Chapter Twenty-Eight
The night before their performance, Mika and Penny drove across town to Shige and Hiromi’s house. “I haven’t gotten the kimonos out in years,” Hiromi explained as she pulled the plastic tub from her closet. There was a quickness to her movements, a lightness in her air. As if her hip, knees, and back no longer ached. As if she were young again. Had Mika ever seen her mother so excited? Then Hiromi added, “Since Mika quit dancing.” Ah yes, there was the expected verbal jab. When Mika had danced, there had been a shine in Hiromi’s eyes. Pride. How quick Mika had been to pierce it out. You two are like fire, Shige had said. You burn everything down. She told herself she quit dancing to focus on other pursuits, on painting, but it really had been to spite Hiromi, to hurt her as she had hurt Mika.
“Here, let me.” Mika stepped forward, relieving Hiromi of the tub, setting it on the quilt on her parents’ bed. She peeled the lid off, and the smell of mothballs clouded the room.
Penny stuck her nose in. “They’re beautiful.” On the top was the kimono Hiromi had worn to New Year’s at the church years ago when Mika had been six. Light pink ombré that tapered to purple with hand-stitched cranes. Mika remembered being a child and pressing herself against her mother’s thigh, the feel of the embroidery against her cheek.
“The yukata are on the bottom,” Hiromi said. For Obon, they’d wear lighter-weight cotton kimonos. As Hiromi removed the kimono, her hands trembled. Perhaps at the memory that she’d once been a maiko, that she once had shone brightly. Hiromi pulled out three yukatas, then helped Mika and Penny dress. First were the plain white undergarments, then the actual yukata.
“Arms up and out,” Hiromi instructed Penny. Mika saw herself at age thirteen—holding her arms out straight, the edges of the kimono sleeves tucked into her hands, fabric pooling around her feet, finding it impossible to keep still. But Penny held herself rigid as if she’d turned to stone, taking in every word Hiromi said as if it were gospel. Hiromi folded the waist of the kimono up so that the hem hit Penny right at the ankles. “Now, I wrap it,” Hiromi said. With expert hands, she tucked the right of the yukata around Penny’s left hip, then did the reverse. She used a purple cord to secure the yukata closed. Last was the obi. Again, Mika recalled herself as a child, feet shifting from having to stand still too long, breaths stolen as the obi was tied tightly around her waist in a perfect bow. Now, Hiromi did the same to Penny. Tears gathered in Mika’s eyes. She didn’t know why. But then Penny’s eyes connected with hers. They were liquid too. Mika’s heart swelled to at least twice its size.
“How do I look?” Penny asked uncertainly.
“See for yourself,” Hiromi said. In the corner of the room was a full-length mirror. They shuffled to it.
There they were. Hiromi was still in her plain clothes, but Penny and Mika were in full yukatas, long dark hair around their shoulders, a cascade of nightfall. “We’ll pin your hair up for the festival,” Hiromi said and went back to the tub to withdraw a hana kanzashi, a traditional flower pin. “This was my mother’s,” she said, twisting Penny’s hair up and securing it.
“What do you think?” Mika asked. They gazed into the mirror—three generations of Suzuki women. Mika could almost see the gardens in Japan, where she and her mother had once spent their afternoons. The rows of manicured trees. The temple bells ringing. The sound of the loudspeaker announcement at the train’s approach. Once upon a time, Mika thought she didn’t share anything with Hiromi—they had been aliens to each other, orbiting different planets. How wrong she’d been. And now, they had something new in common, the currents of motherhood pulling them in the same direction. To Penny. To a child whom they both adored. Who inspired the kind of love that guts you—was this how Hiromi felt about Mika?
Shige knocked on the door. “I stopped at the store.” He held out his hand to reveal a bundle of pine sticks. Joy spread across Hiromi’s face.
“What is it?” Penny asked.
“Mukaebi. Welcoming fire,” Mika explained. “It’s to guide spirits home.”
In the backyard, Shige set the bundle to flame and placed it in a copper dish. They huddled around, Mika’s feet over the stain where Hiromi dyed Shige’s hair once every other month. In Japan, they would have gone to their ancestral home to light the fire. They would have visited graves, cleaned them, and set watermelon and sweet treats on the shouryoudana. They would have celebrated with family and food. But living in America, they made all sorts of cultural compromises.
They watched the sticks burn, and the strands of tradition pulled down through the generations, stitching the four of them together. Mika studied Penny, the lick of fire against her cheeks. Her face turned up to the sky. The way their shadows grew into the night, into the inky darkness stretching from their bodies like skeletons. She wondered if Penny was thinking of Caroline, of summoning her home. If she was any closer to the answer to her question. Who am I? Who am I?
* * *
Flight is delayed, Thomas texted early the following morning, the day of Obon. I’ll meet you there. Hiromi dressed Mika and Penny again in yukatas. Mika’s mother spent extra time fussing over Penny. Who would have known Hiromi would make such a wonderful Obāchan? They drove separately to the festival. At the Portland Buddhist temple, the courtyard had been transformed. The atmosphere was cheerful—taiko drummers pounded away on a yagura stage, paper lanterns had been strung up and swayed in the summer breeze, booths were set with games and treats.
Hiromi, Mika, and Penny joined the dancers in the circle immediately. Clapping, then cupping their hands as if grabbing a scoop of coal. Dig. Dig. Carry. Carry. They moved along in synch with the drums. After a while, Hiromi tired and left to sit in the shade of the temple with Shige.
The sun was setting, and the sky was awash in blazing oranges. Lanterns glowed, attracting moths and other creatures of the night. Another turn, and Mika’s smile stretched as wide as the sky. Her eyes caught a familiar figure in the crowd. Thomas stood off to the side, lips twisted into a half-grin. He waved at her. “Your dad’s here,” she shouted to Penny.
Penny waved at him. “I’m going to keep going.”
“I’ll go say hi.” Mika left the circle. The night was hot, and little pieces of hair had escaped her bun to stick to her neck.
“Hey,” he said. She basked in the warmth of his smile, the way his eyes lazily settled on her, glinting with a subtle heat. Thomas had dressed plainly in a T-shirt and jeans. “This is something else.” He twirled his finger around to encompass the festival. “Are your parents here?”
“In the temple.” Mika tilted her head in the direction of the plain white building. She smoothed down the fabric of her kimono, navy with bright red poppies. “Penny is a natural dancer. I should have known; she’s so athletic.” If Mika had to choose one moment in time to live in over and over again, she’d choose this one. Right here and now. Her body light. Her heart happy.
Thomas rocked back on his heels. His hair had gotten longer these last few weeks, and he smoothed it back with a large hand. “She’s in her element.” They watched Penny go by, movements fluid as if she’d spent a lifetime dancing odori. “To tell you the truth, this kind of makes me feel like shit.”
“Why?”
“I—We . . . we . . . never did anything like this for Penny.”
How could they have? Mika felt for Thomas. And felt as bad as Thomas. Because some of this was her fault too. She’d given Penny to white parents, knowing something would be missing. She should have insisted on more from them during the adoption. Buy books with Japanese characters. Find a doll with dark hair and beautiful brown eyes. Make sure she knows where she comes from. Learn Japanese, study kanji. Mika had no doubt Caroline and Thomas loved Penny. They’d paced hallways soothing Penny while she raged with fever. They’d enrolled her in soccer and cheered her on during every game. They’d bought her groceries so she could explore (terrible) baking. Mika had the letters and pictures to prove it. Penny had been treated as flesh of their flesh. But was that enough? Was it ever enough? “You mean anything Japanese? Penny said you took her to festivals.”
Thomas hung his head. “We did, but it wasn’t like this. Like she belonged. We drove all the way to Cincinnati one day to go to a cherry blossom festival. Caroline and Penny wore matching sweaters. We visited the booths, and the Japanese ladies doted on Penny, then asked Caroline and me where we got her from.”
“What did you say?”
“That she was adopted. But it made Caroline close off. She wanted to leave soon after that.”
Mika swallowed, curbed the urge to stomp her foot. Not fair. Not fair. “You discussed it, right? Before you adopted her? That she was Japanese, that she wouldn’t look like you?”
“We did. Caroline said it wouldn’t matter. That we’d raise her our way . . .”
The confession unspooled around Mika. Anger, white-hot, speared her chest. “That is so completely wrong,” Mika sputtered. She had idealized Caroline in her mind. The mother she’d wanted for Penny. The mother she wished she’d had. The mother she’d wanted to be.
“I know. And I’m sorry. I told you, parents make mistakes. That’s why I was okay with Penny coming here for the whole summer. She needed something I couldn’t give her. Please don’t be mad,” Thomas said quietly. “I love Penny. I’m trying to make it right.”
At Thomas’s gentle plea, some of Mika’s anger folded away. What made a good mother? Maybe there wasn’t a perfect mother. Perhaps you just did the best you could. This new knowledge gnawed at Mika. Would Mika have been a good mother? She didn’t know what to say. And she didn’t know if she could absolve Thomas. If she could even absolve herself.
“Did you see me?” Penny bounded over, cheeks pink with pride. Seeing Penny happy, the tension Mika had been holding released.
“Sure did, kiddo. Got it on video.” Thomas flashed his phone. “You two want to stay longer, or are you hungry?” They’d planned to go to dinner, just the three of them. “Your parents are welcome to join. My treat,” Thomas said to Mika.
“That’s a lovely offer, but I think they are probably tired and want to head home soon,” Mika said. Shige usually fell asleep watching the NHK. She liked the idea of it being the three of them, their own delicate family ecosystem.
Penny had her phone out and was texting someone. “Do you mind if I pass?” she said. “Olive is on her way here. I’m going to show her around and then we’ll catch a ride together home.”
“But what about the restaurant that cooks your food in front of you?” Thomas asked, the disappointment evident in his voice. Earlier that week, he’d made a reservation at a teppanyaki place and sent Mika and Penny the link. They have flaming onion volcano towers, he’d written, just so proud and excited.
“Oh,” Penny said, looking up from her phone. “You really want me to go? I mean, I will if you really, really want me to . . .” She trailed off. Her words the opposite of what she clearly desired. To be with her friends. To be a teenager.
“No, of course not,” Thomas said. “Have fun with your friends.”
Let so easily off the hook, Penny beamed. “You two should totally still go.”
“You sure?” Thomas’s eyes jumped to Mika’s. Mika peered down at her feet.
“I’m sure,” Penny said, still tapping away on her phone again. “You guys go. Have a great time.”
Thomas followed Mika to her car, bag slung over his shoulder. She could feel him behind her. His heat, his presence. Her heart beat fast, along with the taiko drums. The sun may have faded, but she could still feel the warmth in her bones. Near the car, Thomas caught Mika’s hand and held it. She stopped short. Turned. He studied her with liquid green eyes. “Hi,” he said, brows tense.
“Hi,” she said back.
“Does it make me an awful person to admit I’m glad Penny ditched us?”
“If you’re awful,” she gently admitted, “then maybe I am too.”