Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

Mika slept for five hours. She awoke groggy and disoriented. For a while, she lay in the dark, listening to her own breathing. Counting the rises and falls of her chest. Finally, she rose, and opened the curtains. It was early afternoon. The sun shone, reflecting in the rippling water of the river. First thing, she made herself a cup of coffee, then rifled through Hana’s suitcase for clean clothes. She used her finger to brush her teeth. Then ate a burger and an ice cream sundae in the hotel restaurant.

In her car, she texted Hana. Going home. Thank you. BTW I charged my food to your room. I figured you’d want to treat me.

Outside of Eugene, Hana wrote back. Glad you still have your appetite. Another text came through close on the heels of the first. Just remember, people die in the woods because they won’t change direction.

Mika made the two-hour drive in an hour and forty. She pulled up outside her house and groaned, seeing a familiar car parked in the driveway. Her mother’s old Honda. Hiromi was in the driver’s seat. A text came through on her phone. It was Thomas. I’m taking Penny home. Back to Dayton. Our flight leaves in a couple hours. Just wanted you to know.

Mika bit her lip. Thanks. Is Penny okay?

He answered right away. She’s fine. Her attitude needs some adjusting, though. Can I call you when we get in? Thomas asked. I’d like to continue our conversation.

Hiromi climbed from her car and watched Mika through the windshield. I don’t think that’s a good idea, said Mika.

That’s it then? Thomas asked.

For now, she said, amending it to forever in her head.

She laid her phone down and rubbed her eyes. Despite her conversation with Hana, everything still seemed so . . . fucked. Finally, she opened her car door. “Mom, what are you doing here?” she said to Hiromi in English. She ducked into the back seat to retrieve the dirty clothes she’d exchanged for Hana’s clean ones.

She turned, and Hiromi stared at her with her black button eyes. “Now, you don’t speak Japanese anymore?”

Mika shrugged and bypassed her mother, hands fisted around her wrinkled shirt and pants. Hiromi followed her up the walkway and into the house. Mika dumped the laundry onto the couch. Hiromi’s nose twitched and she wandered into the kitchen to stare out into the backyard. “I told you that tree needs to be watered.” The leaves on the maple had curled in and turned brown. There was some irony in Hiromi pointing out that when you neglect something, refuse to nourish it, it dies.

Mika stopped and faced her mother, hands on her hips. She held herself rigid as if poised on the edge of a cliff. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

Hiromi’s brow furrowed. “I came to pick up the kimono. I called you and Penny. Nobody answering my calls,” she said, her grammar slipping. She’d never allowed her jaw to soften for the English language, and it made Mika furious.

Mika scrubbed a hand down her face. “Great. I’ll get it.” In her room, she grabbed the kimono. Holding it a beat, she stared at the rumpled sheets. Remembering Thomas. His body. How she’d responded to him. The way Penny had spoken to her at the hospital. Her heart cracked a little more. When would it become irreparable? “I went to Eugene to visit Hana. And Penny is going back to Ohio.” She handed Hiromi the kimono.

Mika ignored her mother. “The kimono Penny was wearing got ruined. I’ll pay you back for it.” Mika walked to the door and opened it wide—an invitation for her mother to leave. Please go right now.

Hiromi didn’t budge, kimono clutched to her chest. “What happened to the other kimono? Why is Penny leaving?”

The last branch that Mika had been balancing on snapped. “If you must know, Penny went to a party last night and drank too much. She wound up in the hospital and needed to be treated for alcohol poisoning.”

Of course Hiromi blamed Mika. Mika dropped her hand from the door, leaving it open. Let the whole neighborhood hear. She didn’t care. She was done being silent. She’d had it. “Why is it that you think I did something? Because it’s always my fault, right? Does it even matter to you how much it hurt giving Penny up for adoption?” Mika remembered the bench, the maternity ward, the smell of antiseptic.

Hiromi shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Her mother moved to go, but Mika blocked her with an arm across the door. “We never talk about anything!” she said sharply. Tears started to leak down her face. She advanced on her mother, who backed up. “And I think that’s the problem. So, let’s talk about it. How I gave a baby up for adoption. How I was by myself in the hospital. How I was raped.” She stilled and a pang shot through Mika’s abdomen. The word hung in the air between them, dropped to the ground, and ran loose. Her voice softened. “Did you know that? I was raped,” she said again, and it felt good. Maybe the secrets she kept were really lies. Lies she told herself. Lies she told her mother. Nobody has ever hurt me. You have never hurt me.

Hiromi’s eyes glittered with a sheen of liquid. She was quick to blink it away. “So what? Bad things happen all the time. You need to move on. Forget about it. I didn’t want to leave Japan, but I did.” Her words made Mika flinch. It was exactly how she feared her mother might react if she ever told her the truth. Chin up. Don’t be a victim. “Why are you telling me all this?” she finished.

Hiromi scoffed. “So, it’s fine now. You have a good job. You have Penny. You always complain. Nothing is ever good enough for you.”

Mika laughed. That was rich. “Nothing is ever good enough for you.” She pointed at her mother. “And it’s not fucking fine.” Mika wiped at her cheeks. She stared at her mother. At the woman who gave her life. At the woman who spent years and years making Mika doubt herself. Hiromi. Mother. Creator. Destroyer. “You never believed in me.” To be Hiromi’s daughter, then a girl raped, felt as if moving from one prison to another. Is that what happened to girls? Was this their lives? Skipping from one cage to another?

Hiromi’s walls were back in place. Mika could practically see the bricks in her eyes. Impenetrable. They’d never understand each other. “You never believed in yourself,” Hiromi said.

Silence then, heavy and thick. The room dimmed with a cloud passing over the sun. How does this end? Mika wondered. Not how she wanted it to. She thought of Caroline dressing Penny in clothes that matched her own. Of Hiromi forcing Mika to take dance lessons. How mothers see their daughters as echoes, as do-overs, as younger versions of themselves who might have the life they didn’t or have the same life as they did, but better. But children aren’t second chances, Mika realized with a start. It was unfair for Hiromi to believe her desires should live inside Mika. Children are made to take a parent’s love and pass it along.

Hiromi hesitated, then, head down, she left. Mika shut the door softly behind her. She moved the curtain and watched through the window as her mother got into her car and pulled away. Then Mika shifted the curtains back, closing them completely. She locked the door and slumped against it. Her gaze focused on the couch, on the oil paints pushed underneath it. She crawled over and fished them out. Opening the package, she unscrewed a cap and put a little dab of yellow ochre on her finger, rubbing it between her thumb and pointer. She rose up. It felt as if a spell had been lifted. The truth was out. And Mika still stood.