Chapter 35

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.

“We have to catch my father.” I grip on to her.

Noora clutches her keys. “Please. I’ve been waiting my entire life for this.”

Then, we’re in Noora’s car, speeding down the street and onto Mount Shasta Boulevard. Noora darts in and out of traffic.

“What are we doing? This is crazy!” Mom says. “Oh my God, Noora, if I knew you were this terrible of a driver, I never would have let Izumi in the car with you. Headlights. Please turn on your headlights.” It’s getting darker. Noora laughs and flicks on her headlights. A car lays on the horn as she passes it.

I kind of blanked out what happens next. Somehow, we jumped from point A to B, ended up near the ramp to I-5, and caught up to the imperial cavalcade. Japanese flags wave on the hood. My dad’s in there, in the middle car.

I reach over and press down on the horn. Beep. Beeeep. Beeeeep. Red and blue lights flash in Noora’s rearview mirror. Traffic slows to a near stop because of the commotion.

“Pull over, Noora,” Mom says. “We’re not breaking any more laws.”

“They’re so close,” Noora says, maneuvering the car to the shoulder. We’re just a few cars behind them. I don’t wait until Noora comes to a complete stop. I’m out the door and running into traffic, desperation in my steps. Arms out, I cry, “Wait!” A stitch forms in my side. I swear, if I make it back to the palace, I’ll start a new jogging regimen. My graduation gown flaps, my hair flying behind me. The imperial cavalcade brakes. Then a door is flung open. My father steps out. “Izumi-chan.”

I stop in front of him, put my hands on my knees. Traffic whizzes by. I hold up a finger. “Need a moment to catch my breath.”

He barks something in Japanese. A bottle of water is shoved at me. “What’s going on?” He helps me stand. “Hanako?” His attention turns to my mother, who’s walking up.

“This is a touch more dramatic than I thought it was going to be,” she says, folding a piece of hair behind her ear.

“We…” I gesture wildly between us. I say, between giant breaths, “We want to go to Japan.”

“You do?” The speeding laws we’ve violated. The traffic we’re holding up. Me nearly falling on my ass from exhaustion. Seeing my dad’s face light with joy. It’s all worth it.

“Do you have room for two more?” Mom is a little shy. We’re totally causing a scene. Imperial guards are holding back Mount Shasta police. We’ve narrowly avoided a standoff and an international incident.

Dad doesn’t seem to care. “Always,” he says. “Always.”

---

We decide to go home and pack a few things. Lock our doors, make sure Noora doesn’t get a ticket or jailed, that kind of thing. Dad comes with us and delays his flight.

At Redding Airfield, a small municipal airport nearby, we board a private plane. The inside is plush—white leather seats with mahogany accents, warm lighting, and tabletops with sprays of bright floral arrangements. The chamberlains sit up front, the imperial guard in the back, our little family huddled in the middle.

“You know,” Dad says as the jet ascends. “You could have just called.”

Mom stares out the window. She’s sitting next to him and hasn’t said much. She’s in a general state of shock, I think. Not sure what she’s diving into, risking it all for love. Whether it will work out. We’ll see. My own love story sure didn’t, but I have high hopes for them. I’m a sucker for romance that way.

Once we’ve cleared ten thousand feet and hit cruising altitude, the chamberlains descend. There’s much ado about our current situation. It’s decided Mom will be snuck into the palace and her visit will be kept secret. It’s what she wants. Then, I’m next on the agenda. What to do with me and how to clean up my mess are hot topics. The tabloids are still running the story of my affair. In the absence of new material, they’ve started to conjure all sorts of new outlandish stories: “Princess Izumi Pregnant with Bodyguard’s Love Child.” “Crown Prince Sent Daughter Away for Hiding Tattoos.”

The chamberlains have lots of ideas. A press conference by the Crown Prince? A strict media shutout? Deny it all, because photos can be doctored?

“If I may.” I clear my throat to be heard. There’s a stutter of excitement to my heartbeat. “I have a suggestion on what I’d like to do.”

It takes some convincing. My father is my biggest cheerleader. A plan is hatched and agreed upon. I inhale, staring out in the inky night. It’s a little intoxicating, this power. When we hit the tarmac in Japan, I’m still smiling.