“I don’t know. It’s not finished.” There’s a moment then when we could touch, I think, but neither one of us take it. His voice is low when he speaks again. “You know, the thing about strangers on an airplane is they never see each other again.”
“That can probably be arranged.” I try to sound flippant, but don’t quite pull it off.
He continues as if I haven’t spoken. “I would just think this game could get a little intense.”
“Game?”
“Trust. Honesty. Whatever it is.”
I furrow my brow at him. “That’s not a game. It just is.”
“Is it?” His snort makes it clear that he disagrees with me. Completely.
“You either trust someone or you don’t. You tell the truth or you lie.” Almost as an afterthought, I add, “Don’t you?”
“There’s a sliding scale and you know it. You tell your dad one thing and Mindy another. Everybody does it.”
“So what’s your point?”
“I’m going to need to work on my honesty if we keep this up, so I should know your scale.”
“Hmmm…” I’m buying time. All of a sudden I’m not sure how truthful I should be. “Well, you were right about the night I ran into you. I only told Mindy I went for a walk.” But I didn’t even tell Mindy everything. I told her about Finn, but not the end. Not the part where I thought he might kiss me.
“That doesn’t count and you know it. One to ten? How honest are you?” he asks.
“Probably a six. Maybe seven,” I say. “How about you?”
“I’m pretty comfortable around a four. Five, tops.” I’m about to feel bad, but he adds, “Except tonight. That was a ten.”
I’m glad my arms are crossed over my chest because my ribs might shatter from the way my heart slams against them. Hard and unexpected. I expect him to say something else or do something or…something. But he doesn’t and I finally turn toward the lobby. “I should, um, go. Thanks for tonight. For everything.” I gesture to my dress, but that’s not what I mean.
“Any time.” His black eyes hold mine, then slide to the corner of my lips, my jawline, up to my hair. I follow the path of his gaze and imagine his mouth tracing the journey his eyes are making. His eyes linger in the hollow of my cheekbone, next to my ear. I can almost feel his hot breath on my face, even though he’s an arm’s length away. My stomach floods with anticipation as Finn lifts his hand and runs his finger lightly down my bare arm. His touch is just a whisper, but it burns like he’s holding an open flame to my skin.
His hand closes around my wrist for less than a second before he thrusts his hand back in his pocket and takes a deliberate step backward.
“I, um, need to go,” he says.
“Why?” It comes out before I can stop it, although thank God I stop before I blurt out the No you don’t on the tip of my tongue.
“I…It’s late. I just need to go.” He says the last part without spaces in between. As though saying it fast makes it true.
“Yeah, okay.” I nod and swallow hard. “Yeah. Me, too.”
I let go of the door and walk across the shiny tile floor. My sandals slapping against my feet is the only sound, even though I half-hope to hear Finn’s voice calling me back. I pause at the foot of the stairs. I could wait for the elevator, but I’m not sure I could stand there, wondering if he’s still there. And I don’t think I trust myself not to go running back out that door if he is.
I falter on the first step, which is enough to bring me back to earth. I’ve already bared my ass to Finn tonight; the last thing I need is to face-plant on the stairs. My foot is on the third step when I hear the door click behind me. I turn just enough to see him still standing there, watching me go.
chapter six
The next time I see Finn isn’t that weird after the first half hour or so, which doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement, but it is. Especially since he shows up at 1:30 on Sunday afternoon and I’m still in my pajamas drinking coffee.
“Hey. I would’ve called, but I don’t have your number,” he says when I open the door.
“I don’t have a phone yet, actually. What’s going on?” I stay planted in the doorway, my pulse butterflying up and down in my chest. Did he give me anything on Friday night to hold on to? Whenever Mindy and I go out, I end up with her lipstick and her phone every time, but Finn isn’t the lipstick type and the outline of his phone is visible through the front pocket of his dark blue shorts.
“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d be neighborly.” He gives me a killer grin that carves a dimple in his left cheek I haven’t noticed before.
“Oh. Well, in that case…” I step aside to gesture for him to come in, straightening as his eyes flicker over me. My heartbeat gives another kick in my chest, and I swallow hard against it. We spent hours together less than two days ago. He sang to me, for God’s sake. Or, if not to me, then about me. Maybe. Either way, I need to get a grip.
“Are you busy?” He glances at the laptop perched on the arm of the couch and the coffee cup on the table.
“No. I’m just surfing random crap and drinking coffee. Do you want some? It’s instant, but it’s all right.” I brush my hair behind my right ear and force myself to stop. Finn’s in my living room. I’m in boxers and a tank top. He seems perfectly fine with it. I’m getting a grip. Starting now.
“Sure.” He watches me fill the kettle. “What were you surfing on?”
“Facebook, the Japan Guide, someone’s blog about scary movies. Don’t ask.” I lean against the counter, waiting for the kettle and cross my arms over my chest. My pink tank top is thin, and I’ve got the AC blasting. Much as I’d half-like to see his reaction, the other half wins. “What have you been up to?”
“Today? About the same until an hour ago, although I missed the blog on scary movies.”
“Very funny.” The kettle whistles and I pour. “What did you do yesterday?”
“My mom and I went to Yokohama pier, walked around. What about you?”
I hand him his coffee. “We went to Yoyogi Park. There was a concert Dad thought I’d like, some band called Orange Range or something. He feels guilty he has to work on my third day here.”
And he feels guilty about Eloise. He must have brought her up twenty times yesterday in between songs. How nice she is. How much she enjoyed meeting me. How this summer is such a great opportunity for all of us to get to know each other. I kept mostly quiet, although I agreed with that. It’s a great opportunity for something.
“Nice. This coffee is disgusting.” He doesn’t put it down but he makes a face.
I laugh and hike my arms over my chest again. “It’s all there is so my standards are low.”
He laughs. “Good to know. Do you want to go get something that’s drinkable?”
“Sure. I just need to change.”
His lips twist into a grin. “You could go like that.”
So he did notice. If I were Mindy, I’d have a smart retort ready. Of course, if I were Mindy, I wouldn’t even be here; I’d be out exploring the coolest parts of Tokyo. I halfheartedly roll my eyes and say, “No, I really can’t.” I point to the laptop. “I need, like, ten minutes. You can surf if you want.”
“Sure, thanks.” Finn walks over to the couch. “Will I find anything incriminating?”
I bite my cheek. I’m right in the middle of an email to Mindy. The tab is open, right next to Facebook and Google maps. “Don’t read my email.”
He has the laptop in hand, but studies me instead. “I thought you said you were at, like, a seven on the honesty scale?”
“Six, actually. But my email’s a ten.” Maybe more.
“Why? Who are you emailing?”
That’s the easy question. “Mindy.”
“About what?”
You. The word is right there, and I have a feeling he knows it. “None of your business. Promise.”
He gives me a slow nod. “Sure, okay.”
It’s all I can do not to g
o over and just close the tab, but I head into my room and push the door shut behind me. I’m in the middle of telling Mindy about Friday night. Complete with commentary about Finn. In fact, most of it is commentary about Finn, starting with my shock that he’s here, the train, the bar, after. I pull a T-shirt dress from a hanger over my head. He promised. That’s got to count for something.
All through braiding my hair, I have to talk myself out of running back out there. But, despite my trepidation, I use my ten minutes and then some. When I open the door again, Finn glances up from the couch, and his expression isn’t appalled or amused. “Hey. Do you want to go to Ueno? It’s about thirty minutes away according to the Japan Rail website.”
“Sure. That’s good. I have a Lonely Planet. I’ll bring it.” My laptop sits back on the table, and he’s got a notebook open in his lap.
“You’re bringing an actual guidebook? Do people do that anymore?”
I stick my tongue out at him, which feels really immature the minute I do it. “I do, so hush. Besides, I don’t have a phone, remember?”
He closes the notebook and shoves it back in his bag. “Just wondering. You have a hell of a lot of friends on Facebook, by the way.”
My face warms at least ten degrees. “Hey. You promised.”
“You said your email was off-limits, not Facebook. I wondered if we had any friends in common.”
“Do we?” I know the answer to this already.
He grins. “Nope, although I’m surprised you’re friends with Kathy Johnson.”
“Oh, come on, are you really friends with everyone you’ve friended on Facebook?” I follow him down the stairs and watch his calf muscles tense and relax, tense and relax. Even if hadn’t told me Friday night, I’d guess he was a runner from how well-defined his legs are.
“Not at all. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s hypocritical.”
We exit and the heat wraps around me like a blanket. According to Dad, it’s due to rain and that should help, but for now it feels like being stuck in a sauna. Who the hell knew Japan was so hot?
“So how many of your so-called friends are you really friends with then?” I ask.
“Five maybe?”
“Out of three hundred something, you’re friends with five?” My hand flies to my mouth. Oh my God. I’ve just admitted to Facebook-stalking him.
I see from his sudden grin he didn’t miss that either, and I brace for a smart remark. Instead he says, “That’s about right. I could add you, make it six.”
I brush my hand through my hair. Not a smooth move at all, considering the braid, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to let it slide. “Sure, but how do I know I won’t just be one of the masses?”
“If you were one of the masses, I would’ve read your email.”
I laugh. “I’m still not sure you didn’t.”
He stops at the foot of the stairs to the station and turns abruptly. “Really? Aren’t you?”
Cold flashes through me, settling in my stomach. It’s the look on his face. A combination of hurt and anger and, I swear to God, longing? I feel like his dark eyes drill right through me. Searching past my skin, my eyes, into the place where I store my truths. Plural. “No. I mean, yes. I mean… I…sorry.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you. Not about that.”
I curl my fingers around the strap of my bag. “What would you lie to me about?”
“I don’t know.” He pauses for a second. “Nothing yet.”
I force a grin to ease the tension. “Well, you’re the one who said you were a four or five on the honesty scale. Maybe you sell yourself short?”
It works. He smiles a little, and it feels like coming up for air after swimming in the deep black water of a lake. “Yeah. We’ll see. Do you want to go or get coffee here?”
“Let’s go and get one when we get there. And I owe you from ages ago, so it’s on me.”
“Ten thousand miles and she finally pays me back.” His voice has a hint of teasing now.
“Better late than never. I was waiting for the right moment.”
“Yeah, me too. And this is it?”
“Apparently.”
“Good to know.” He gives me a slow smile that verges on flirtatious before it settles firmly into friendly.
And he’s nothing more—or less—as we walk around Ueno Park, skirting the museums and shuffling around Toshogu Shrine, taking turns reading what few signs there are in English. It’s impressive walking underneath the torii, the wooden arches leading to the temple, and the lantern by the first gate is the biggest I’ve ever seen. In between oohing and aahing, we talk about our respective trips to Tokyo, college, Westfield. By the time we wander into Kabaya Coffee, I know he flew over two days before I did, is studying pre-med, and hated Westfield even more than I’d originally thought.
“So why did you come then? If you hated it?” I ask.
“I didn’t really have a choice.”
He’s not going to tell me unless I ask, but the way his expression hardens makes me back away from it. I don’t know Finn well enough to be able to really read him yet, but he gives the “back off” signal better than anyone I’ve ever met. So back off is what I do.
“There are worse places. At least it’s close to New York.”
“True. I used to go in and wander around for hours. I spent a whole day once riding the Staten Island Ferry. I think they thought I was homeless, but they left me alone and just let me stay on.” He looks down at the table and half-smiles at the memory.
“I used to do that. I’d go up to the second deck and stand outside. One day I rode it so long that the guy actually brought me a chair.”
“Why?”
“Why did he bring me a chair?”
“No, why’d you stay on?”
“My mom didn’t want a grave, so we spread her ashes over the Hudson and the Vistula in Krakow, where she was from. I always imagine her out there somewhere. The water was a huge thing to her.” That statement makes it official. I’ve talked about Mom more with Finn than I have with anyone else, except Mindy, Dad, and Babci.
“Is that why you swim?”
I sit up straighter. “How do you know I swim?”
“I didn’t exactly live under a rock when I was at Westfield. Weren’t you co-captain of the swim team?” Finn asks.
“Yes.” A million “buts” follow that statement in my head, but I leave them all spinning there, along with the realization that, even though Finn said he stayed off the grid in high school, he was a hell of a lot more tuned in than he let on. And tuned into me, apparently.
Huh.
“So? Did you swim because of your mom?” he asks again.
I nod. “She started trying to teach me when I was six months old. We’d go to these Mommy-and-me swim classes at the Y. There was never a time I don’t remember swimming.”
“What was she like?” Finn leans forward, and there it is again, that intensity that earns him a ten.
I smile a little. “Beautiful. Funny. Genuine.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I mean, she was pretty, but it was more than that.” The waitress places our coffee on the table between us, and I talk as I pour the milk and sugar, focusing on the mug and Finn’s hands on the table. “I remember when I was little and I came home from school one day sad because someone had been mean to me. My mom made me a peanut butter sandwich, and we sat on the window seat in my room under a blanket and she read me at least ten stories in a row. She didn’t tell me everything would be okay or that those girls were mean. She just held me until I felt better.”
When I look up, Finn’s got a funny look on his face. “You’re like her.”
I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement, but I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”
“It’s got to be hard being a girl and losing your mom. I mean, female shit is a total mystery to guys.” Finn sounds one hundred and ten percent serious.
So I bite my lip to keep from laughing
. “Female shit? Really?”
He laughs a little, but at least has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Oh, come on. You know what I mean. Are you really going to talk to your dad about clothes or makeup?”
“Really?” I make my eyes widen. I’m only wearing a little mascara and my dress, a pink T-shirt dress from the Gap, isn’t exactly a fashion statement. It feels strange to be mocking myself in front of Finn, but for this minute, he’s not the hot guy I had a crush on. He’s a guy who’s making me laugh, which feels infinitely better. “Really?”
He laughs again, louder this time. “Give me a break. You know what I mean. I just think it’s tough being a girl and losing your mom. It is.”
I have to nod. “It is. Last year was hard with all the senior stuff to do. Graduation announcements, prom… My mom would’ve been great at that stuff.”
“See. That’s what I mean. Definitely mom territory. My mom would’ve been great at that, too,” Finn says.
“Did you not go to graduation either?”
He shakes his head and looks sheepish. “Nope. I refused.”
“Wow. Harsh.” I’m happy to have the focus off me for a bit, and I run with it. “I mean, how many times are you going to graduate from high school?”
“I was an ass. I swear to God, all I heard from April to June was prom, graduation, prom, graduation. I think in the end I didn’t go to either at least half out of spite.”
“Well, you could’ve had a date to prom easily.” I shrug. “Not that you missed much. But you should’ve gone to graduation.”
“So I’ve heard. Repeatedly.” He leans back and takes a sip of his coffee. “So let me ask you something. Would you have gone to prom with me if I’d asked?”
My pulse accelerates. I’m more prepared to talk about my mom than I am about this. Missing Mom is familiar, even if talking about it isn’t. This is uncharted territory all around. I make myself hold his gaze.
“Yep.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I told you before you probably could’ve gone with anyone you wanted.”
“I’m asking you.” He gives me that look again that makes me want to fidget and look away, although I make myself stay still.
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