Chapter 32

32

His smile is easy, fond. He inclines his head. “Izumi-chan. I found you.”

“What … what are you doing here?” Tamagotchi sniffs my father’s shoes and tugs on one of his pant legs. I find a bone on the floor and throw it down the hall. Tamagotchi gives chase.

“You invited me,” my father says simply.

“Oh my God,” Noora says. “I’m FaceTiming the girls.”

“Hello.” My father cocks his head, peering at Noora over my shoulder. “I’m Makoto, Mak for short. Izumi-chan’s father.” He extends a hand.

Noora is quick to pocket her phone and push me out of the way, which is easy, since all my limbs-slash-defenses are null and void right now. She takes my father’s hand. “Noora. Of the Farzads. No relation to the Farzad dry-cleaning family.”

“Izumi’s friend. She has told me much about you.” Noora giggles. Actually giggles. She also hasn’t let go of his hand. Right. Time to squash that. I pull them apart, then hip check her. Down, girl.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” Now is the time I notice my plaid pajamas are buttoned unevenly. I don’t think my father has ever seen me dressed down. What do I look like? Good question. The only answer is garbage, slightly warmed … So, trash. Basic trash.

“You weren’t?” He’s perplexed, pretending nothing has happened. Like I haven’t embarrassed him with my alleged torrid affair, then left without saying goodbye. “I guess I am a bit early for your graduation. Either way, here I am.”

I have nothing. Words fail me.

Noora nudges me, saying through the corner of her mouth, “Here he is.”

“You shouldn’t, you can’t—” My speech is rushed. What am I trying to say? “I didn’t actually think you’d come—your schedule. You can’t just take days off. You don’t belong here.” It feels just as bad to say it as it sounds, but I’ve compartmentalized my lives. There is a line down the center; one half is Japan, and the other, America. Never the two shall meet.

“Of course I belong here. You are here,” he says, like it makes all the sense in the world. “I brought a gift.” In his hand is a small, yellow box of Tokyo Bananas. The cream-filled cakes are all over the airport. He offers them to me with both hands.

Bringing an omiyage is tradition. I can’t refuse. I accept the box with both hands and say, “Thank you.” Then I step back, toss the box on the table, and close my fist around the doorknob. I might shut it in his face. He must sense this, because he places a foot on the threshold. “Izumi. You left without saying goodbye.”

My chin dips down. “It was for the best. I thought…”

“What? That I’d be angry, that I’d turn my back on you?”

“Yes.” To all of it. I feel Noora place her hand on my shoulder. “You said that, as a member of the imperial family, I was expected to be beyond reproach.”

His brow scrunches. “I did say that, but it was in context of the tabloids. The media holds the imperial family to such a high standard, an impossible standard. But nobody is without faults. I’d never blame you for making mistakes. Is that what you thought?”

“You were furious at the potential of a scandal.” I cross my arms and uncross them.

“No,” he says slowly. “I was furious on your behalf that the tabloids might hurt you with their vicious reporting. I was trying to protect you.” His foot is still in the door. “This whole thing is my fault. I wanted you to come to Japan so you could know me and your family, but I didn’t spend enough time with you. I didn’t fully appreciate the gift I’d been given, what it meant to have you there. I’ve been too formal about keeping scheduled appointments. Our time together shouldn’t have been so rigid.” He splays his hands, smiling. “So, here I am. You spent weeks in Japan learning where I am from. Now, I will learn where you are from.”

I stand, frozen, the weight on my heart lifting. My head spinning—he was trying to protect me … was angry for me …

Noora elbows me again. “What are you waiting for? Let the man in, Zoom Zoom. She’s surprised.” Noora addresses my father. Her default is covering for me. Years of parent shenanigans and it’s what we automatically do. “She just needs a few minutes to adjust. You and I could go for a walk. I’d be happy to show you around Mount Shasta. You know, take you to all the local haunts. If you’re interested in goat farming…”

Mom comes into the room. “Zoom Zoom, you overloaded the washer again—”

“Hanako,” my father says and, wow, does his face light up. It’s the force of one thousand happy suns.

Mom stops short, grips the back of a chair. Her face drains of color. “Makoto.”

He tries to move forward, but Noora and I are blocking him. He speaks over us. “I’m sorry to intrude like this…” He pauses, shakes his head as if in a daze. “Forgive me. You haven’t changed.”

As one, Noora and I swivel to assess my mom. She shuffles her feet, fluttering a hand over her hair. “Oh … I … um … I haven’t even gotten dressed yet.” She looks quite nice to me. She’s wearing her usual weekend gear—jeans, bare feet, and one of her signature feminist T-shirts. Today’s reads Believe Women. “I’ve been cleaning.”

My father pushes through us. “You look lovely.”

Noora squeezes my hand. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? They are totally eye-boning each other.”

“Shut it,” I whisper back. “Adults are in the room.”

My father stands in front of my mother. I can’t see her. His tall form dwarfs hers. “What are you doing here?” she asks, the same as me.

“I’m here to make things right,” is all he says.

A siren wails outside. The sound comes closer and closer, multiplying. Red and blue lights flash against our windowpanes. Mount Shasta Police, along with some dark cars, careen into the driveway and stop with a spray of gravel. My father pulls away from Mom. “Ah. I should probably inform you. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here. It appears the police have arrived. Guess I’ve been caught.” He doesn’t seem sorry. Not sorry at all. Then, he does something I’ve never seen him do, ever.

He laughs.

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.”

That, among other things. He might not be mad at me, but it doesn’t change a whole lot. How can I explain? It’s Akio, but also the press. The Shining Twins. The whole imperial family. I could spend a lifetime learning the customs, navigating the culture, but I’ll never belong. I’m a Twinkie. Yellow on the outside, white on the inside. I hate that term. Does that mean I hate myself? No. I just hate the division.

“Even if he did want me, it would never work though, right? A commoner and a princess?” I repeat Yoshi’s sentiment.

“Life is full of possibilities, Izumi. But things don’t happen magically. Relationships are work. I was afraid of that when I met your mother. I was too focused on myself and my role. If I’m wrong, and this thing with the imperial guard is serious, then…”

“It’s not,” I cut in. “I wanted it to be. But he didn’t feel the same way, I guess.”

“It’s as I figured.” He grows thoughtful. “Would you like me to have him removed from the city? There are nine and a half million people in Tokyo, so the odds are very low you would run into him. But I could have him banned.”

The corners of my lips turn up. “Can you really do that?”

“No.” He grins. “I’m pretty sure it would violate all sorts of laws. But I would do anything in my power to ease your pain.” My father’s smile broadens. “Come back to Japan, Izumi-chan.”

I instantly sober. “No. I can’t.” Even when I thought I was succeeding, I wasn’t. There’s just too much to know, more than a lifetime’s worth. There’s no use walking forward when someone is digging a pit right in front of you.

“All right.” He looks at his gold watch. “Chamberlains will show up tomorrow. But I’ll make it clear I’m staying through to your graduation. Looks like I have three days to convince you.”

“Feel free to try.” I smile to soften the blow. I’ve learned my lesson. The Land of the Rising Sun and I are not compatible.

Even so, I’m very glad a little part of Japan is here with me.