Removed – Chapter 14

When I reach the Itō dōjō, I ascend the stairs, my stomach full of butterflies. Jiro and I left things so horribly at Izakaya Tanaka last night, and I never wrote back to his apology. I’ve had this vision in my mind all day of apologizing to him face-to-face and then reaching out to hug him when I’m done because I just want to hold him so badly it hurts.

But I pull open the door and all of the butterflies die because Koichi is waiting for me as well. No private time today.

“Sanaa,” he exclaims when I enter. His smile is contagious and despite my disappointment of not being alone with Jiro, I return it easily. “Jiro was telling me last night you are ready to work on advanced defense. I thought I would come and pretend to attack you.”

“How exciting. It must be the highlight of your day,” I say.

“Indeed, it is. I enjoy putting the moves on pretty girls.”

This elicits a laugh from Jiro, and he rolls his eyes at his father. Koichi is a charmer much like Sakai, and it’s nice to see his playful side too. I walk to the wall and place my bag next to the rack of swords, and Jiro comes up next to me.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to me.

The hurt in his eyes is sweet and vulnerable, and I’m glad he’s not going to rescind his apology. I hadn’t even considered he might until this moment, but the quick fear vanishes.

“I’m the one that’s sorry, sorry I overreacted.”

“Later?” he asks.

I nod. Yes, not in front of Koichi.

We all strip down to practice-wear before we begin. Undershirt for me, no shirts for them. Now I see where Jiro gets his build from, and Koichi is not without his own set of tattoos. Like father like son. Once again, Jiro shows me he knows everything about sword fighting. He explains how to counter each of Koichi’s moves as he attacks me from the side, from the back, and around an obstacle. The table provides me with cover but it takes a severe beating from the two of us. When Jiro stops prompting me to react, I know I’m doing well.

We take a quick break for water and move out of the dōjō’s main room to the hallway and stairway where we work on how to counter attacks while on stairs and in short tight spaces. Jiro demonstrates how to start within the parameters of what I’ve learned but then encourages me to push it further.

In long narrow spaces, I could use the walls to my advantage to get higher, out of range of the sword. I’m not particularly tall, but I have used my leg strength to climb hallways before. Jiro and Koichi laugh when I run up the wall and come straight down on Koichi. I surprised them both.

I know Jiro is past any of this. Did he teach himself? I’ve always thought Koichi taught him, but Koichi’s style is much more reserved. There is a discord between the two and the way they fight, and I don’t think it’s just a generational divide.

“Sanaa, you’ve made excellent progress.” Koichi, Jiro, and I are hot, sweaty messes, but this session has gone well. Koichi seems pleased.

I stop and bow low to him. “Thank you.”

“So, we’re stopping practice now because I have a surprise. We’re all going to the Hana Okiya tonight for dinner.”

What? If it were proper to squeal with delight, I would, and I try to hide my excitement, but too late, it’s all over my face.

“Wow, thank you. I’ve never been to an okiya.”

“You’ll enjoy it for sure. You have plenty of time to go home, rest, and get ready for dinner so we’re stopping now.” He turns to Jiro and hands his sword to him. “Jiro, I’m going in the back. Please lock up after Sanaa leaves.” He departs with a short head nod.

Jiro takes my sword as well and goes to the rack to put them away.

“Thank you,” I say keeping my voice low as I walk up to him. “Thank you for the drawing. It was perfect in every way.”

“It’s perfect because it’s you.” He reaches out and touches the length of my forearm, so light and careful, so intimate and unexpected. It raises goosebumps on my skin I can’t hide, and he sees them with a smile. He lets his hand drop when his fingers reach the palm of my hand.

“I’m glad you’re looking forward to the party later. It’s always a good time at the okiya.”

I know I’m blushing, and there’s a catch in my throat I need to get past in order to respond. “You went on New Year’s Eve, right? Do you go often?”

He grabs two towels from the rack, handing one to me. “Yes, of course. Sakai family does a lot of business there.”

“And the geisha, are they as pretty and sweet as everyone says?” A bubble of jealousy rises in my stomach, and I’m barely keeping it down. What if he has a favorite?

He looks at me carefully and smiles. “They do their job well. You’ll see.”

There are five okiya-ochaya in all of Nishikyō, but we call them okiya now: three in Ku 7 and two in Ku 6. This is a remarkable number of okiya since the city is only seventy percent Japanese and the geisha tradition is thousands of years old. Each generation it changes a little but the basic concept is the same: they are entertainers. Long gone are the days when geisha would only sit by and entertain men. Men and women are equally powerful now, and geisha will happily entertain any group of people for the right price.

The okiya industry is smart. They’ve cultivated the old ways, the traditions, the music and dance, and most importantly, the wardrobe. Without the elegant kimonos, hairpins, obis, and white makeup, they would be indistinguishable from the rest of us.

Usually, the okiya owner retains the whole building and reserves the first two or three floors for entertaining, and the geisha board in the upper levels. It used to be the two places — the okiya where the geisha lived and the ochaya where they entertained — were separate but that’s too inconvenient now. It’s easier to own a whole building in Nishikyō than it is to own two of them.

When I emerge from the transitway station in Ku 7, the first person I see is Jiro. My timing today is impeccable. He stands across the street reading something on his tablet, thoroughly engrossed in whatever it is. I wonder why he’s waiting here? He’s relaxed, not at all the sword fighting sensei he was a few hours ago. Instead, he’s more the friendly companion he was in Ku 10, the date I had last night. He has so many sides.

I love what he’s chosen to wear tonight: a dark blue yukata with subtle gray stripes, dark gray obi belt, and men’s flip-flops. He’s the most handsome I’ve ever seen him, but I may be biased; there’s something about a guy in a yukata I love.

Oops, he’s caught me looking at him. I didn’t even realize I had stopped in my tracks. A slow smile comes over his face, and he turns his tablet off and waits for me to cross the street to him since I’m already half way there.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger,” I say, smiling back. Time to start flirting. I need to be obvious and force him into a decision: friend or lover? It’ll be easier that way.

“I knew you’d be early.” Jiro tucks his tablet under one arm and steps to me. “You’ve never been late for practice. Not once.”

“You were waiting for me? How’d you know I’d come out this entrance?”

“It’s the closest station to the Hana Okiya. I put two and two together.”

“I guess I’m predictable,” I say with a humph.

“Not always,” he replies holding out his arm to me. “You look lovely,” he says, and I blush as I take his arm.

It’s a grand gesture, meeting me at the station and escorting me to the okiya. He must feel bad about what happened last night. If my heart weren’t in my throat, I would thank him, but I can barely speak.

I decided on my amethyst purple cotton yukata for tonight. It has a cherry blossom pattern on it I’ve always loved. Though I almost never get to see fresh flowers in real life, I could stare at this motif and imagine them in my head, like spring in Old Japan. Pink and white trees and a carpet of petals on the ground, the spring winds blowing the branches until they give way to the green leaves of summer.

“My parents and Sakai are already there,” Jiro says. “They arrived an hour early to do business before we show up.”

“Is Mark always business? It seems like it.” I imagine him going to bed every night with the same stony-faced expression he wears when I meet him every morning.

“He has his moments. If we get enough saké into him tonight maybe he’ll strip down and streak around the okiya.”

I gasp. “No, not Mark. Not in a million years.”

“Don’t scoff. It’s been known to happen.”

“And does this happen to everyone?” I’m secretly hoping it’s only the men.

“Only if you’re horrible at drinking games.”

Oh no, I’ve never been involved in drinking games because I only ever drink with Miko and Helena. I clutch Jiro’s arm a little tighter.

He laughs. “I swear I can read you like a book. Don’t be nervous. I’m teasing you. Look. We’re here.”

Damn. We arrived so fast there’s no more time for flirting. Outside the entrance to this building are two beautiful square rice paper lanterns on either side of the door and a hand-painted sign with the character for flower, hana, written on it.

Nishikyō itself is mostly devoid of charm and uniqueness, except for a few temples and theaters, but each building’s owner takes care to set their place apart from the blandness around it. It’s not surprising I would have walked past this place had Jiro not led me directly here. Its exterior is austere, simple.

Inside, they must have knocked out all of the existing structure and rebuilt it entirely from the floor up. The walls are papered a lovely shade of cream and lit softly from above. Real wood supports and beams are shellacked a deep, dark coffee brown.

The waiting area has an alcove of cubbies for shoes and sets of washed slippers for guests. It’s cool in here as I thought it would be, but comfortable. Okiyas call private contractors to bring in more cooling units so the geisha can entertain in their silk kimonos and not overheat. It’s something they can easily afford in this business.

A doorway opens off to the right and a young woman dressed in a lovely pink and green kimono comes out to greet us.

“Welcome, Mr. Itō! You’re expected. I hope you’re well.”

“I am, Shichi, and you?”

“I am well, thank you.”

“Shichi, this is another family guest, Sanaa.” He gestures to me, and I stand absolutely still. I’ve never been to an okiya and am not sure how polite or formal I’m supposed to be. When Jiro sees my frozen state, he puts his hand on the small of my back. He probably thinks this is going to have a calming effect on me, but now I’m fluttery instead.

“Good evening, Sanaa. Is this your first time here? I don’t think I’ve ever met you.”

“Um, yes. I’ve never been here before.” Concentrate, Sanaa. All I can think about is Jiro’s hand on my back.

Shichi’s smile is warm, and her eyes friendly. “I hope you have a fun time tonight. May I take your shoes?” She waits politely with her hands folded while Jiro and I slip out of our flip-flops and into the slippers that have been left for us. She stows away our shoes and Jiro’s tablet and gestures down the hallway. “Please follow me.”

We’re the last to arrive. Sakai, Koichi, and Yoichi are already in the private room with Miko and someone I can only guess to be Jiro’s mother. I’m so nervous I could faint.

“Oh, Koichi. She looks just like her.” She has her hand to her mouth, covering up surprised shock. I swear this woman I’ve never met is about to cry.

Sakai reaches over and grabs Jiro’s mother’s hand and squeezes. “It takes some time to get used to it, Mariko.”

The room is suddenly very uncomfortable, and I have no idea what to do. Jiro is a little behind me, and I turn to him for guidance. He looks at his mother sadly, but he places his arm on my shoulders and squeezes me. Thankfully, Koichi jumps up and comes around the sunken table to me.

“You look lovely. Did you get some rest this afternoon?” he asks.

I let out a long-held breath and bow to him to cover up my unease. “Yes, I even napped. Thanks for sending us home earlier than usual.”

Over his shoulder, Miko is mouthing, “What the hell?” at me, but I choose to ignore her. I have no idea how to explain this.

Jiro and I sit in the two seats left. It’s a large table shaped like an L positioned over a sunken hole in the floor, horigotatsu style — much more comfortable than sitting seiza all night like the geisha will most likely do. The dark blue cushions set out for us are soft and squishy, and the table already has carafes of sake waiting to be drunk. Once I’m sitting, my feet start fidgeting under the table, my nervous energy flowing straight down my legs to my pink-painted toes. I had dreams of meeting Jiro’s mother with a smile and having a polite conversation with her. I wanted to impress her. This greeting has gone horribly wrong.

I try to distract myself by looking around this beautiful room instead of at Mariko who is pained by my appearance. Behind us is an alcove, a tokonoma, with a painted scroll of some large white birds on spindly legs taking flight from a small body of water. A full moon hovers over them.

Jiro reaches past me and serves us both saké, but I’m afraid to touch my cup my hands are shaking so badly. He blows out his breath and changes his worried expression into a happier, lighter one. “Mother, have another drink. You’re falling apart.”

“I’m sorry, Jiro.” She takes a drink and turns a smile on me, setting me somewhat at ease. “Sanaa, I knew your mother well. She was one of my best friends, and I’m afraid I never realized how much I missed her until now. It’s good to see you tonight.” She scans everyone at the table once before bowing her head. “Forgive my outburst. Let’s eat and forget about it.”

Everyone returns to light conversations, and I let out a long, silent breath. Maybe this evening will be okay after all. I’m sitting on the end of the table and Jiro is between me and Yoichi, although Yoichi is on the other corner of the L and we are on the shorter side of the table.

Sakai passes Miko plates of appetizers, and they slowly make their way to us: vegetable stuffed dumplings served with a tangy soy sauce, tofu wrapped around finely sliced carrots and mushroom rice, crispy pieces of soy-based salty duck, and breaded and deep fried lotus roots, daikon carved into flowers.

“Hello everyone! Please excuse us.” The door slides open, and two geisha enter the room. “It’s eight-fifteen, Mr. Sakai. I hope your business is all complete?”

“Quite, Oyuki.” Sakai points along the table, introducing each of us in turn. He skips over Jiro and Koichi though. I think they’re here a lot.

Oyuki must be in her late twenties. Her black, shiny hair is gathered back in an elaborate bun and topped off by a white dangling hairpin and silver comb. I adore her dark blue kimono with its small, white flowered and branch pattern, and over it, a chocolate brown obi tied in a perfect drum bow.

Behind Oyuki, a young maiko, apprentice geisha, is quietly entering the room. With her full white makeup, red colored lower lip, filled in straight brows, and an elaborately high lacquered hairdo (I imagine takes ages to wash out at night), she is the picture of sweet elegance.

“Hello, hello,” she chimes.

All the men at the table smile. She’s adorable with her little steps and sing song voice. Miko and I smirk at each other. Shichi follows both geisha in, deposits a tray of saké, bows, and returns to the hallway closing the door behind her.

The maiko elegantly kneels down into seiza and bows, then starts filling saké cups on the table.

“My name is Masami. You all look like a happy bunch tonight,” she says.

“We are indeed. It’s not often we get to go out with our family,” Koichi says.

“It’s not like we’re invited all that often.” Mariko gives him an incredulous look which makes him laugh and the rest of us smile.

While Oyuki, Sakai, Koichi, and Mariko exchange small talk, Masami fills our cups, and we chat with her, explaining how we all know each other.

“Your kimono is beautiful,” Miko says to Masami, leaning forward to get a better view. She loves kimono as much as I do.

“Oh thank you, Miko. It is very old and, thankfully, well-cared for. The man who attends to all of our kimono is excellent at repair and restoration. I especially love this one.” When she walked into the room, my eyes went directly to it because, yes, it’s a gorgeous kimono. It’s bright maroon with a white water motif falling from the waist to the hem, and over it is a white and purple obi draped elaborately down the back. Her white undergarment is banded along the collar in red, dipping far down her back to reveal her white painted neck. I wonder what I would look like dressed like this. Probably ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop me from dreaming about it.

Jiro is listening and making comments intermittently, but he is enjoying the food and drink which is what I should be doing. I make sure to eat each of the appetizers I’ve been served so there’s plenty of food in my stomach to soak up the saké. The last thing I want is to be the only one drunk here.

“I’m glad you like the food. I think they’re serving tempura next.”

“Fantastic. I love tempura. I haven’t had it in a long time,” I reply, covering my mouth with my hand.

We sit quietly for a moment and sip more saké.

“Sorry about my mother,” Jiro says, lowering his voice. “I feel awful about the way she put you on the spot like that. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

“No, it’s fine.” I play with my chopsticks for a minute, but I’m fidgeting again, so I lay them down and put my hands in my lap. “Mark had a similar reaction to me. My mother must have been popular.”

“I hear your father was as well. Do you not get the same reactions from that side of the family?”

“No. We’re estranged from my father’s side. I don’t see them.”

I hate talking about my father’s side of the family especially now that my Aunt Sharon refuses to talk to me anymore. I don’t know why they all disowned me after my parents died. I wish I did. I try to smile, but it’s weak and immediately fades.

Jiro sets down his chopsticks and reaches under the table, taking my hand in his and lacing his fingers with mine. If my heart could beat any faster, it would jump out of my chest and run away.

“No worries,” he says, resting his head on his other hand and looking at me. “You seem to have plenty of family now.”

After what happened last night, I was sure Jiro wasn’t romantically interested in me. His warm hand and mine together and his light touches today at the dōjō tell me I’m wrong. I hope I’m wrong.

I try to cover up my nervousness by tucking my hair behind my ear with my free hand and glancing across the table. Sakai is talking with Oyuki, but Koichi and Mariko are watching us. Mariko is suppressing a small smile, and Koichi reaches around her waist to give her a squeeze.

I take a deep breath but the light pressure of Jiro’s hand is making even breathing hard. He strokes his thumb on mine, and I sigh which only makes me more nervous because he heard it and smiled. If we were alone, I’d kiss him. If I could move, which I can’t.

It’s funny that this hand-holding is more intimate, more heart-stopping, more thrilling than the sex I have with Chad. Even my entire crazy-making relationship with Joshua wasn’t as fulfilling as this one moment of contact with Jiro. I have been missing out.

I’m jolted out of my thoughts when the door opens and more food arrives. He lets go to help distribute the plates, and I have to stop myself from saying “No!” out loud. Don’t let go! His warmth leaks from my hand, and I clench it in my lap trying to get that feeling back into it. I forgot how much I love it when he directs me in practice, and holding hands is ten times more powerful. I can only imagine what a kiss will be like. I must have one. I will think of nothing else until then.

Yes, I become obsessed easily.

Now that we all have food, Masami and Oyuki get up and decide to entertain us with some music. The sound of a shamisen is not my favorite, but between Oyuki’s masterful skill at playing and singing and Masami’s dance, I’m sucked into the whole routine. The tempura is excellent, but I eat it fast because my mind is on Jiro next to me.

When the music ends, we all applaud. Oyuki and Masami are doing a fantastic job tonight. I now totally understand the appeal of going to an okiya.

“So, love, do you think you can best me at Rock Paper Scissors? You know you always lose.” Turns out Mariko is interested in drinking games — didn’t expect that — and she’s goading Koichi into it.

“That’s because you are a wicked, evil witch who can read minds. No, no, you try your wily ways on Mark, and I will watch and laugh.” This is probably a good thing because Koichi is drunk already.

I am trying not to laugh, really I am, but a small giggle escapes me that’s threatening to turn into a fit. Too much saké.

Jiro turns to me and whispers, “Not once have I ever seen my mother lose this game, and I had years of early bedtimes as a kid because she always beat me.”

Watching Mariko, I’m sure she can read minds. Each time — Sakai: rock, Mariko: paper; Sakai: scissors, Mariko: rock — she beats Sakai and makes him drink. After ten tries, Sakai throws up his hands and relents, but she’s not done. She bests both Yoichi and Miko, then Oyuki. Jiro waves her off, and she beats me as well.

“You are all terrible, terrible liars!” Mariko says with a laugh.

After a few more rounds, Koichi, Mariko, and Sakai are pretty far gone, but the rest of us seem safe. I refuse anymore drinking games and ask for a bowl of rice which Shichi brings so quickly I assume they have them on stand-by just for this reason. Jiro turns to me with his chopsticks and helps himself to my rice.

“Hey! That’s mine.” I try to snatch it back but he’s quick.

“Sanaa, you must learn to share.”

I change my position, bringing my leg up out of the well, kicking off my slippers, and face him so he has better access to the bowl. “Fine, but now I think you owe me dinner.”

“Any time.” His left hand comes down and rests on my ankle, bringing a blush to my cheeks.

Behind Jiro, Miko and Yoichi are listening to Sakai and Koichi. Miko is sitting in Yoichi’s lap, reclined back against him. She’s so comfortable, more than I’ve ever seen her with any other guy.

“What are you looking at?” His thumb strokes my ankle, and I clear my throat.

“Oh, Miko and Yoichi. They’re so happy.”

Jiro is watching me. “They are. It’s a good match.”

I think we could sit and stare at each other for hours, but I want to show Jiro that I truly am interested in him too before he thinks I’m just humoring his small touches and lengthy glances. There are lots of witnesses present, so I go for simplicity. I set down my bowl, move closer, and take his hand in mine with a smile. I get the reaction I was hoping for, his eyes indicating the thankful sigh he is holding back.

I remember my wish and my determination to make it come true. It was the right move.

He leans in close to me, squeezing my hand and pulling it to him, his face only a centimeter from mine. “Time’s almost up. Let me take you home.”