I feel sick. My skin doesn’t feel like it belongs to me—it feels foreign and itchy and like I want to peel it all off. There’s something heavy turning in my gut, and I realize suddenly that it isn’t nerves or butterflies—it’s my stomach rejecting these feelings. It’s my body rejecting Kai.
I pull away from him and close my fists because it’s the only thing I can do to stop shaking.
He looks alarmed. “What’s wrong?” He’s lifting his hands, wondering if he was leaning against me the wrong way. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I say, and my jaw trembles. “I—I don’t want to do this.”
Kai straightens his shoulders, and it makes him look taller. “I’m so sorry, Rumi. I think I misread—” He shakes his head back and forth like he’s on the verge of panicking.
“It’s not you,” I say, and I can barely hear myself. “I’m just not ready for this. It doesn’t feel right.”
Kai runs his hands over his knees and bounces his toes. Now we’re both shaking. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks quietly.
I pull my arms across my chest, pressing my fingers into my ribs. I want to tell him it’s not his fault—it’s mine. Because all the conversations I started with Lea about who I like and don’t like—they were never finished. All those difficult questions, all those confusing questions—I was working through them with Lea. And now . . .
Now I can barely make sense of what day it is, let alone what my sexual or romantic orientation is.
I want to tell him that it’s not that I don’t want to kiss him—it’s that I might not want to kiss anybody. Not right now. And maybe not ever.
But I don’t know how to form the words.
“Can you take me home?” I ask instead.
Kai doesn’t ask any more questions—he just nods.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Mr. Watanabe is holding a spray bottle in one hand and the hose in the other so he can water the orchids and bushes simultaneously. I’m sitting on one of the outside steps with the spare watering can, watching him work but mostly hoping for someone to give me the perfect answers to all my questions.
Poi is nearby, chewing on one of those red Kong balls and occasionally perking her ears up when she hears a car drive past. When she realizes I’m looking at her, she picks up the toy and drops it near my feet. I close my fingers around it, feeling the dog slobber she so graciously left, and chuck it somewhere beyond the mock orange bush. She scurries after it like a rabbit on the loose.
“So?” I ask, spinning the watering can at my feet out of boredom. I just finished telling him about my date with Kai and how horribly it all went. I even told him about the kiss, though by that point he was spitting like a cat and waving at the air like he desperately wanted me to stop. So I stopped talking about the kissing and told him I don’t know what it means to be a seventeen-year-old who doesn’t want to date. I told him I don’t know what it means to want to be around someone all the time but never want to be intimate. I told him I don’t know what it means to want a best friend that won’t date anyone else.
And then I waited in silence while Mr. Watanabe continued to ignore me.
“So?” I repeat.
“So—so what? You see me doing all da work. You like talk, go water da plants,” Mr. Watanabe barks.
Rolling my eyes, I stand up and tip some water onto the pink orchid closest to me. “Come on, I really want to know what you think.”
“What, because you t’ink I’m old I have some kine wisdom fo’ share witchu?”
“Well, yeah.” When he looks over his shoulder at me, I hold the watering can up in defense. “Do not get me wet. These are the only clean clothes I have.”
He snorts and turns back to his plants. “Try fo’ do your laundry and go talk to your aunty.”
“I don’t want to talk to her,” I argue.
“Okay. Your muddah den.”
I let my arm drop. “I don’t want to talk to her, either. I’m still angry at her times infinity. And I can’t talk to my sister because she’s dead. You’re like Obi-Wan Kenobi—you’re my only hope.”
There’s a brief pause, and just when I think he’s ignoring me, he starts to speak. “No sound like you like dis boy,” Mr. Watanabe muses, his eyes never leaving the trail of water, even when he’s spritzing the flowers to his left.
Poi appears again at my feet with the red ball. I throw it again, and she races after it. “But how do I know that for sure? Because I thought I liked him. I mean, I went on a date with him, right? And we were getting along fine. Is kissing supposed to make you feel sick? Does it just take a while before you start to enjoy it?”
“I t’ink dis a discussion fo’ you and your muddah,” he repeats.
“No,” I practically bark.
“Why not?” he barks back.
“Because,” I say, “I don’t need her help. If she didn’t want to be around when my sister died, she doesn’t get to be around when I have questions about boys. Those are the rules.”
“Bah!” He huffs. “Silly kine rules.”
But they’re not silly—not to me. I’m still not sure if I want to forgive Mom, and I don’t think I should have to feel guilty about that. She left me.
I feel bad about a million things I’ve done wrong over the years, but not forgiving Mom is definitely not one of them.
When I keep staring at him with iron eyes, he sighs. “I t’ink if you like dis boy da same way he like you, you would like kissing him, too.”
I feel my heart sink. “But I don’t think I like kissing anyone. I mean, it’s possible to like someone and not kiss, right? Or maybe it’s like practicing an instrument, and it gets easier over time?”
When he looks over his shoulder, he’s frowning. “What fo’ you need to be kissing anyways? Mo’ bettah you focus on your studies. No need fo’ you waste time wit’ lolo boys.”
I watch the drip-drip of water fall from the orchid petals. It’s almost like it’s crying. “I just want to know if I’m feeling what I’m supposed to be feeling. And . . . if I’m not . . . then what’s wrong with me? Why does everyone else seem to know themselves so much better than I do?”
Mr. Watanabe turns the water off, drops the hose where he’s standing, and moves closer to the orchids. He twists and turns their pots, spraying them all over until they’re buried in a cloud of mist. “Da only t’ing stay wrong witchu is you don’t know how fo’ water plants.”
My laugh is weak but audible. I spray another orchid, this one white with purple in the centers. Poi comes back—without the ball—and sniffs around at the recently turned off hose, licking up the puddle of water it left behind. “What was it like when you met your wife? How did you two meet?”
Mr. Watanabe freezes, his hand resting on one of the flowerpots. Eventually he wipes his brow with a finger and sighs. “Michiko wen’ to da same school as me, but she was two years older. I was friends wit’ her bruddah, so we all wen’ go walk to school together. She tol’ me I was too young fo’ her, so every year on my birt’day, I would go her house fo’ ask her out on a date.
“An’ even aftah I wen’ college, I still wen’ stop by her house every year, even though she was engaged to some uddah guy. Finally, one day she ask me, ‘Why you keep knocking on my door when you know I getting married to someone else?’ So den I tell her, ‘I know you no like marry dat uddah guy—you like marry me, as soon as I get old enough.’ So she ask me why I would t’ink li’dat, and so I go tell her, ‘Because aftah all dis years I was asking you out, you neva did once tell me no.’ ”
I’m watching him carefully. “So, did she break off her engagement?”
His laugh is short and deep. “No. She said I was lolo and said fo’ leave her alone—dat now she was finally telling me no.” He shrugs. “So I left. I wen’ go do some traveling, wen’ try fo’ date uddah girls—but dey wasn’t Michiko. I wen’ move to da mainland fo’ look fo’ work, t’inking dat Michiko was happily married.
“And den one ye
ar on my birt’day I was sitting in my apartment watching TV, and den she suddenly show up at my door. And she jus’ said, ‘What about now?’ ” He shrugs. “So I quit my job, move back to Hawaii, and den we got married.”
“Holy shit,” I say. “That’s really romantic.”
He makes a rumbling noise in the back of his throat. “Huh, watch your language, eh, you?”
I hold up my hands. “Sorry.” Chewing my lip, I shake my head. “I don’t think you can help me, actually. You can’t have a love story that epic and be able to understand what it feels like to not be interested in falling in love or kissing people you go on dates with.”
Mr. Watanabe clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and even though he’s partially facing away from me, I swear he rolls his eyes. “I tol’ you dat already. You don’ know how fo’ listen.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I sigh, trailing my fingertips along the orchid petals.
“Hey.” He grunts with his chin dipped low. “Go talk to your muddah. No good stay angry fo’eva. She your family, you know.”
I don’t say anything. I water the rest of the flowers in silence.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It’s been three days since I’ve seen or talked to Kai. I don’t think he’s avoiding me—it’s more like he’s waiting for me to tell him it’s okay for us to still be friends. But I haven’t finished processing my feelings. I’m still trying to understand what they mean.
Lea’s guitar is next to me on the bed. There’s a hungry itch in my fingertips, begging me to pluck just one of the strings. And I want to—I really do—but I’m too scared to hear the sound of her guitar.
When I’m writing lyrics or singing music and I see her across from me, I feel like a part of her still exists. It feels like I’m not alone anymore—like she’s with me. A part of me.
But I’m afraid if I play her guitar, she might disappear for good. I don’t know what it will mean if her guitar becomes mine—if her sound becomes mine.
I’m worried it will mean she doesn’t exist anymore. Not even in my head, where the music keeps her alive.
And I’m not sure if I’d be able to bring her back after that. I’m not sure if I’m ready for her ghost to leave me.
I’m not ready to face the world without Lea. I’m not ready to go back to how it felt when I first came to Hawaii—so full of rage and pain.
I’m not ready to say good-bye to my sister.
There’s a knock at the door, and Aunty Ani appears with white flags in her eyes. “Can we talk?”
I nod and move the guitar to the floor to make space for her.
She sits next to me, folding her hands together in her lap. “Mrs. Yamada says she hasn’t seen you in a few days.”
I tuck my legs behind me. “Tell her I’ll go in tomorrow. I just needed a few days to clear my head.”
Aunty Ani nods, not wanting to pressure me, but not wanting me to get out of too much. “Okay. But remember, you’re not working fo’ her as a favor—you owe her family fo’ the window.”
“I know that,” I say in a flat tone.
Her eyes flit around the room, to my notebook and Lea’s guitar and the pile of laundry in the corner. “Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything you want to ask me?”
“About Mom? No.”
“About anything,” Aunty Ani clarifies. “About why you’ve been hiding out in here fo’ three days and avoiding the neighbor.”
“I hang out with Mr. Watanabe all the time.”
She narrows her eyes. “No get smart. You know who I mean.”
I pick the edge of my thumb because I don’t know what to do with my hands. “We went out on a date. It went . . . badly.”
Aunty Ani raises her eyebrows, and her forehead wrinkles. “I didn’t know you liked him like that.”
I let out a breath of air. “I don’t. That’s the problem.”
“That’s dating—you can’t like everyone. Sometimes you have to have a bad date to figure that part out,” she offers.
“I think,” I start, “that all dates will end up being bad dates for me. I’m not sure I even like dating.”
“Nobody likes dating.” Aunty Ani laughs. “It’s the worst.”
“No,” I say gruffly, twisting my body toward her. “I mean I don’t have any interest in dating. Like, maybe at all.”
She looks at me curiously. “Why does that bother you so much?”
“Because I hate that I have to know the answers to these things. And not just when it comes to dating. I feel like I’m supposed to know everything, right now, and never change my mind for as long as I live.” My heartbeat picks up, and I dig my fingers into my rib cage.
Dad learned the answers to his questions too late in life, and because of it, he disappointed people. He disappointed his family.
I don’t want to spend my life breaking promises to everyone, but I also don’t want to feel pressured to make them at all. Not right now, when I don’t know what I want.
And I’m worried I’m a drifter, like Dad. I’m worried I’ll spend the rest of my life not really knowing what to do, and hurting other people by jumping in and out of their lives.
I don’t want to be like Dad, but maybe I can’t help it. Maybe I just am.
And maybe that’s why Mom always preferred Lea.
“It’s okay to change your mind.” Aunty Ani looks at me seriously. “You’re seventeen years old. Nobody expects you to have the answers fo’ everything, even if you think you do sometimes. You’re still a teenager—you have all the time in the world.”
I drop my eyes. All the time in the world. It’s what Lea should’ve had—not that she needed any extra time to figure out who she was and what she wanted. She already knew.
Most of the time I feel like I don’t know anything, and sometimes it makes me feel like I don’t deserve to be here. It feels like I took Lea’s place, when she was so much more worthy of life than I ever will be.
Just like she’s always been more worthy of Mom.
Mom coming back into my life doesn’t change the fact that she left. It doesn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t have left if Lea had been the one to survive.
I look back at Aunty Ani, who’s still waiting for me to talk. “Lea had all the answers. I only know how to make things worse.” My throat feels scratchy and achy, like something is lodged far in the back of it. “I should’ve been the one to die. Lea wouldn’t have made a giant mess of her life the way I will. The way I am right now. She would never have disappointed anyone.”
“Don’t say that.” Aunty Ani looks horrified.
My nostrils go wide, and I take in too much painful oxygen. “It’s true. Lea knew who she was and what she wanted out of life. She had plans. She fit in this world better than me. I’m wasting this life. I know I am. And I don’t know how to stop it—I don’t know how to not waste it, because I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing.”
Her eyes dart back and forth, and then she’s hugging me, her hair tickling my nose. “You don’t have fo’ do anything. Just live, one day at a time.”
I close my eyes. I know time is supposed to heal a broken heart, but maybe some hearts are broken worse than others. Maybe some hearts need a lot more time.
“I know it’s not your fault,” I say finally. “You didn’t ask for any of this, and I know I haven’t been nice to you. And I’m sorry for that. It’s just hard to keep track of who I’m angry at sometimes.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me. I’m sorry I’m not better at dis kine stuff,” Aunty Ani says gently. “I’m sorry I’m not what you needed most. Who you needed most.”
“I know you want me to talk to Mom, but I’m not ready. I will be, maybe, but not today. Not right now,” I say.
I feel her nod against my skull. “Okay. Just tell me when you’re ready.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I wake up to shouting outside the house. I roll over, looking at the early-morning sun sta
rting to bleed through the window, and part the blinds so I can see out onto the street.
Mr. Yamada is face-to-face with Kai, his arms moving from the car to the house and back again. He’s yelling something I can’t hear. Something I know I probably shouldn’t hear.
Kai is shaking his head, holding up his hands like he’s refusing to do something.
And because it’s early and they should be inside if they care about eavesdropping, I pull the window open slightly so I can hear what they’re saying.
“Do you know how embarrassing this is for me? These are people I work with,” Mr. Yamada shouts.
Kai’s face is dark red and he’s staring at the ground with his fists tight.
“Get in the car, Kai. Now.”
“No. I’m not going.”
“Get in the car!”
Kai lifts his face. “I said no! I’ll call the recruiter myself when I’m ready.”
“You are not staying home for a year just to screw around on the beach.”
“Lots of people take a year off between high school and college. I want time to decide what I want to do. I don’t want to jump into anything.”
Mr. Yamada looks at his cell phone. “We’re going to be late. Get in the car. You’re not missing this appointment—not after I’ve already had to reschedule twice.”
Kai’s shoulders shake. “I said no, Dad. Stop pushing me.”
And then Mr. Yamada starts shouting louder and Kai’s shouting over him, and it’s too difficult to catch all the words because suddenly Mrs. Yamada is there too, yelling at them both to be quiet.
It happens really quickly—Mr. Yamada grabs a fistful of shirt from the back of Kai’s neck and tries to shove him toward the car door, but Kai swings his arm up to get his father to let go. I think it’s an accident—I’m not sure—but Kai’s hand clips the bottom of Mr. Yamada’s chin, and then all hell breaks loose.
Mr. Yamada pushes Kai back with force. Mrs. Yamada screams at them to stop and then jumps in between the two of them. Kai is shouting from behind her. Mr. Yamada is raging in front of her.
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