Summer Haikus – Chapter 15

“You have a good eye for form, Masa,” Kosho says, squeezing Masa’s shoulder and stepping back to tilt his head and gaze at the ikebana arrangement on the stainless steel table. I take a moment to smile and press my back against the wall as I watch them both, creating, arranging flowers in stark but beautiful designs. Kosho has volunteered to help out around the ryokan until Mom is back on her feet, and he offered to teach Masa ikebana. This is my mother’s hobby, one she practices in her spare time, and she displays her work at home and in the ryokan lobby. Kosho insisted I try, but I don’t have a creative bone in my body.

“Thank you.” Masa bows to Kosho, his cheeks pinking at the edges. I’ve seen this blush before when Masa receives praise from someone he admires. He’s sweet, and this friendship he’s formed with my mom’s boyfriend is unexpected. I haven’t bonded with Kosho yet. Every time we talk, I let long stretches of silence sit between us because I don’t know what to ask. When Dad dated Janie, I had no say in the matter and didn’t even meet her until after he proposed. Yes, it broke my heart, and it was the reason I hated her for so many years. I don’t want to go through that again.

My phone in my pocket buzzes, a call from the ryokan’s main line ringing through. Oops. I’ve neglected my duties on this busy Saturday afternoon. I dismiss the call and leave the back room quietly so I don’t disturb Kosho and Masa. As I approach Reiko at the front desk, she sighs and sets the phone down.

“Sorry. I couldn’t find you, and I thought it would be easier to call.” Reiko’s fingers clack away on the keyboard, her eyes darting back and forth from the screen to the printer spitting out checkout receipts. A long line of people await help, and my heart races in a panic. Why the hell was I ogling Masa instead of doing my job?

“My apologies,” I say, bowing to people waiting. “Who here has already been checked out and needs a cab?”

Several people raise their hands, so I swipe on my phone and make requests of the local taxi service through their app. The wait time is ten minutes, so I gather a few people in the lounge and serve them soda, emptying out the front hall so Reiko can get her work done. I’m going to see if we can get another computer for the front desk. It’s a big enough ryokan for two check-in clerks.

The first of the taxis arrives, and I help haul suitcases to the curb and say goodbye to guests as new ones appear in their wake. Saturdays, more than any other day of the week, are our most chaotic days. People come and go at all hours, and I work overtime lifting large luggage, calling restaurants to get reservations for guests, pointing out destinations on maps, and dealing with things like clogged drains and money exchange. All of this is in addition to placing orders for the next week at our beer and sake distributors and going over the bills with my grandpa so he can take care of those.

It’s my duty as proprietress to show guests to their room, as if they are staying in my own home. I escort an elderly husband and wife to their suite on the top floor, one of our finest rooms in the inn. This floor only has two deluxe rooms, each with their own bathroom.

“Ah, this is lovely. Such a beautiful space,” the old man says, “and the room is even more elegant since the renovation.”

“Have you stayed with us before?” I set their bags off to the side and beckon them to sit at the floor table. They lower themselves delicately to the floor chairs, barely a grunt or grimace. I’m constantly surprised by the elderly in Japan. So many still sit on their knees, seiza style, well into their eighties. I open the black lacquerware box on the table and hand each of them a hot towel to wipe the city dirt from their hands.

“Yes,” the wife says, smiling at her husband. “We were here for our twentieth wedding anniversary, and now we’re here for our thirty-fifth.”

I gasp and bow to the tatami mat. “Congratulations on such a wonderful milestone! We’re honored that you would spend your anniversary with us.”

When I rise from my bow, the man is frowning at me. “We hoped to see Sugai-san. We heard she finally took over the management about five years ago.”

I swallow, suddenly nervous I have neglected a treasured guest. “Rumi-san is my mother and she was involved in a minor accident a few weeks ago. I’m filling in for the time being.”

“Ah soooooo,” he breathes, his frown deepening. “We didn’t know. Please give her our wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“Thank you.” I bow once more and glance around the bare room. The space feels empty and unwelcoming, not warm and inviting like it should. “Please excuse me while I tend to your dinner requests. I’ll return soon. Would you like tea?” I sweep my hand at the tea service, standard for each arriving guest. They nod, so I serve them, then back out of the door without turning my back to them.

Running down through the stairwell, I pop into the kitchen puffing for breath.

“Masahito-san!” I weave through the chefs and dishwashers to approach the head chef. “Our guests in room ten are celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

“No!” His eyes widen and everyone around him freezes. “Really? On the night of the big banquet?”

“They decided not to participate in the banquet and want their meal in their room.”

He frowns and sighs before stroking his short beard and gazing towards the refrigerator. “But we cannot send them a standard meal. That would be very dishonorable.”

As I suspected, this little detail will mean everything about the day’s routine will change. If I have learned one thing working here the last three weeks it’s that every detail, no matter how small, is important.

“What should we do? How can I help?”

Masahito removes his white apron from around his rotund body and hangs it up at the door. “I’ll run to the grocery store to purchase a few seasonal items and prepare an extra dish to celebrate the occasion.” He grabs his messenger bag as the rest of his staff gets back to work. “Speak with Reiko about room decorations. Your mother always had a special scroll and flower arrangement she would add to rooms for important guests.”

“Right.” I nod in his direction as he exits through the back door.

Okay. I can handle this! I fan at my face to calm my breathing and give myself a short pep talk. This will not ruin the day, and I will make my new guests feel at home and welcomed.

In the next room over, Masa works on a second arrangement with Kosho.

“I thought you were upstairs, Isa,” Masa says, his eyes leaving his newest creation and coming to rest on me. His gaze lingers along my neck and arms and sends my insides into a fiery heat. So, pens may not be romantic, but his attention feels less friendly and more sensual lately.

I head straight for the arrangement he just finished. “Can I have this? It’s beautiful and the guests in room ten are celebrating an anniversary.”

Masa and Kosho glance at each other. “Of course,” Kosho says, bowing. “We would be honored.”

Masa bows as well but not before winking at me and the blush overtaking my face. I don’t think he’s ever bowed to me before. I return the bow and grab the squat, short vase, holding it against my hip. Reiko, now free from working at the front desk, helps me find an intricate scroll in the basement storage area, and we bring both the scroll, the flowers, and a bottle of sake up to room ten.

“What attention to detail!” The wife smiles and clasps her hands together, examining the scroll while her husband pours sake for her.

“Our chef has a special meal planned for you this evening as well. Please relax, enjoy the baths and the garden, and let us know if there’s anything you need,” I say, bowing with Reiko before we let ourselves out.

“Good job.” Reiko smiles at me in the elevator, and I huff out a calming breath before laughing. Words of praise don’t come easily from Reiko, and her smile and prim nod cause pride to well in my chest. I did do a good job. For once, I’m good at something other than running, and the rush of satisfaction and confidence is like a drug. I want to do it again!

“This is actually fun. Did you see how happy they were? I hope I’m that happy when I’m their age.”

Once the afternoon rush is over, I plop into a couch in the lounge area and sigh, stretching out my legs in front of me. Reiko sits at the next table, sipping on water, while I adjust the schedule for next week. She slips two pieces of paper next to my planner.

“I’m sorry, Isa-san, but these messages came for you today, and I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with them before anything else.”

I sigh as I pinch my eyes closed and rub them before glancing at the messages.

“What the…?” I almost swear but swallow it. “Why does the fishmonger hate me so much?” Any confidence I had from doing so well earlier fizzles and pops into the growing vacuum in my chest.

The message reads, “From: fishmonger. Tell Isa she will need to find a new place to buy fish. She is not to come back.”

Reiko averts her eyes and taps her nails on the table.

“What? What did I do?” I slap the message down on the table and she jumps.

“I’m sorry. This is very embarrassing.”

I want to tell her to stop apologizing, but I know that’s not the Japanese way. In America, we apologize maybe once. Here, “moshiwake gozaimasen” or “gomen nasai” are repeated over and over in the hopes that more apologies will smooth over a misunderstanding.

“Just tell me,” I say, closing my eyes, “because I’m going to have to find another guy to buy fish from and I don’t want to mess it up again.”

“You see, it’s very regrettable, but there was nothing you could do to make things better with him. He doesn’t like foreigners.”

“But —”

Reiko looks away again, bobbing her head, and dread blankets my entire being as flashes of conversation come back to me — Masa’s embarrassed blushes, and hurried exits from the fish store every day.

“It’s not because I’m a foreigner, it’s because I’m hafu, right?” I turn on my phone and navigate to my Japanese dictionary, plugging in words and sounds until I come upon rettōshu, “inferior species.” I’ve heard this word mumbled at me as I left the fishmonger each day. I can’t even believe I never looked it up before now.

I flash my phone at Reiko and her eyes widen. “Isa-san, I would never use such language with you.”

“I know. It’s fine,” I reassure her as I turn off my phone. “This makes a lot more sense now.” I shake my head. “Don’t worry. It’s not the first time I’ve been discriminated against. At home, I’m out of place. Here, I’m a half breed. I’m terrible at managing the ryokan. My mom would be horrified if she saw the lobby earlier. The only thing I’m good at is running, and even then, I’m not as good as Halley.”

Reiko shakes her head. “I don’t think so, Isa-san. You’re doing a really good job. You handled that couple in room ten beautifully. I think your mother would be proud, and everyone here enjoys working with you.”

“But then this happens.” I point to the fishmonger’s message. “Every step forward I take, I get knocked down again.” I sigh, falling back into the seat in a defeated lump.

Reiko chews on her lip before sipping her water. She seems uncomfortable at my obvious display of defeat, so I cover it up hastily. I should try not to complain around my own employees.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” I pull myself back up and bow to her. “I shouldn’t burden you with this. Can you suggest a new fishmonger? I’m going to send this one a stern letter, a check, and a promise we’ll never do business again.”

“I’ll do some research.” She stands and points to the other message. “Don’t forget about this one.”

I read it over but shake my head at a few of the kanji. “I don’t know this one. What is this?”

“O-sentō. Bath house.” She turns and points in the direction of the back garden. “The woman who owns the sentō a few blocks that way is friends with your mother.”

“Okay. I’ll call her soon.” I fold up the note and slip it in the pocket of my planner before yawning and stretching. I’ll add it to the list of things I will probably never get to.

I thumb through my planner, hovering over the calendar. Only five more weeks until the Olympics start. I run my finger over the days between now and then and wonder when my mom will be back home. When will she be well enough to take over for me? Just when I think I’m doing this job well, something happens to remind me I’m an amateur. I miss appointments, let visitors sit and wait while I fumble with their bags and taxis, and now the fishmonger wants nothing to do with me because I’m an alien half breed to him.

The lounge of the ryokan is quiet and peaceful, welcoming and warm, but I’m not sure if I belong here.

“Isa?” Masa calls and snaps me out of a long, dead stare into space. “Did you hear me? I’ve called your name at least four times.” He narrows his eyes at me as I yawn again. “Let’s go get coffee, on me.”

“On me” reminds me I have very little money left. Great. That’s another thing I have to deal with. I slam my planner closed, grab my umbrella from the bin by the front door, and follow Masa out into the drizzly afternoon.