Haruki (Haruki Arima Book 1)

by Laine Watson

  Me, not so much. I’ve heard that name before. And even that was a fleeting thought because of my mother’s condescending tone.

  “Everything with you is a screw up, isn’t it?” I say under my breath.

  “Sum—”

  “What if he liked that name? What if it’s his dad’s or grandpa’s name? What if his mom liked it? Are you trying to say the kid is an idiot because he has a basic name?”

  My mother doesn’t say anything.

  “Do you really think I’m that much of a screw up, too?”

  “What? I don’t think you’re a screw up, Summer. I think you could be doing so much more.”

  “But you’re always saying how amazing you were doing when you were my age. You’ve only known this guy and his kid for a few hours, and yet he’s an idiot with money and his kid has a basic name, which all translates into: he’s a loser. The only person you haven’t insulted is the mom.”

  My mother sighs. “He’s a single dad. The mom died when Max was three. He didn’t even know he had a kid until she died, and he came to live with his father. Max’s teacher recommended me.”

  I didn’t say anything right away. Did I hurt her feelings? She’s not being sarcastic or anything. It’s probably a bad time to point out it’s not the dad’s fault the kid’s name is Max—he didn’t even know. I gulp. “How old is Max now?”

  “Five.”

  “So, he’s only had him for a couple of years?”

  “Yeah, he’s completely clueless on how to be a father. You can tell he doesn’t have any type of woman in his life.”

  “What’s wrong with Max?”

  “He had tympanostomy tubes.”

  “What are those?”

  “Ear tubes—you get them if you have a lot of ear infections. Anyway, he had the tubes in his ears for a long time, but they weren’t the best, so he still couldn’t hear. When he was learning to speak, he learned the sounds as best he could, but it’s not perfect. The first couple of years, they just thought he was behind, but now it’s starting to be noticeable. Other children are asking him why he speaks that way.”

  “That’s kind of sad.”

  “It is, but we can fix it if they come back. The father seems like he’s totally out of his comfort zone. If he’s serious about this, we can get it done in six months to a year—no problem. If he’s bullshitting me, then both he and his kid are going to suffer,” my mother says, looking as if she had another thought. “His kid is something else.”

  “He probably is serious. I mean it’s his kid.”

  “Yeah, a kid he doesn’t really know. Now he’s playing Daddy of the Year. That kid probably runs circles around him.” My mom laughs.

  I sigh.

  My mother glances over at me. “You always want to see the good in people. You never see things for what they might be or what they really are.”

  My eyes lower. “I guess that’s why you always tell me I’ll never be as good as you. Because I don’t think like you.”

  “Summer, why would you say something like that? I’ve never said anything like that to you.”

  I shrug. “It just kind of seems like I’m a big disappointment or something.”

  “You’re not a disappointment. I do get frustrated with you, though, but only because I expect more from you. You did so well in high school, and now it’s like you don’t even care anymore. Did someone break your heart or—”

  I laugh. “No, Mom. I’ve never even had a real boyfriend. It’s not that. I don’t really know what I’m good at. I think I’m good at making dinner.”

  “You are.”

  “That’s nothing though, huh? In the grand scheme of things.”

  “It is something.”

  “Sometimes it feels like you’re saying I don’t help out at all, or I’m never going to be anything, like my life is pointless.”

  “No, no … Summer, you do a great job helping with keeping the house clean. It really helps that you cook most of the meals. I wish I had time to help or do it myself, but you shouldn’t be doing that. You should be out with your friends, studying, or figuring out what’s the next step in your life. I mean, do you even have any friends from school? I never see anyone, and you’re always at the office. You had lots of friends when you were in the program. What happened?”

  How do you know what friends I had? You were never home. You didn’t know where I was or what I was doing? As long as it looked like I was having fun, you didn’t care to ask.

  “You think I’m that much of a loser, I don’t have any friends?”

  “You said you didn’t have any. Do you remember? Or were you just being smart?”

  “Oh, you mean when we’re at the office?” I sigh depressingly. “I don’t have a lot of friends. Darby, that’s all really.”

  “Darby doesn’t count. You’re not learning anything from her. She went to college.”

  Newsflash, she’s at the same second chance college I’m at. If you only knew the things we did when she was at Lincoln, you’d see why she ended up here.

  You guys should be off doing things together, but yet, here you are.”

  “Whatever, Mom. Being friends with people is pointless. Darby’s the only person in the world who understands me. I think maybe I don’t get life or something.”

  My mother sighs. “Yeah, you and I are incredibly different, but that’s okay. You’ll find your way. I mean look at this loser.”

  “Max’s dad?”

  “Yeah. At twenty-seven, he has two degrees, a good job, and owns his own home. His suits probably cost as much as a month’s rent.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Well, I think he’s kind of an idiot but an idiot who just needs a little guidance.” My mother smirks. “And he’s plenty handsome.”

  “Ew, Mom. We’re not even talking about me anymore. Isn’t he like half your age?”

  “Excuse you! He is not half my age. You know he says he’s up for a promotion? That’s what you have to do, Summer, work for it. He didn’t have any other choice, he had to push forward, for himself, for his kid, and now look at him. Idiot or not—he’s successful. Could probably have any woman he wants.”

  Ew! Does my mom have a crush on him? That’s so gross. “Yeah. I’m not ready for that. Is it okay not to be ready?”

  “No, it’s not. There’s never a time to be ready. You think he was ready when they dumped a whole preschooler on him—no. You just get out there and go for broke. That’s all. It’s not pretty, it’s not easy—you just do it.”

  “Okay.” I sigh. “I’ve been thinking about that, actually, and … would you be upset if I wanted to move to the dorms next semester?”

  “I wouldn’t be upset. Thank God you’re thinking of doing something rather than sitting on the couch or in my office all day.”

  I sniff. “Sometimes, Mom, I think you don’t know how to say nice things to people.”

  “Summer, what is the point of being nice? If I lied to you and told you everything was going to be easy and things were always going to go your way, when I knew they wouldn’t, don’t you think I’d be a bad mother?”

  “No—I mean…” Why bring out the morality meter for me? “Whatever, Mom. You just like to be mean to people, I think,” I say, sitting back in my seat.

  I can tell she is smiling at me. I feel it even though I am looking out of the window.

  “Okay then, we’ll say that. I’m fine with that.”

  We ride a little while more before either of us speak again.

  “I think I know what I want to do. Not specifically but something with counseling or teaching,” I begin.

  “That sounds like a start. Get a bachelor’s in education or psychology.”

  “But I don’t know if that’s what I want to do yet. I’m going to talk to my counselor.”

  “That’s okay. You can do a lot with either of those degrees. There are lots of fields you can work in. Some of them, however, do not get you a lot of money.�
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  “That’s what’s important to you, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. You should get a job where you can make a sustainable living.”

  “But what if I really like to do something but it doesn’t pay a lot?”

  “Then don’t choose that. It doesn’t matter how much you enjoy doing it. If it doesn’t put food on your table, it’s a waste of time.”

  I sigh.

  “I know you want to help people. You have since you were a kid. I remember you bringing home all those random animals who were near death. That’s fine—but you can’t treat your life like that. You can’t bring stray things into your life if you can’t care for them properly. The older you get, the more you will realize that. The only thing that matters is having money to do what you want to do.”

  “That’s a stupid philosophy,” I mumble.

  “It’s not. It’s the way of the world. You can’t do anything without money. If you don’t have money, you cannot live. This is why you need to get a move on. I can’t provide for you for the rest of your life, and you’re a damn fool if you were hoping so. I didn’t raise a fool. I gave you all you needed to make a good life for yourself. Now you have to stop being lazy and idealistic, and go out there and use it,” my mother says, proudly.

  I smirk. I’m done arguing. There’s no compromising with her. She has her way of what life should be like, and I have mine.

  Chapter Five: The Bus

  “Summer, did you talk to your counselors yet about finalizing your major?” My mother’s been nagging me about this since I mentioned it.

  “No,” I say, not looking up from my phone’s screen.

  “You’re all talk.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “I’m going to do it, Mom.”

  “Yeah, that’s what your mouth says.”

  I ignore her statement. “How’s it going with Max?”

  “It’s going great. He is quite a character, very observant. His smile is a lot like his dad’s. Haruki is a fine man.” So, they came back. For the last few weeks she’s been babbling on about them.

  “Mom, you know it’s creepy when you talk about guys, right?”

  “You’re too young to understand; all men are idiots and don’t have a clue about life.”

  Nope—understand that just fine.

  “But a man’s purpose is being a provider. Haruki’s that type. All kinds of book smarts, but he wouldn’t know logical if it smacked him in the face. Every time I talk to him, I say, ‘you need a good woman.’”

  Sounds like you want to be the good woman. “What if he likes guys?”

  “Then what a waste for all the eligible women in the world, but what a catch to all the guys out there looking for a sexy, successful daddy.” She smiles. “I bet he hasn’t had a decent meal, and his house is probably a mess.”

  “Mom, do you like him?”

  “Like is for children, Summer. If I had to classify my feelings for Mr. Arima, it’d be more like, interested in knowing more.”

  “I thought you said he was an idiot?”

  “Clearly, you’re not listening. He can’t not be an idiot. It comes with the territory. It’s a part of his genetic make-up. A smart woman can counter that particular downfall. If we were together, he would already have that promotion.”

  “Do you think that’s really true? I’m your daughter, and I still don’t have a career.”

  “That’s because you don’t listen. Maybe when you’re twenty-seven, you’ll have made enough mistakes to listen to me.”

  “Mom, seriously, you’re creeping me out. You’re totally a cougar.”

  “Am not. He’s only ten years younger than me. He’ll be twenty-eight.” She fiddled flirtatiously with her hair. “He’s got ambition and makes loads of money—and sweetheart, I may be thirty-eight, but I can work it like a twenty-five-year-old.”

  “Okay, I’m leaving. This whole conversation just made me throw up in my mouth.”

  “Summer, I’m just saying. I got pregnant as a teenager. You don’t even have any kids. You are free to do what you want, and you’re throwing your life away. I may have made a mistake when I was younger, but I paid the consequences and didn’t let one failure get me down.”

  “A failure, huh? That’s what I am? A reminder of the one failure you had in your life.”

  “That’s not what I was saying at all. You have more opportunities than me. Right now, for me, it’s the time to be settling down with someone. I’m established. I need someone established. And I’m experienced. I—”

  “Okay, goodbye.” I leave the office. Why is she acting like this? Why would she think I wanted to know anything about her romance issues? So gross. Gagging on the thought of my mother “liking” a guy, I aimlessly stroll down the hall until I step into the lounge and sit in one of the folding chairs. I pull out my phone to play a game. Soon my mind wanders into thought.

  Is it horrible to not have a man, or a job, or a child at my age? Did she expect me to be like her and get pregnant right before I graduated high school? I sigh. This guy must be super hot though. I’ve never heard her talk about anybody like this.

  Some time goes by, and no one disturbs me. I lock my phone, put it in my pocket, and yawn before waltzing back to her office. I’m hungry. I wonder what Mom’s doing for lunch?

  “Hey,” I call, sitting on her sofa by the wall. I lie back and pull my phone out of my pocket to start playing another game. “Mom, I’m hungry.”

  “So eat,” she tells me and continues to work on her computer.

  I grunt inwardly. “Aren’t you going to order something?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, my God, Mom,” I enthuse, sitting up excitedly. “Can we please go to the Bento Bus?”

  “Japanese? Again?”

  “Please?”

  “Fine, but you have to go get it.”

  “Totally,” I agree, as my mom slides her debit card across the desk. I snatch it up and rush to my car. Before I know it, I’m speeding out of the parking garage and headed down the street. The Bento Bus is parked in the next lot across from us by the entrance of the building. I park in the parking lot and cut off the car. Running cheerfully to the turquoise-colored bus with the Japanese symbols across the sides of it, I smile and then knock on the door.

  I order our food quickly, say thank you, and return to my mother’s office. We share some steamed rice and some shrimp tempura sushi. After we are done eating, I sit back on the sofa and play games on my phone, while Mom goes back to doing stuff on her computer. Eventually, the silence between us is interrupted.

  “What time is it?” my mother asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you really that lazy? You have your phone in your hand. Can’t you just check the time?”

  I sigh, looking at the time on my phone. “It’s 3:45,” I say annoyed and decide against playing games again. Instead, I go through my old pictures.

  “Where’s Max?” The phone rings. My mother sits down at her desk and clicks the speaker phone button on. “Hello. Regina Vaughn.”

  “Hi, Ms. Vaughn. Um…”

  “Mr. Arima, hello.”

  She knows his voice? Wow, Mom, you’re gross.

  “Uh…” The midlevel lowness of his voice hints at a dark side, like he might not care, except he does. “Well, the school just called, Max missed the bus today.”

  I know that voice. I tense. No way, couldn’t be him, I convince myself as a suppressed memory tries to force itself into my psyche.

  “That’s fine. You still have to pay for the session, even if you guys don’t show up. If you’re thinking about still making it, I can move some things around.”

  “I just … I really can’t pick him up, and we don’t really know anyone here. I just moved back here a year ago for my job. I can’t leave right now. I know it’s asking you to do a lot…”

  “You want me to go and get him? You’re kidding?” My mother scoffs.

  Really? I thought yo
u’d jump at the chance to go get your future stepson and build up those brownie points, cougar. I laugh to myself.

  “Mr. Arima, I have an appointment in fifteen minutes.”

  “I can pay you double for this session,” he pleads. “I really can’t leave. We’ve got these guys here—it’s a big contract, and I’m in line for a promotion. I swear I’ll never ask you to do it again.”

  “It’s fine, Mr. Arima. I’ll go get him.” There is silence for a few seconds.

  Knew it. I scoff under my breath as I roll my eyes. Just then I feel eyes on me. I narrow my eyes over at my mother. “Why are you looking at me?”

  “On second thought, my daughter will get him.”

  “What? You can’t just volunteer me!” I whisper.

  “Okay. I’ll pay you double if you can get him in today, and I’ll also pay her for getting him from school. Will that work?”

  “I get it. You’re a single dad. We can definitely help you out. That’s what we’re here for.”

  Shut up! You sound like a commercial. And you’re only doing it for two reasons: the money and probably so you can have cougar sex with him … ew.

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Vaughn. I’m so sorry. Max doesn’t usually do things like this; he’s a pretty good kid.”

  “Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing you could have done. We don’t know what happened. We’ll get him. It’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks again.”

  I didn’t even agree to it.

  “No problem!” My mother smiles.

  “I’ll pick him up around six.”

  “Okay, see you then.” She ends the call.

  “Why did you do that?” I ask.

  “Because you could stand to earn some money. I’m paying all your bills; the least you can do is make yourself useful. I can’t go and get him, but you’re literally doing nothing. So, take the car, that I’m paying for, and go get the kid from school. It works out for both of us. By the time Mr. Arima makes it here, everyone will be gone, including you,” she inadvertently tells me. “I’ll be able to chat with him a little more … alone.”

  Stop telling me crap like this! We’re not friends. I roll my eyes. Well, I could use some money—still, she didn’t even ask me!