peer at him. “You never played that when you were a kid?”

“I didn’t have very many friends. I played Go with my brother.” Right. Go—an abstract strategy board game. The object is to gain more territory than your opponent. In short, introductory war games for children.

“See. That’s my point.” My shoulders droop. Our childhood games are a perfect example of the distance between us, of our differences. We’re worlds apart.

“What’s the point?” He’s confused.

“The point is … the point is, I’m American.” He’s dumbstruck. I’m on a truth roll. Might as well keep traveling downhill. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t be who you—who Japan wants me to be.” I take an unsteady breath.

He mulls it over and responds. “I don’t want you to be something you’re not. Why would you ever think that?”

“I’m not perfect.” My chin is set.

“Me either.” His chin is equally set.

“I’ll never be good enough for Japan. I’ll never belong there.”

“You are my daughter,” he says evenly, fiercely. “You belong with me.” He exhales slowly, taking in the trees, the birds. “I’d like to tell you not to worry what anyone says, but it’s much more difficult in practice. To tell you the truth, the worry never goes away. You’ll screw up. The papers will report it. Your life won’t feel like your own at times. That’s the life as a member of the imperial family and the weight we must carry, Izumi-chan,” he says, voice softening, eyes on me. “Come back to Japan. Let’s figure this out together. Nothing is insurmountable.”

I reach for yes. But the word is a wall I can’t climb.

“Fine. I won’t pressure you anymore.” He sighs. “I invited your mother to Japan. She refused, too.”

I shuffle my feet, stare at them. “You’re welcome here anytime. We’ll totally have you. I’m sorry.” He plans to visit again in August.

“Don’t be,” he says easily. “Just don’t cut me out of your life. Promise?”

“I promise,” I say, then wait a beat. Not everything is perfect, but things between my father and I feel okay. I scrunch up my nose. “Do you think we should hug?”

“I think if there were ever a moment for two people to embrace, it would be this one.” He opens his arms. I slip into them. “Sprinkles, huh?” he says into my hair.

“Oh, yeah. They really jazz up whatever you’re eating. Makes everything so much more festive.” We pull apart.

“Makes perfect sense to me,” my father says. He nods at me. “Daughter.”

I nod back at him. “Dad.”





35


Mom and I walk Dad to his car. It’s as if the three of us are trying to slow time. I don’t want this to end. Just Mom and me has always felt like enough. But now, the prospect of returning to our duo existence fills me with acute loneliness. The driveway comes too soon. An imperial guard holds open the door to a black town car.

“I’ll see you at the end of August, then,” Dad says. “Less than ninety days.”

“Ninety days,” I say back.

He hugs me and whispers, “I’m so proud of you.” I get choked up.

He focuses on Mom, touches her cheek, bends forward, and kisses it. I avert my gaze from the intimate moment. “Until next time.” There is a promise in his voice.

He fixes us with a final look, a single nod, then he gets in the car. Doors slam. Engines start. We watch the trail of red lights travel the driveway and disappear down the street.

My hand seeks out Mom’s. “Well, that’s it.” Something rises in my throat. Sadness. Regret. Confusion. I’m slowly processing the last twenty minutes, all his words. You belong with me.

“There he goes,” Mom says.

“He’ll be back soon,” I tell her.

“Yeah. No time at all.” I’m not sure if she’s reassuring me or herself.

“I mean, why would I go to Japan?” I ask airily.

“For love,” she says wistfully.

What do I need to prove? So what if I’ll never be accepted? I accept myself. The tears on my cheeks are cold. I’m crying, but it’s happy and sad at the same time. The reality is razor-sharp. It’s all so transparent—a revelation as bright and as clear as the sunset. I don’t have an American half or a Japanese half. I am a whole person. Nobody gets to tell me if I am Japanese enough or too American.

I snap to attention. “Mom?”

“Yeah, honey.” She’s still watching the road, watching her second chance drift away.

“I think I made the wrong decision.” I draw her attention.

“I think I made the wrong decision, too,” she says.

I crack a grin.



* * *



We don’t pack suitcases, and barely have enough time to figure out where Tamagotchi will stay. Jones agrees to take him, though he refuses to make him wear a leash. Noora shows up during the frenzy.