Chapter Five
For three weeks, Mika and Penny chatted nonstop. They stayed up together, night after night, their conversations following a labyrinthine path. Penny would text: Can you talk? And Mika would reply, Sure! It wasn’t that she had nothing to do. It was that she was doing nothing.
They celebrated each other’s accomplishments, cracking bottles of apple cider for Penny and champagne for Mika. Penny won a big cross-country race, and Mika pretended to find the perfect gallery space for a new artist she wanted to showcase. They’d have an official opening in a few weeks—so exciting, she couldn’t wait. In reality, she’d been applying for higher-paying jobs, but still no callbacks. She watched the money trickle from her account with a resigned panic. Penny broke up with her boyfriend, Jack, after he kept wanting to hang out in places with mattresses. When Penny asked about Leif, Mika said he’d taken her on a romantic dinner, on a hike, to a museum exhibit . . .
With each lie, Mika painted her life in brighter colors—a successful job, a dedicated boyfriend. For the last sixteen years, it felt like she’d been living in exile. With Penny, she’d disembarked from her current life and boarded a new ship, sailing toward a destination she’d always dreamed of but could never quite reach. Next stop: love, career, family, home. A life she might have had, before she had Penny, before she quit painting. It made Penny feel good. And Mika too. It was much easier to talk about things as you wished them to be. For the first time in a very long time, Mika was content. Fulfilled.
“Ugh, sounds like Charlie let Tuan pick the music again,” Hana griped outside of Charlie’s freshly painted front door. Tonight was Charlie and Tuan’s housewarming party.
The couple had moved in a month ago. Mika and Hana had helped prep the house for its debut—weighing in on such important matters as what picture to hang over the fireplace, how the furniture should be laid out, and once cleansed the whole place with sage after the light kept flickering in the kitchen. Tuan had come home around the time they were smoking out the corners of the living room. Did you check the bulb? he’d asked. Of course we have, Tuan, they said. Don’t you think we tried that first, Tuan? We’re not stupid, Tuan. When he’d left for a bike ride, Charlie changed the lightbulb, and they swore to never tell.
Through the door, Mika could hear the low tones of R&B, i.e., slow jams—the music Tuan liked to play for parties and make love to afterward, according to Charlie. There were some things Mika could go a lifetime without knowing. Also heard was the murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses. The party was in full swing. Naturally, Mika and Hana were late.
Footsteps pounded on the pavement behind them. “Mika. Hi. Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was a bitch. Not as bad as LA, though.” Hayato was dressed in a collared shirt and slacks, his work lanyard still around his neck, a big black swoosh prominent over his name and title. Tucked under his arm was a bottle of wine.
“You made it!” She and Hayato had texted since church. They had spent a whole Saturday exchanging stories about their Japanese mothers. Checking off the commonalities—refusing to use the dishwasher, elaborate bento boxes for lunch . . . that sort of thing. Now, Mika hugged Hayato, then turned to Hana. “Hayato, Hana. Hana, Hayato.”
Hana and Hayato exchanged how-do-you-dos.
“Funny.” He pointed to the plant in Hana’s hands. Mika and Hana’s housewarming gift was an artichoke agave with the words nice house, succa scrawled across the pot.
Hana frowned. “Twenty bucks says Charlie puts it in her guest room.”
“The guest room is where bad gifts go to die,” Mika explained to Hayato. Popular items included: the eleven-by-fourteen-inch portrait from her mother-in-law of Tuan when he was a baby, a giant crystal cross and potpourri holder from Charlie’s mother, and an acoustic guitar—a gift from Tuan to himself. Also tucked away in a closet was a stuffed bunny with the softest floppy ears. Charlie had found it in a children’s boutique store. She’d shrugged at the time, murmuring, “Someday.” Hiromi adored Charlie. Charlie did everything right and in the right order. As soon as she finished her undergraduate degree, she hopped straight to her graduate degree—a master’s in teaching. The day she got a job, Tuan proposed. They married a year later. And now, they had bought a house and were planning a family.
Why can’t you be like your friend Charlie? Hiromi often said. Be was Hiromi’s favorite word to invoke around Mika. Be silent, Hiromi would command, her breath stale, when Mika was little and cried. Be a dancer, Hiromi would say, cinching the obi around Mika’s waist until her breaths were wisps, prepping her for odori. Be. Be. Be. Be for me. Be anything but yourself.
Hayato laughed, gaze landing at the door with the iron knocker. He removed his lanyard and stuffed it into his pocket. “This is your friend’s place? It’s nice. You sure it’s okay I’m here?” The house was beautiful. Built in 1909 on a corner lot, it had been fully updated outside and in. A huge wraparound porch accessorized with Adirondack chairs and original leaded-glass windows dominated the front. Charlie and Tuan had spent hours landscaping the yard, choosing plants native to the Pacific Northwest—high grasses, maples, and bushy ferns.
“Of course it’s fine,” Hana said. “Charlie is great. She’s married to Tuan, and he’s a gem. They’re totally in love.” Hana put her hand on the doorknob and turned. Light flooded onto the porch. She paused and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Listen. If either of you gets hungry, I have sandwiches in my purse.”
“You brought sandwiches to our best friend’s housewarming?” Mika whispered back, entering alongside Hana, Hayato at her elbow. The door swung closed behind them.
“You know she never has enough food at these things,” said Hana. Hayato’s eyes glimmered with amusement.
Blond with big brown eyes, Charlie sailed across the room. “You’re here.” Hana and Mika had met Charlie freshman year. Charlie was a sucker for underdogs, which explained her attraction to Hana and Mika. Of course, Mika and Hana had imprinted on her like a set of wolf cubs.
Charlie lived across the hall, and as she was to most of the students in the dorm, Mika was a kind of fascination, being pregnant in college and living in student housing. A day after she returned from the hospital, Mika’s milk came in. Charlie had spotted Hana and Mika in the bathroom, frantically stuffing Mika’s bra with toilet paper.
Mika had been foolish to think once she signed the adoption papers it would all go away, that things would go back to how they had been before. Instead, they got worse. The milk was her body’s signal. Giving your baby away wasn’t a natural process. I can’t make it stop, Mika had cried.
You should get some breast pads, Charlie calmly suggested, shower kit in hand. My sister had a baby last year. That’s what she used. After, Charlie had called her sister and found out how to make Mika’s milk stop.
Now, a serial hugger, Charlie wrapped her arms around Mika, then Hana, then Hayato. “You’re Mika’s friend from church? Mika mentioned you just moved here,” Charlie said, squeezing Hayato. She was small but surprisingly strong. Spin classes three times a week, and Krav Maga twice, will do that to a body. “Are you interested in acquiring a large crystal cross slash potpourri holder? Might look nice in your place.”
Hayato coughed into his hand. “Not really my aesthetic, but thanks.”
“Shoot.” Charlie pouted.
“Sorry,” Mika said to Hayato.
Charlie shrugged like it didn’t hurt to try.
“Happy housewarming.” Hana handed off the plant.
Charlie studied it as Mika scoped out the marble island. There was plenty of booze accompanied by an unenthusiastic buffet of appetizers—sliders on brioche buns, fruit skewers, some vegetables, and dip. Mika knew tucked in the pantry was a can of ranch Pringles and desserts with irresponsible amounts of butter for when everyone left. Then the three women would cozy up on the couch. Tuan would rescue his guitar from the guest room and play the only song he knew, “Stairway to Heaven.”
“Tuan,” Charlie called. “Come see the gift Hana and Mika brought us.”
Tuan joined the group. He was Vietnamese, tallish with a runner’s body and flop of black hair he was perpetually pushing back. “Hey, Tuan.” He shook Hayato’s hand, introducing himself.
Charlie tapped her lips. “I know just the place for this. The guest room needs a plant, don’t you think?” she asked her husband.
“I don’t know.” He pushed his hair back. “Maybe the mantle?” Charlie sent Tuan an I-want-to-punch-you-in-the-nuts glare. Tuan half smiled and kissed Charlie on the nose.
“Place looks nice,” Mika chimed in.
“Thanks!” Charlie turned a megawatt smile on Mika. It was an open concept. The kitchen boasted stainless-steel appliances polished to a high shine and marble countertops. A gray, L-shaped couch dominated the living room. In the fireplace, a log burned. Lights were controlled by dimmers to create ambiance and mood—this evening’s aesthetic: low and warm with a touch of romance. Wines and beers showcased regions throughout the world. Once upon a time, Mika drank beer. But never after college. Nope, those days of kegs and red Solo cups were gone. She bypassed the brown bottles and poured herself a healthy glass of wine, big enough to slay any bad memory.
* * *
Two, three, four glasses of wine later—who was counting really?—Mika was deep in conversation with Hayato. They sat on the couch close together. A few feet away, Hana slow-danced with a coworker of Tuan’s. Hayato had just filled Mika in on his job, creating marketing materials and designing shoes for Nike. Hayato swirled the wine in his glass. “What do you do for work?”
Mika waved a hand. “Unfortunately, I am unemployed.”
“Oh?”
At his sympathetic tone, she said, “It’s fine. Totally fine.” She had the money from her parents.
“Where have you been applying?”
Mika sipped her wine, the chardonnay growing warm because she refused to put her glass down. “Nowhere great.” In the few weeks she’d been searching, she hadn’t found anything even remotely appealing. “But I’ve decided to see this as an opportunity. You know, if one door shuts, another opens.”
“I like the attitude,” Hayato said. “Take a look at Nike and see if anything fits your qualifications. I’m happy to put in a good word.”
“Wow. Thanks, that’d be great,” she said, grateful yet struggling to picture it. The moment lapsed into silence. She rested her head on the back of the couch and peered at the ceiling. She thought of Hana and her career, Charlie and her marriage. How her friend’s stones had reached the other side of the river.
Charlie’s voice cut through the room. “Heads up,” she called to Mika. “Your phone is ringing off the hook.” Charlie tossed the phone to Mika, just as the ringing cut off. Three missed calls from Penny.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” she said to Hayato before standing and slipping out the back door. Penny had left two voicemails. Mika shivered against the cold spring evening and pressed the phone to her ear, listening to Penny’s first message. “Hey, it’s me. Give me a call when you get this. I have a surprise for you.”
Then the second message. “So, I couldn’t wait. I am dying. Dying. Remember how I told you for my sixteenth birthday my grandparents sent me a check for, like, five hundred dollars, and I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with it?” There was a pause. Probably for Penny to take a breath. Mika often found herself winded after Penny’s calls. “I was going to put it toward a new phone, but then I had a brilliant idea! I’m going to visit you for my spring break!”
Mika put a hand out against the fence, steadying herself. Portland didn’t have many earthquakes, but she was sure a tremor just shook the ground.
Penny went on. “We’ll officially meet in two weeks! I can’t believe I bought a ticket. Oh my god, my dad is going to totally regret giving me my own debit card. Don’t worry, I’m going to tell him tonight. I can’t believe I’m coming to see you! I can’t wait to see your house and gallery. I’ll totally be there for the grand opening. And I want to meet Leif!” Squeal. Actual squeal. “I’m so excited.”
Mika listened to the voicemail three more times. The words didn’t change. But they did sink in with a sickening effect. Her lying heart twisted in her chest, then twisted once again with guilt. Oh god, Penny was coming to Portland. Penny, whom she loved. Penny who thought Mika was a totally different person. She peered up at the sky. Waited to see if thunderous clouds were rolling in. If bare-chested men on massive horses would stampede across the skies. Nothing. Check. Not the end of days. Good to know she was the only person biblical-level fucked.