Summer Haikus – Chapter 12

What?

I look up from my phone and scan the street to the left and right.

“Everything okay?” the doctor asks.

“I’ve gotta go,” I say, belatedly realizing I switched to English. I hold onto my phone, bow to the doctor, and turning in the direction of my grandparents’ house. My legs are so heavy, they must be made of cement, and I have to drag them to get moving. Shock freezes my brain into a loop, Masa’s here, Masa’s here in Tokyo over and over again.

“Be here soon? What do you mean?” I type out to him.

A bubble pops up; he’s already responding.

“I’m in a cab, in Kichijōji. I’ll be there soon.”

“How do you know where I am?”

“I’m coming to your grandparents’ house. Halley gave me the address. Are you there?”

“No. But I will be soon. Wait for me there.”

I speed up my legs and double-time my pace. Normally, it’s a ten to fifteen minute walk from my grandparents’ house to the hospital, but I’m fast, even in sandals. I can probably make it in eight. I snake my way through the quiet neighborhood, around potted plants and garbage cans. A fat orange cat runs in front of me, stops, and sneers at me as I jog past. Sorry, kitty-chan. Next time I’ll stop to pet you.

I round the corner to my grandparents’ block and a taxi pulls away from the curb, leaving Masa standing alone. He’s exactly how I pictured him these few weeks apart, wearing his skinny jeans, the ones that show off his ass (God, I love them), and a plain black t-shirt. His sunglasses reflect the sunlight as he swivels around.

“Isa!” He waves, a smile on his face, and the memory of our kiss punches me in the gut. I wanted him then, and I still do now. I see his face, and I want to kiss it. I see his arms, and I want them around me. I see his body, and I want it next to mine. Keeping him at arms’ length to save our friendship may be more difficult than I anticipated.

I cross the street and head straight for him, smiling and hating that I’m smiling too much. I know I am.

“Masa, I can’t believe you’re here. How —?”

As soon as I’m within a foot of him, his presence knocks me off balance. I stumble over a crack in the sidewalk, and he reaches for my shoulders, wrapping his arms around me. “You said you could use a hug. I have never, ever heard you ask for a hug. I figured you must really need one.” I close my eyes, rest my head on his shoulder, and let myself hug him back. This is a mistake, such a wonderful, perfect mistake, a hug from Masa when I want him so badly.

“How’s your mom?”

“In a lot of pain. I just came from the hospital. She was fighting with her sister, so I left.”

“Sounds tough.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“You always say that.”

I disengage from the most-wanted hug in the world and step away to put some space between us. I’m tempted to kiss him again, but I need to forget the kiss because he asked me to. Forget, forget, forget, I chant in my head.

“How did you get here?”

“There are these things called planes, trains, and automobiles. I believe they made a movie about them ages ago.”

I quirk the tiniest of smiles.

“That’s it? That’s the only smile I get for flying halfway around the world to give you a hug you asked me for?”

“But?” I calculate the trip in my head. “When did you get in?” I narrow my eyes at him, and he laughs.

“I flew in yesterday. I admit I got your text and I was already in Tokyo. I was dead from jet lag, though, and decided to come today. Halley called me the day you flew here. Then I had to wrangle the apartment from my dad’s subletters and get a flight. I didn’t want to spend the summer in Michigan anyway.”

“How did you convince your dad?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I told him I would scout out possible job opportunities for after graduation. It’s partly true.”

I blink my eyes and tally up the expenses. He’s lucky his family is well-off, like Halley’s. My family had to pool money for this summer to happen, and now it might not happen at all.

“What’s with the frown?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Should I not have come?”

“Masa, no.” I touch his arm, my guilty fingers sliding over his smooth skin. “No. I’m so happy you’re here. Everything is messed up. Everything. I was supposed to have an amazing summer in Japan, and now I’m visiting my mom in the hospital, running her portion of the ryokan, and living with my grandparents. I keep thinking about Halley in that apartment in Akasaka with only her dad. Now, you’ll be here alone too.” I cover my mouth with my hand and inhale through my nose to halt any impeding tears. “Maybe you shouldn’t have come, but I’m glad you did.”

I stop talking and wait for him, a car and a bike zooming down the street.

“Running a ryokan? Your mom’s ryokan?”

I shrug my shoulders, trying to stay cool but freaking out inside. “She can’t do her job. She’s in double casts — left leg and arm — and on pain medications.”

He winces. “Sounds bad.”

“It is.”

“Well,” he says, coming to stand beside me and putting his arm around my shoulders. My body sinks into his side, even though I tell it to stay strong. “I’ll be here all summer, so I’ll help out as much as I can.”

“Masa, I can’t ask that of you…”

“You didn’t. I’m volunteering. I’ll come out on the train every morning and head home in the evenings. It’ll be a reverse commute, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“That’ll be expensive.”

He smiles, a grin that takes up half his face. These are the smiles I always loved, when he’s happy, agreeable, or relieved. My insides rebel against each other, one side wanting to tackle hug him, the other cautioning and wanting to run away.

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s go to the ryokan and get started.”

—-

I introduce Masa to my grandpa at the ryokan, and he orders us bento box lunches from the restaurant next door (salmon and rice with roe and seaweed salad) and we eat on the floor, sitting at the table of my new office. I spend most of the meal quiet, listening to Masa speak Japanese with my grandpa.

We have a different dynamic here on the other side of the world. When we were at MSU, Masa and I only spoke Japanese in class or if we wanted to keep something secret from someone else (which is mean, I’ll admit, but we’re immature sometimes and did it anyway). I love the way his voice changes when he speaks Japanese. He stammers a lot more, but his cadence is faster. Once he gets going, he’s like a bullet train, cruising through the countryside. He even lowers his voice a bit and uses all the male conjugations, which gives me goosebumps.

I said I was pathetic, and I meant it.

Grandpa hands me the stack of papers that was on Mom’s desk. Each one has a new sticky note attached.

“Here are the vendors and shop owners you will be dealing with for the summer. I have called on or spoken to them all. They’re aware of your mother’s situation and that you will taking over for her for the time being. We’ll go visit them tomorrow.”

Masa flips through the papers, handing each to me when he’s done. “Florist. Vegetable market. Fish market. Bakery. Sake brewery. Beer distributor. Linen cleaning service. Maid cleaning service. Trash and waste disposal…” My stomach progressively shrinks smaller and smaller as I stack the papers in front of me. All told, there are twelve different people and businesses I need to deal with. My usual summer job was at a movie theater where I worked the ticket counter or the concession stand. The work was easy, brainless, gave me plenty of time to read or study, and I could watch free movies all summer. This? This is a real, grown-up job.

I fan out the papers and press my hands down on top of them. “Um…” My voice shakes so I take a sip of water and open my mom’s planner, unwilling to have a panic attack in front of Masa and my grandpa. I set the planner down to the top left of the papers. I take out my own planner and set it down to the top right of the papers. Rummaging in my bag, I find eight different colored pens. Not enough.

Masa watches me as I set a different colored pen on each paper. “I need more colors.” The system just won’t work without more colors! I blink my eyes to focus them. How can I organize this job if I can’t even do this one, simple thing?

“Put the vegetable and fish market together, and the beer and sake together.”

I shake my head. “No. I need a different color for different vendors.” My hands tremble as I touch the pens again, and I blow out a slow breath, trying to keep my breathing and heart rate steady.

“Just for now,” he says, placing his hand on top of mine. His fingers are warm and solid, grounding my lightened body, which is ready to float away. “We’ll go shopping for more pens later. You can separate them next week.”

I nod, count to five in my head, and uncap the first pen. Grandpa leaves the office as I transfer my mom’s appointments to my own calendar, color-coded to go with the invoices from the vendors. I flip to the lined paper at the back and transfer all the addresses and phone numbers, also color coded, into a section I designate the “Ryokan Vendor Directory.”

“You know, there are about a hundred different apps you could use instead of a paper planner, Isa.”

“I know,” I say, bent over my work, exacting out tiny strokes of my pen to capture the kanji characters precisely. “But what if I lose my phone? What if I forget to charge it? What if it’s stolen?” I tick off each question on my fingers. “I back up to my computer regularly, but if I lose a lot of work, I’ll be crushed.”

Masa taps the planner with his fingers. “You could lose this or it could be stolen.”

“It’s big — A5 size — so I can always tell when I have it or not. I’ve had a planner since I was in eighth grade. Why stop now?” I sigh and sit back, straightening out my aching shoulders. “My washi tape addiction is out of control, but what else is new.”

I slip the business cards out of my mom’s planner and bring them over to the combination printer copier. I lay each card down, trying to fit as many onto one sheet as possible, and copy them before putting them away.

Masa flips through my mom’s planner. “I don’t think you missed anything but these receipts, and what’s this?” He pulls a photo from the flap pocket, and it’s of my mom and the same man who was in the photo in her bedroom.

I take the photo from his fingers. “It’s my mom and some guy. I saw this man in another photo at home.” I glance down at her planner. I keep a photo of Masa and me in my planner. I don’t even have one of Halley. I peek inside the flap, and this is the only photo she carries. I wonder if this is a man she’s dating? I wouldn’t blame her if she were dating again. My dad wasn’t my mom’s first marriage. He was her second husband. I never met her first husband…

“Hey, it’s you and me at the game this past fall.” Masa is smiling down at the photo of the two of us I keep my own planner’s pocket. “That was a good time. We should go to more games together this coming fall.”

“Sure,” I say, my mouth running dry. He doesn’t understand that I keep the photo of us to stare at and dream he’s in love with me.

“Should we go get started on this list today?” Masa asks, jumping up from the table and holding out a hand to help me up. He holds on a bit longer than necessary, smiling at me, before dropping my hand. Maybe I should bring up the kiss and my apologies again. With all the kind gestures, smiles, and helpful advice, it almost feels like he may be trying too hard. I don’t want him to feel like he has to be any different now to make up for my mistakes.

But it’s nice. It’s really, really nice to have him here, to have someone on my side who can help me. I think I’ll just let it be for a while and wait to see what happens.

I grab my phone and check the time. 13:50.

“Can’t, yet. Mom had a two o’clock appointment she wanted me to deal with.”

At the front desk, an older man talks to the receptionist, Reiko, his hands gesturing wildly.

“I have an appointment, per usual. Why isn’t she here?” He slips his phone out of his back pocket and looks at it as we approach. “She hasn’t returned my phone calls in days.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Reiko bows behind the desk. “This is a personal matter…”

“It’s okay, Reiko,” I say, gently touching the man on the shoulder. He turns around, and I’m surprised to see he’s the same man from Mom’s photo. Masa and I raise our eyebrows at each other. “Are you Omuri-san? My mom had an appointment with you today?”

“Your mother? Are you Isano?” His eyes widen under graying eyebrows. I like his style, a loose button-down shirt over a t-shirt stained with paint, dark gray pants and Japanese-style men’s flip-flops.

“I am. I’m taking over some things for my mom for a while —”

“Why? Tell me why?” He steps forward, grasping my arm.

“Hey,” Masa says, stepping between us.

“She’s in the hospital. She was hit by a car this past weekend while riding her bike.”

“Which hospital?” He drops his hand, reaching for his phone again.

“I don’t remember the name. The one that’s eight blocks that way.” I gesture to the south of the ryokan, and he takes off running out the door.

Everyone watches him go, the puff of hot outside air sending goosebumps up my spine.

“We should follow him,” Masa says, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the door.

We stick to Omuri through the streets as he alternately speed walks and jogs along towards the hospital. Masa drops my hand after a block but keeps right by my side. “Do you think maybe… he and your mom?”

I nod, silent and thoughtful. He must be a boyfriend.

“Are you upset?”

“No… I don’t know… Maybe…”

Omuri rips open the door to the hospital, and Masa and I run to catch up. Inside, he’s adamantly grilling the young woman at the front desk on where my mom is.

“He’s with me,” I tell her, before turning to him. “She’s in Room 412.” He runs down the hall, bursting through the stairs to climb the four flights as fast as he can. Masa and I calmly walk to the elevator and press the button.

“Good. I’m glad you’re not that crazy,” Masa whispers at me.

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure the elevator is a faster, less heart-attack-inducing means of transport.”

The lift leaves us not far from my mom’s room, and I have the chance to witness Omuri emerge from the stairwell, winded, run into her room, and stop dead at the foot of her bed. He breaks into tears, his eyes running over her leg and arm casts.

“Kosho!” she cries as he holds her uninjured hand and kisses it over and over.

Well, that solves that mystery.

Masa puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” he says. “Makes you believe in true love.”

It’s just like Masa to see the sweet and romantic side to this story, he who strums on his guitar, writes poetry, and feels real heartbreak from sappy movies. Obviously they’re in love, but now I’m also going to have to deal with the wants and needs of my mom’s boyfriend in the midst of family chaos.

This is not going to make things easier. At all.