Summer Haikus – Chapter 18

I run with Halley on Monday morning as usual, then Tuesday morning I text her to let her know I’m going to visit Mom and ask for a salary. She responds, “Get your money, girl!”

I try to play it cool and arrive at my mom’s hospital room with lunches for us both. She’s been switched to a shorter leg cast, her arm is in a sling, and she can hobble around now. Her pain is more manageable, and she’s in physical therapy every day to strengthen her upper body. When I arrive in her room, she’s sitting in a wheelchair at the table, typing away on her computer, one-handed.

“You look good, Mom,” I say, cheerily, as I kiss her on the cheek. “Your face is healed, and your cheeks are pink again.”

She smiles up at me, and my insides warm. This is the mom I’ve missed for weeks.

“You brought lunch? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I thought you’d like a bento instead of the hospital food.” I set the box of food next to her — teriyaki chicken, rice, vegetables, and a cookie. I place a card beside her computer. “I got the boxes from the place next to the ryokan. The staff there miss you and sent a card.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” She reads the card as I sit down and open her box and mine. She closes her computer and we eat silently together, not saying much of anything at all. We used to do this a lot when I was younger, except we would both read at the table while eating. I sit and think about how I’m going to broach the subject of money with her. What will I say? How will I start this awkward conversation?

She finishes off her bento in record time.

“Wow, you must have been hungry!” I set my chopsticks down and take her box away.

“Hungry for real food. I miss eating my own cooking.”

I pick at my rice with my chopsticks. “I’ve been wondering, Mom, where you will go once you’re out of the hospital? Grandma and Grandpa’s place isn’t wheelchair or crutches friendly.”

“I’m not sure,” she says, adjusting her robe around her legs. I stand up, cross the room to my bag, and pull out a bottle of bright red nail polish, Mom’s favorite color.

“Would you like me to paint your nails?”

She smiles. “The nurses just cut them the other day. I’d love that.”

I swivel her wheelchair around so she’s facing me then sit cross-legged on the floor at her feet. Mom closes her eyes as I coat each nail in a perfect glossy sheen of apple red, apples I look forward to picking in the fall in Michigan when the trees grow golden and turn the color of sunset.

“So, Kosho is a super nice guy.” I try to keep my voice level and polite. I used to talk about the boys I was in love with in middle school and high school, all the boys that were my friends and nothing more. We’ve never once talked about my own Mom’s love life.

Mom chuckles. “He is, isn’t he? And yes, we’re dating, to answer your unasked question.”

“Sorry.” I cringe at my forwardness.

“It’s fine, sweetie. He likes teaching Masa, and I’m glad he’s spending time with you at the ryokan. I was hoping we’d all spend time together this summer. I didn’t think it would be like this, though.” Mom smiles and picks at the magazines on the table next to her. I turn my attention back to her toenails.

“How did you meet him?” I dip the nail brush twice and drag the edge across the lip of the bottle.

“Ikebana classes. He teaches them. I wanted to learn for the ryokan, so I thought I’d take an evening off once per week and go. Then later, he offered to come to me at the ryokan. I don’t remember how we started dating.” She gazes out the window and bites her lip. I do the same thing when I’m thinking. “Oh! I remember. We ran into each other at a summer festival, had drinks and dinner together, and it became a regular thing.”

I hesitate drawing the brush across her pinkie toenail. “And he’s never been married? After spending some time with him, I think he’s quite a catch.” Mom laughs and her foot twitches. “Hold still! Or there’ll be red paint all over your cast.”

“Sorry,” she says, covering the smile on her face. “Widowed. He’s widowed. His wife died almost ten years ago.”

“You’re happy then?” I screw the cap on the bottle and blow on her nails.

“With him? Yes. I’m not happy I’m in here and neither is he, I’m sure. I can’t wait to get back my daily life.”

I stand up and look down at her toenails. “All done. I did a pretty good job.”

She leans forward and peers down at her toes. “You did, Isa-chan. Thank you.”

I sit down in the chair and return the nail polish to my bag.

“Mom, um, I need to talk with you about something.” My voice cracks and the back of my neck starts to sweat. “I’ve been working really hard at the ryokan. Last week I clocked over seventy hours there, which is a lot more than I’ve ever worked at a job. I checked my bank account this morning, and I have almost no money left of my summer fund…”

“And?” she asks, her eyebrows drawn together, perplexed.

“And I think I should be paid for the work I do at the ryokan.” I look her straight in the eye when I say it. I want her to know how important this is to me.

“You can’t be serious?” She pulls back in her chair, her hand reaching for her hair. “You want your family to pay you for helping them out?”

“Mom —”

“No, no, Isano. How can you be so disrespectful? Your family has given you food, shelter, and the clothes on your back, and you want to be paid for helping me out when I’m in the hospital?”

I swallow, my head growing lighter as blood empties from my face.

“Mom, please. I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I’m working a lot. I’m doing the job of someone twice my age.”

“I hope it’s teaching you good lessons.” If she were standing, her hands would be on her hips. She instead folds her arms over her chest.

“It is. I promise you.” I reach out towards her hand, but she pulls away. “The thing is, I was supposed to be earning money this summer babysitting, working for Halley, and then at the theater when I returned home, so I could pay for things at school next year. But I had to leave Michigan early to come here, had to ditch Halley, and now I’m sure I’ll be here till the very last moment I go back to school…”

Mom turns her face from me and stares out the window.

“So I need some sort of salary…”

No answer.

“It doesn’t have to be much…” My voice cracks again as I sell myself short. If Halley were here, she would clock me and probably yell at my mom until she paid me.

Mom turns her head back to me and tears on her cheeks reflect in the sunlight. “I am so disappointed in you, Isano. When I asked you to take charge, I thought you would step up and help out without giving us trouble. How can I pay you? I came here with nothing and need to save for retirement. Your father cheated on me, divorced me, and left me with so little. I gave up my life to raise you and take care of you. All those years I spent helping you with homework, driving you to track meets and races…”

Rage roars in my ears, rushing water over rocks, like a deluge.

“That’s not fair,” I say, standing up and knocking over my chair. “It’s not my fault he left you, and it’s not my fault he didn’t provide for you after. And I’m soooooo sorry I inconvenienced you with my life as a kid.” Sarcasm drips from my voice like warm blood. “But I deserve to be paid for the work I do.”

Her mouth puckers and she sits forward. “Your selfish American thinking will get you nowhere here.”

I glance behind me and several nurses in the hallway are stopped and watching us.

“Forget this. It’s obvious I can’t reason with you.” I grab my bag and my phone and stalk out of the room, past the nurses to the elevator where I punch the button so hard my fingernail rips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter under my breath, as the door opens. I step in right next to the young doctor who sat beside me on the bench the day Masa showed up.

“Oh, hey, American girl.”

“Hi,” I say, terse and stiff. I press the “door close” button, and I leave a bloody print behind.

“Ah, you’re bleeding!” He grabs my hand and jerks it upright. I try to pull away from him, from his cool and smooth hand encircling my wrist, but he holds on tight. “What happened?”

“It’s just a ripped nail.”

Confusion draws his eyebrows together. I switch to English, “Torn, ripped, ouch. No big deal.”

“Ah. You used a strange verb for this action.” His English is pretty good, and he smiles at me as the elevator opens. Sticking his leg out the door, he lets go of my hand, takes an alcohol swab out of his pocket and wipes my blood off the button before we both step out and let the elevator be on its way.

“I can think of three verbs I could have used in this instance.”

I blink, stunned by the conversational whiplash.

“Yabureru would be a better choice than hikisaku, or you could just use waru.” He waves me towards a nurses’ station, so I follow him.

The station is empty, and he opens cabinets, extracting a bottle of antiseptic, a small pair of scissors, and a bandage. “Let me take care of that for you.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, wanting to get the hell out and run from my problems. I could use a run. A run would help me clear out my head and accept this awful situation for what it is. I’ve become family slave labor, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Well, I don’t let people leave the hospital if they’re bleeding.” He pulls on some gloves, takes my finger gently in his, sprays it with antiseptic, and using the tiny scissors, cuts off the rest of my broken nail. I’m sure that’s going to look awesome in a few days.

“There,” he says, wrapping it in gauze and pressing hard to stop the bleeding. “Tell me, why did you look so angry on your way out, American girl?” He smiles, and I grow uncomfortable because it feels like flirting, him holding my hand, his light brown eyes gazing into mine. I’m not used to anyone flirting with me.

“Isano. I’m Isano. Everyone calls me Isa.”

“Okay, Isa.”

I sigh. I’m not going anywhere. “My mom, remember her? She was hit by a car?”

“Ah, yes. I checked up on her after we talked a few weeks ago. She’s progressing well.”

“Um, thanks.”

He peeks under the gauze and returns to holding my finger tight.

“Well, my family owns the ryokan a few blocks from here.”

“The Kurogashi Ryokan?” His eyes widen in surprise.

“Yes. You know it?” Kurogashi is “black oak” and one of my grandpa’s favorite materials to work with since it was his father’s favorite tree, and building material as well.

“It’s one of the most famous ryokans in the area.”

I nod my head, now aware my mom’s reputation for running the ryokan at its best is also in jeopardy because of my inexperience at the helm.

“My mom asked me to take over her duties at the ryokan for the summer since she obviously can’t work right now.”

He peeks under the gauze again, finds the blood flow stopped, and unwraps a bandage. I’m relieved we’re no longer touching, but still I’m pinned under his caring and watchful eye contact. He oozes “doctor,” that easygoing, always listening, helpful demeanor I associate with the best of the best.

“That’s a big job for someone so young.”

“I’m twenty years old,” I say, drawing myself up. “Almost twenty-one.”

He laughs, securing the bandage on me. “Okay, you’re older than I thought. I’m only twenty-eight myself. Anyway, it sounds like a big job.”

“It is. I asked my mom for a salary, and she flat out told me no.”

He frowns and crosses his arms. “That doesn’t sound reasonable.”

I hoist my bag onto my shoulder. “She’s not. I’ve gotta go. Thanks for this.” I lift my finger and wiggle it at him.

“You’re welcome. Hey,” — he taps on my shoulder as I turn to go — “sometimes people need to lose what they love to understand how important it is.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe your mom should see how well the ryokan runs without you.”

A strike? I don’t know. I would love to teach Mom a lesson, but I don’t want to let my grandparents down.

“Think about it,” he says, then extends his hand to me. I hesitate to grasp it because handshakes are not the norm in Japan. “I’m Tomohiro. Give me a call if you need anything else.” We shake, an awkward up and down motion, before he lets go and walks off with a smile and a wave.