Swimming to Tokyo

by Brenda St John Brown

  “As if, my dear.” Mindy gives me one more roll of her eyes and changes the subject. “What are you doing later? Liz has a date.”

  Liz is Mindy’s mom, although I’m pretty sure Mindy hasn’t called her “mom” since we were in seventh grade. My mom would’ve killed me if I tried that, but Liz doesn’t mind, as far as I can tell. “A date?”

  “Some guy she met at Trader Joe’s. Do you want to meet me after my shift for dinner or something?”

  “I can’t. Apparently my dad has news of some kind, so we’re having a family meal for a change. But that should only take an hour. Come over at eight and we can hang out.”

  “News, huh? What kind of news?”

  “I don’t know. Babci didn’t know either. I think he has a girlfriend, so he probably wants to set the stage to introduce her.” I say it like I don’t care, but there’s a knot in my stomach thinking about it. I shouldn’t care. It’s been three years…Dad should be happy.

  I cross my fingers under my leg as Vicki approaches with the coffee pot. Maybe it will be something else. Babci just said he had news. It could be anything.

  chapter two

  When the doorbell rings at 8:10, Dad greets Mindy, closes the door, and ushers her into the dining room before I even remember I invited her over. I’m sitting at the table. My fork still has a piece of meatloaf stuck to it, resting on my otherwise untouched plate.

  “Hey, Zo.” Mindy scans the dining room table. Babci and Dad have eaten a little, but it looks like we’ve just started.

  “Do you want something to eat?” Dad asks. He gestures for Mindy to sit down, but she has the sense to decline.

  “No, thanks. I ate at work. Is everything okay?”

  “Maybe you can talk to her.” Babci smiles a little at Mindy with a nod at me. “You and Zosia go. I’ll save if you get hungry.”

  “Zo,” I’m already walking out of the dining room, but Dad yells after me. “It’s going to be fine, Zo.”

  Like repeating it for the nineteenth time will make it so.

  I take the stairs two at a time and Mindy runs behind me. Despite her clunky boots, she’s pretty fast and is in the door two seconds after me. “Zo, what the hell? What’s going on?”

  My face feels like it’s going to split into a thousand pieces if I move my mouth, so I just shake my head and go to my laptop. I pull up Google, and Mindy nudges my butt over to take half my chair.

  “Distance between Westfield and Tokyo? What the hell?” Her face is too close; it looks like she has three eyes.

  “My dad got an offer to move to Tokyo for three years.” My voice is flat with a lot less emotion than I’m feeling.

  6,741 miles. Westfield, New Jersey, to Tokyo, Japan is 6,741 miles.

  “What do you mean, your dad got an offer to move to Tokyo?” She squints at me now.

  “The bank asked him if he’d consider taking over the Asia market.”

  “And he said yes?”

  I jump up and lean against the windowsill so I can see her. “Well, no. He said he’d have to go home and discuss it with his family, which is supposedly what we were just doing. But it was really a sales pitch because he wants it.”

  “But what about…you?” Mindy hesitates on the last word like she’s afraid of the answer, and I don’t blame her.

  “Well, obviously I’m off to University of Rhode Island in the fall anyway, but I can spend the summer in Tokyo. Maybe even a Christmas or two, although the Japanese make a much bigger deal of New Year’s than they do of Christmas. Did you know that? I didn’t, but apparently it’s all very ceremonial, which is great. It’s great, right? Because he said it was great. Not many college students get this kind of opportunity, you know. Plus, I have such an aptitude with languages I’m bound to pick up a fair bit of Japanese.” My voice rises and I take a deep breath, hoping it will help.

  It doesn’t, especially as I get to the next part. “He’s going to have to go there off and on for the next few months. I can stay in the house with Babci until the semester finishes, and he’ll definitely help as much as he can to get everything sorted out for the move. The renters don’t want to move in until after Memorial Day because they’re relocating from California. California, of all places. Can you believe it? They’re working with a Realtor who Dad takes the train with, so she helped sort out all the dates and details.”

  “He’s going to rent the house?” Mindy’s eyes widen.

  I nod and squeeze my eyes shut, sliding down to the floor. “Well, if he’s in Tokyo and I’m off in Kingston, no one will be here. Babci sure as hell doesn’t want to stay here any longer than she has to, and it doesn’t make sense to leave it empty for most of the year.”

  “But your mom…”

  That’s when I lose it. Big gulping sobs that take my breath away. Mindy sits on the floor beside me and puts her arm around my shoulders, but she’s smart enough not to speak. Not that there’s anything to say. Because even though Dad told his bosses he had to talk to his family first, it’s a done deal. I can tell by the look in his eye when he talks about it. Nervous, but happy. Excited, like he hasn’t been since before mom got sick.

  Nine tissues later, I’m still teary but no longer hysterical. Mindy and I sit cross-legged on the floor, and her tone is cautious when she speaks. “It will be okay, Zo. I mean, it will.”

  I give her a watery smile. “Yeah. I mean, Tokyo for a summer might even be cool. You’ll be at your damn science camp anyway, and it beats waitressing at Theresa’s, but it’s just…it’s leaving the house.” I take a shaky breath, hoping to hold back another flood of tears. “All my memories of my mom are here. How can someone else live here with those?”

  “They won’t. You’ll take them with you. Your memories of your mom are here.” Mindy taps my head just as a knock sounds at the door.

  The door swings open before either of us can say anything, and Babci stands there with a ShopRite bag in her hand. She shuffles across the floor and sets the bag down in front of us on the floor. “You don’t eat dinner, so I brought it to you. Maybe will make you feel better.”

  Mindy digs into the bag and pulls out a bag of rippled potato chips and a tub of French onion dip, two Diet Cokes, and a bag of plain M&Ms. “Babci, you know exactly what will cure this.”

  Babci is so used to Mindy calling her Babci she doesn’t even blink. But she does shake her head in a way even Mindy knows means business. “This is no cure, but Zosia will see this isn’t worst thing.” She turns to me. “Your father, he needs this. I convince him to go; you will be fine. So if you are mad at anyone, you are mad at me.”

  “What?” I jerk my head up. Did she just say…?

  “I said, your father, he is going to say no, but I tell him go. You will be fine.”

  That’s what I thought she said. “Why? Why did you tell him I’ll be fine? Do you think that’s true? Do I seem fine? Did you tell him to let other people move into our house? Did you tell him that would be fine, too?” My voice gets louder and higher.

  Babci’s, by contrast, is soft as she replies in Polish with an apologetic look to Mindy. Mindy is my only friend she’ll speak English with, which I find funny. Not because of Mindy, because she’s known her forever. But the other girls who come around aren’t going for the goth/ punk rocker look and I’d think Babci would encourage those friendships. I asked her about it once and she said she had no interest in talking Barbie dolls and neither should I, so we both left it alone after that.

  “Oh, Zosia. Don’t you think it hurts him, too? This house was their dream. Their life was here. But your father needs this. He needs a new start.”

  I cut her off in English. “So you both decided it’s okay to let strangers take over our home because he needs to get on with his life?”

  Babci bites her lip, and I can tell she’s mad because she answers me in careful perfect English. “And so it is only fair if you are getting on with yours?”

  She limps a little back out the door and closes it behind her. I let
her because I’m mad she knew about this and didn’t tell me, didn’t warn me. And madder that she sided with Dad, whom she really only warmed up to after Mom got sick.

  Mindy pulls open the bag of chips and takes the lid off the dip, scraping her finger around the edges. She reaches for a handful of chips and starts dipping them one by one. I follow her lead and eventually open a Diet Coke, which we pass between us.

  I’m not sure how long we sit there eating and not talking, but the words that come out of my mouth when I do speak have nothing to do with Tokyo or moving. “I almost forgot. I got an email from my roommate at Rhode Island today.”

  Mindy straightens from where she’s hunched over the dip. “Really? And? What’s her name? Astrology sign? Does she have Instagram? Twitter? Please don’t say Facebook.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask that stuff, and don’t knock Facebook. I like it. But her name’s Sarah and she’s transferring in from Richmond.”

  “Does she seem cool?”

  I smile a little. “Uh, as cool as someone can sound when they’re talking about color schemes, I guess.”

  “Oh God. Tell me she doesn’t want you to go out and buy matching comforters. She didn’t send you links to Bed, Bath & Beyond, did she?”

  She did, actually, but I’m not going to tell Mindy that. I take another chip and shake my head. “We’re supposed to Skype over the weekend. I’ll tell you once we set it up, and you can lurk in the background.”

  “Hey, someone has to do your due diligence. Besides, when I come to visit you, I don’t want to spend weekends with some whackjob.” Mindy grimaces, but softens it with a grin.

  “This would be a nonissue if you’d applied to Rhode Island with me,” I remind her.

  “Or if you’d applied to NYU,” Mindy counters.

  Mindy and I have had this conversation at least 726 times in the last eight months, and we’re just going through familiar motions. Mindy knew she wanted to go to NYU from seventh grade, but when her mom said they wouldn’t be able to afford it, Mindy deferred admission for a year and started waitressing at the diner, in addition to babysitting, taking photos at the nursing home, and whatever other random jobs she could find. She called it a gap year, a la the European mindset, but the truth is Mindy refused to settle. Even for UCC.

  I, on the other hand, have done nothing but settle. At least according to my dad, who is/was less than impressed when I didn’t actually apply anywhere senior year, leaving me with UCC as my only option. I couldn’t explain I wasn’t ready then. I wasn’t ready to leave everything I knew—him, Westfield, the house that holds so many memories of Mom, but not enough actual Mom.

  Oh, the irony.

  “Maybe I should’ve applied to NYU,” I say softly.

  Mindy’s voice lowers a notch. “Look, it’s not like you won’t ever be back here again. I’m going to drag you back from Rhode Island for at least one holiday a year with me and Liz, and the rest of the time I’m totally barging in on you and Babci in Queens. So don’t, like, second-guess yourself because of all this.”

  “I know, but what if Sarah’s nuts? At least I know you are.” I throw a chip at Mindy’s shoulder, and she makes a face at me. Mindy has a point and she knows it.

  “Kingston is close to Boston. You can track down Finn O’Leary for that coffee.”

  “Yeah, great idea. I’m sure if he saw me again, he wouldn’t even recognize me.”

  “Well, didn’t you say you saw him after you went running? You weren’t exactly at your best then.”

  I yank at my hair. “I’m not exactly at my best now.” And all of a sudden I’m crying again. Not the hysterical crying from before, but tears spill over and run down my cheeks. Mindy gets up from the floor and picks up her keys. “Where are you going?”

  “You need to talk to your dad. Come on.” She pulls me up before I can tell her that’s the last thing I need and leads me downstairs.

  Dad’s left Babci to her programs and the door to his so-called study is ajar. It used to be a walk-in closet, but when Mom’s hospital bed got set up in the dining room, Dad moved a desk in and the coats out so he could be near enough to hear her but far enough away not to wake her with his typing. I’m not sure why he’s kept it, except that it gives him a door to close like a desk in the corner of the dining room doesn’t.

  Mindy knocks and then pushes the door. “Mr. Easton, I have to go. But I think Zo needs to talk to you.” She hugs my shoulders and leaves me standing in the middle of the rug my mom bought in Dubai when I was thirteen. Mom and I had tagged along on one of Dad’s work trips and turned it into a family vacation. It was our last one. Pre-cancer.

  Dad comes up and stops just shy of embracing me. Between him and Mom, he was never the touchy one, and he still isn’t. But I’m still teary, so he closes the gap between us and puts his arm around me to lead me to the tiny loveseat crammed between the door and the desk. He kisses my hair, and I let myself sink into him in the soft cushions.

  “I’m sorry, Zo,” he whispers, and it sets off a fresh batch of tears.

  It takes a while for me to get it together, but I finally lean away, dabbing my eyes with the soggy tissue I’ve been clutching. “It’s fine, Dad. It is.” My words are automatic.

  “I know, Zo. It is.”

  It’s not even a little bit fine, but the lines in Dad’s forehead are deep, like they get when he’s really worried. They’ve smoothed out over the past year, but now they’re etched in and I can tell he’s off-the-chart anxious. I’ve tried my damnedest not to add to them, and I’m not about to start now, even as I swallow the lump in my throat and squeak, “I’ll be off at school anyway and you’d be here alone. I was just so surprised about Tokyo and the house. I can’t imagine not coming back here on break, and someone else living with our stuff. Mom’s stuff. She was always so…particular…and what if they’re not? What if they don’t care the way she did?”

  “I know. I just…Zo, I can’t.” His voice cracks, and I’m so shocked I sit there staring at him for a good twenty seconds before I throw my arms around his neck. Dad hasn’t cried since we packed Mom’s things away in the attic. When he finally leans away, he’s really flustered. “God, Zo, I’m sorry. It’s so hard.”

  I want to scream, “If it’s so fucking hard, don’t do it.”

  But I don’t.

  “Mom would want you to. She would, even if the people who move in here are total slobs. I mean, that’s why she didn’t want a grave, because she didn’t want us to be obligated to a place. I mean, Tokyo. She’d be all over that.” Even though I’m saying this for Dad’s benefit, it’s actually not far from the truth.

  “Can you imagine your mother speaking Japanese?” Dad and I both smile at the image of my mom with her strong Polish accent trying to say arigato.

  “Can you imagine you speaking Japanese?” I smile a little more at this, since Dad’s horrible with languages. Even after twenty years of Babci’s efforts to teach him Polish, he still only knows the basics, although that might be a little passive-aggressive on his part.

  “I got a computer program that’s pretty good.” Dad goes over to his desk and roots around until he finds a copy of Rosetta Stone for Japanese. “I’ll leave it for you. You’ll probably be fluent before you get there.”

  “I’ll learn some key phrases, but I’ve got a little thing called college going on right now and I might be a little busy.”

  “Well, you have all summer to learn. And don’t worry, some of the other ex-pats have kids, so it’s not like you’ll be stuck on your own all the time while I’m working.” Dad smiles, the lines in his forehead receding as he does.

  I roll my eyes. “Great, I can babysit. What’s the going rate in yen? Any idea?”

  Dad laughs. “I’ll find out, but there are a few older kids. One of my colleagues, Eloise, has a boy who’s around your age, and he might come out.”

  “Is he cute?”

  “I’ll find that out, too.” Dad turns serious. “It’s going to b
e good, Zo. It’s a great opportunity for both of us.”

  “Yeah, Dad. I know.” I get up and smooth my shirt across my stomach, which growls underneath my hands and gives me the perfect out. “Babci said she saved me some food. I’m going to go find some. You want anything?”

  “No, you go ahead.” Dad opens his laptop and is already lost in the screen by the time I’m out the door.

  I pad down the hallway to the kitchen and pull out the meatloaf, still in its Pyrex dish, the grease congealed at the sides. I grab a fork and take a bite, closing my eyes as I chew. When I open them, Babci is leaning against the doorway, looking at me. I open my mouth to apologize for eating right from the pan, but close it again when she shakes her head. Her voice is soft.

  “Jesteś mocne.”

  “Będę.”

  You are strong.

  I will be.

  Babci comes and places her hand over mine, and I take another bite of cold meatloaf, even though it’s turned to sawdust in my mouth.

  chapter three

  By the time Memorial Day weekend comes around, I’m actually starting to get excited about Tokyo—in between severe pangs of nostalgia. Dad’s home, and judging by the murmurs of conversation I’ve overheard drifting from behind his study door, it seems possible he’s spoken to the renters, but no one’s shown up with suitcases, so I don’t know what’s happening and I’m not asking. In fact, aside from his suggestion that I might want to work a little harder on cleaning out my closet before we leave on Wednesday, I’d hardly know we were preparing for renters to move in.

  Dad and Babci have invited Mindy and Liz over for a Memorial Day barbecue, keeping up the tradition we’ve had forever. When Mom was alive, she’d spend all day Monday making pierogies and weird appetizers that tasted better than they looked. This year, Babci’s bought some weird appetizers because she can’t cook much with her arm, and while her, Dad, and Liz relax and drink wine out on the deck, Mindy and I take the rest of the bottle to my room to sort through my closet.

  “I can’t believe you still have this.” Mindy holds up my junior varsity swimsuit. “Look how tiny you were.”