Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Mika was at home, in her bed, sleeping—dreaming. She was ten, in a kimono and on a stage, a single light illuminating her. The auditorium had red cushioned seats and was empty, except for the two seats in the front row occupied by her parents. The back of the auditorium blew away, chunks of wood splintering in the air as if a bomb had been detonated. Not a bomb, but a storm. A tornado, and caught in its swirls were apple pies, plastic red Solo cups, tubes of paint, broken bits of pottery. Mika’s mouth opened in a scream, and she felt herself falling down the tunnel of her own throat.

The dream shifted to reality, to a memory.

She was back in Peter’s apartment, at Marcus’s party. Bodies crammed into the small space. Mark Morrison played on the loudspeaker, “Return of the Mack.” Mika leaned against the wall, watching Marcus across the room grind against a graduate student. Her eyes and body were heavy. She thought it was from sadness, but later on, she’d realize it was from something else. She blinked, slow lidded, and droopy. When she opened her eyes, Peter was in her direct line of vision.

Hey, he said with a wolf’s grin. I brought you another drink. He’d been refilling her cup all night. He tipped it up to her mouth. Mika turned her head, and beer spilled down her cheek, soaked the front of her black sweater.

I don’t feel good, she said.

Peter hooked an arm around her waist, promising to take her somewhere quiet. She stumbled and leaned into him. Then they were in his bedroom. He laid Mika down, and she watched through a haze as he closed the door. Locked it. The noises from the party silenced. She drifted off. And woke to Peter on top of her, pinning her to the mattress.

She tried to push him off, but her movements were slow, sludge traveling down a wall. No, she said, then louder, No. His hand smelled like turpentine as he held it over her mouth and squeezed her cheeks, eliciting hot tears. All she could do was watch him through a watery haze, his face fragmented, a cubist painting. Not Marcus, but Peter above her. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t what she wanted. She watched the time on his nightstand clock, the minutes ticking away. 12:01, 12:02, 12:03, the exact time Penny was conceived. Then her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. The bed creaked like a chop, chop, chop . . . pieces of her falling away. In a single moment, her life bifurcated, even slices of before and after.

Mika startled awake with a gasp. Her fingers searched her throat, fluttered over her hammering pulse. The memory fled, and she closed her eyes. Breathed deeply and heavily. She was safe. It was over. Thoughts jumbled up, reality picked away at the miasma of dreams and memories—nightmares. Penny. Thomas. The art gallery. A new cord of panic twisted around her lungs and pulled tight. Their flight leaves at eleven fifteen. She might be able to catch them at the airport. She dressed, pulling on sweatpants and a sweatshirt discarded on the floor. When she came out of her room, Hana was in the kitchen. Mika didn’t say a word as she frantically searched for her keys.

Mika didn’t stop looking. Under a stack of papers. In the couch cushions. Where were her fucking keys? Her chin quivered. “Penny and Thomas are leaving today, and I fucked up so bad. I need to get to the airport and try to find them, but I can’t find my fucking keys.” Mika jammed her palms into her eyes until she saw white spots.

The drive to the airport passed in a blur. Weaving in and out of traffic, some honking. Her heart pounding as if she were a person drowning in the ocean. She parked in the departures drop-off-only lane and jumped from her car. Everywhere were signs that read: loading and unloading only, do not leave car unattended. A security guard in a bright yellow vest blew his whistle. “Ma’am, you can’t leave your car here.”

Mika didn’t listen. Too intent on searching the outside for a splash of dark hair, for a tall man with a set of broody eyes. They weren’t outside. She ran through the double glass doors and vaguely remembered the airline they were flying. Alaska. She scurried to the ticketing booth, scanned the lines. No Penny. No Thomas. What time was it? She found a digital clock behind the counter, 10:35 a.m. She ran to the departures board but couldn’t remember their flight number. But she was able to connect the dots with the flight and destination. There it was. In big capital letters: boarding. A hand cupped her bicep and pulled her. “Lady, you can’t leave your car.”

She jerked her arm away. Her chest felt tight. What was happening now seemed inevitable. A crash course of events set for sixteen years in the future. She couldn’t help but think of watching Mrs. Pearson taking Penny away at the hospital. Her hands clutching the tiny bundle. Her baby. This was it. Penny was gone. Again. Bereft, her knees buckled. It rolled over her, a cold blue tide. “Penny,” she whispered.

Finally, Mika nodded vacantly and staggered away, spirit separating from her body. It was much the same as when she’d left Peter’s apartment the morning after. He’d been sleeping, and Mika had woken to his arm thrown across her. She eased from his hold, sat on the edge of the bed, and examined her lower half—the damage. An animal assessing itself—if it was too wounded to run. Her skirt was still on, but her tights and underwear were gone. Her thighs were tender, black and blue with the marks of fingerprints. She stood and wavered but managed to tiptoe to the door. Heart pounding at every little noise. Afraid she’d wake him. Persephone skirting Cerberus.

She inhaled her first deep breath as she burst out of the building. Then stumbled through the campus. Torn tights. Torn skin. Torn soul. Her body a small apocalypse. The rest she remembered abstractly. A jagged yellow line of sick, pale sunlight. Wind so sharp it rippled the short grass and burned her cheeks and whipped her bare thighs. Two black splotches—crows fighting over a discarded container of watermelon. A flash of blue from a light atop a special telephone. If Mika picked up the receiver, someone would come escort her to safety. She considered it but discarded the idea as easily as a gum wrapper. How many sexual partners have you had? The police might ask, even though it was nobody’s business. And Mika would say eight, two of which she could not remember very well. But she did remember Peter. Remembered saying no. Yet who would believe her? This girl who wasted her life painting, spent her nights at frat parties, and once gave a blow job to a guy in a backyard. When did a woman’s decision to have sex become a barometer for honesty? Mika didn’t know the answer. She just knew it to be true.

A car horn blared, and Mika startled. She was back in the airport, the guy in the yellow vest scrutinizing her from the curb. Go, he mouthed and pointed to the exit.

She drove far enough to park in the cell phone waiting lot, then hit the steering wheel before collapsing against it. She was lost again. Lost and alone.

How did everything always go so wrong?

She leaned back. She’d lied to Penny. Her intentions had been good. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was Penny had been hurt. That was the last thing Mika wanted. Wasn’t that how this had all started? All she’d wanted was to protect Penny from the truth, from learning about Peter, about herself, from the knowledge that the world could be such a terrible and cruel place. She had wanted to show Penny that the adoption had been worth it for both of them. Penny received a loving family. Mika achieved her dreams.

She rolled down her windows, let the morning chill the tears on her face. Smelled the rain and the fresh-cut grass. Then she drew out her phone, and before she knew it, she was calling Penny.

It was done.

A breeze ruffled her hair, and she brushed it from her eyes. She sat for a while more, watching the gray sky, listening to the sound of planes departing, feeling as if she’d time-traveled. She tapped out a text to Hana. I need you. Hana responded almost instantly. I am here. Waiting for you. Josephine is gone. Come home.

Mika put her car in gear and drove home. To Hana, to a place where Mika always felt perfectly loved. As promised, Hana was waiting, her arms open, and Mika fell into them, finding comfort in her bony shoulder. They had the same body shape and fit together perfectly—filling all of each other’s hollow places. This is what she longed for from Hiromi. But her mother was too hard of a person. Hard flinty eyes, hard callused hands, just hard. Maybe that was the key to parenting: you couldn’t keep your children from being hurt, but you could give them a soft place to land.

Hana whisked Mika inside and sat her down on the couch. “Come on, tell me all of it. I’ll make you an omelet.”

Hana pulled Mika’s hands from her face and held her, stroking her hair. “It’s okay,” she said over and over until Mika breathed a little easier.

Mika told Hana how it had all blown up in her face. About Hiromi showing up at the opening and exposing Mika. Of chasing Penny and Thomas to the airport and the rambling voicemail she’d left. “You think they’ll get back in touch?” Hana asked.

Mika shrugged, resisting the urge to check her phone and see if Penny had called or texted. Of course there wouldn’t be anything this soon. Penny and Thomas were flying right now. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I don’t know if the truth or lies are better.” She turned the mug of soup slowly between her palms.

Hana pursed her lips. “Do you want me to cancel the Pearl Jam tour?” She was supposed to leave in three weeks.

A smile broke across Hana’s face, along with a furious blush. “Not much to say. I met her last night at Sheila’s”—a hipster hole-in-the-wall gay bar. “She’s an artist. She does things with mixed media and her hands you wouldn’t believe.” Hana wriggled her fingers.

Mika shook her head but couldn’t form the words to say no because her throat knotted. She knew Hana meant it. She would stay. And Mika’s heart threatened to burst at the simple promise.