by Rachel Cohn
I texted Ryuu. I have to get out of here. Everything is falling apart. He texted back, Where do you want to go? I said, Anywhere quiet and far from Tokyo. Fifteen minutes later he texted me that he had a plan and I should meet him at Tokyo Station.
“So we’re runaways?” Ryuu asked when I found him on the train platform.
“I guess,” I said.
He pulled me to him and held me close. “What happened?”
We boarded the train and I told him what had happened with Akemi and Kenji. I didn’t know where we were going, and I didn’t care.
Once we were settled on the train, I texted Uncle Masa:
I just want you to know I’m okay. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m with a friend and we are safe.
Kenji didn’t deserve the courtesy of knowing how or what I was doing, but I knew Uncle Masa would be upset when they told him I was gone, and I wanted him to be reassured, even if I myself was anything but assured I would ultimately be okay. But for now, with Ryuu at my side, at least I was with someone who cared about me.
As the train traveled away from Tokyo, I fell asleep with my head on Ryuu’s shoulder. I don’t know how many hours I slept, but it was early morning when Ryuu woke me. “Time to get off,” he said.
We exited the train in a city called Ishinomaki. “Where to now?” I asked him.
“A taxi to the ferry,” he said.
It was a quick taxi ride to the ferry terminal, where we boarded a boat with a mermaid painted on it. “Where exactly are we going?” I asked Ryuu.
“To a small island called Tashirojima. I didn’t know where to take you, and then I had this sudden impulse about where we could go to really get away. Cat Island.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You will when there are hundreds of cats prowling all around you.”
It was exactly the distraction I needed. Frivolous and simple. A world away from Tokyo. There was too much to think about and I wanted to think about none of it. The sea breeze on the morning ferry now felt cold and welcome—an excellent wake-up. After a forty-minute ride from Ishinomaki, we got off the boat at Nitoda Port. Ryuu said, “I read about this place on my phone while you were asleep. It’s one of two tiny villages on Tashirojima. The islanders take care of the cats, who outnumber the people about six to one. There aren’t schools or restaurants here. Just old people and lots of kitties.”
“I already love this place.”
As we walked off the plank, we were greeted by a swarm of felines that clearly knew the boat’s arrival time. There were cats stretched out on the dock, cats lounging in the morning sun, cats playing and fighting one another, and cats cleaning themselves. Calicos, tabbies, tuxedoes, ginger, and black cats. At the end of the dock were crates that had been converted into blanket-covered little cat apartments. Tails stuck out from inside the shelters. The few buildings on the street were adorned with graffiti of cats.
A Japanese tourist couple also getting off the boat were more prepared than us—they had bonito flake treats to dole out to the felines. But the local fishermen sorting their wares in sheds by the road were the real treat-givers. They threw out small fish to the cats. The lucky cats on the receiving end pranced by us with fish heads and tails sticking out from either side of their mouths.
I crouched down and held my hand out for any kitties who wanted to smell my fingers. A friendly calico came to me, sniffed, decided he or she liked the smell, and rubbed against my leg. “Sorry I don’t have treats for you!” I told it as it let me rub its head.
“Are you hungry?” Ryuu asked.
“God, yes.” After all the stress and upheaval last night, I thought I wouldn’t have an appetite, but I was surprised to find I was starving.
“Me too. There’s only vending machines and one store, so let’s stock up now before we walk across the island.”
There were more cats gathered on the steps of the island’s lone store, Kamabutsu Shoten, where we bought waters, chips, and candy, and onigiri, which are rice balls. We lounged on the steps with the kitties, fortifying with snacks, then set off to see the island. Was Kenji wondering where I was? Did he care?
Narrow roads and walking trails crisscrossed the forested island’s interior. Under the canopy of so many trees, with few humans to be seen and cats darting in and out between trees, I felt calmed. And happy. All hell had broken loose back in Tokyo, but I was wandering Cat Island with the awesomest guy, who held my hand as we walked and didn’t break the calm with idle chatter. Like me, he appreciated a good silence. That was the way to hear the birds chirping, the trees swishing, the cats meowing—the perfect sounds to drown the anxieties in my head about what was happening back at Tak-Luxxe.
The main path led uphill, where we saw houses built at the higher altitude. Around midday, we found Nekokamisama—an actual cat shrine. It was a small outdoor area about the size of a large bedroom, partitioned by a red fence, with a proper torii gate leading into it, and red flags with Japanese lettering on them heralding the entrance. Through the gate were several boulders surrounding two-tiered surfaces, on which people had left offerings—rocks with cat faces painted on them, little maneki-neko statues, and of course, Hello Kitty dolls.
Ryuu translated a placard explaining the cat shrine. “It says this shrine was a resting place for an island cat who was killed by a falling rock. The fishermen built it to honor the cats.”
“Let’s get married here,” I joked. The site was legit enchanted.
Ryuu said, “We can serve our guests tuna from cans and bowls of milk.” My knees nearly buckled.
“And catnip-flavored wedding cake.” We both made horrified faces. “Too gross. Sorry.”
We hit the trail again. When we’d reached the top of the island, we had a clear view to the ocean surrounding it. The best sighting, though, was the cat-shaped buildings overlooking the prime ocean view. They were small cottages painted in red-and-white stripes, with ear-shaped roofs, and window holes for eyes, and doors painted with noses and mouths, with whiskers painted on the sides of the doors.
“These cottages are the only lodging on the island,” said Ryuu. “They have tatami mats for beds, and bathrooms, and that’s pretty much it.”
“Can we stay here tonight?”
“They’re closed this time of the year.”
“You mean we have to go back to the real world?”
“Yes.” He clenched my hand. “But we can come back in a few years when they’re open, for our honeymoon,” Ryuu joked.
“When did you know you liked me?” I asked Ryuu. We were back on the mermaid boat, returning to Ishinomaki, where we’d find a youth hostel to spend the night. I had decided not to turn my phone back on to see messages until we got off the boat, to put off the reality check as long as possible. I wondered if the Takaharas had even noticed I was gone yet.
We sat outside on the rear of the boat, wind whipping around us, huddled against each other for warmth.
“When you practically killed me with the car door getting out of the Bentley on your first day at ICS. What about you?”
“When you came up from the water in the lane next to mine on my first day swimming at ICS, and said finally there was someone at school who was as good a swimmer as you.”
“I said that?”
“You did!”
“And you still liked me?”
I kissed him as my answer. For everything wrong and tragic about my life back in Tokyo, so much of what was right about it was here in Ryuu Kimura.
When our lips let go, he turned serious. “What will you do if your father really tries to send you back to America?”
“I don’t know. I need to talk to Uncle Masa. He’ll help me, I’m pretty sure. I can’t go back to the life I had before I came to Japan.”
“Was it bad?”
“It wasn’t good. I mean, when my mom was at her worst, I used to have to steal money from her wallet to buy food, otherwise neither of us would have eaten. But foster care w
as worse. Living with strangers who resented me. Dirty places, mean people. I’m sure the Takaharas would send me to a good boarding school in America, but I don’t want that life, either. It would be so lonely.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“I can take care of myself.” I appreciated him wanting to protect me, but in the end, as always, I knew only I could protect myself. That’s how it had been my whole teenage life.
“I know you can. But I’m here for you.”
We shared another kiss as night started to fall and the boat docked back in Ishinomaki.
When we got off the boat, Uncle Masa was waiting for us at the ferry terminal landing.
“I was in Osaka on business when Kim called me and told me what was going on.”
“How’d you find us?” I asked Uncle Masa. He looked perfectly businesslike in a navy suit, but exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in two days.
“The police tracked you here through your credit card. Kim chartered a private flight for me to come retrieve you.”
I’d used my Amex card to buy my ferry tickets. It didn’t occur to me that I could be so easily traced through it. It also never occurred to me that the Takaharas would care enough to look so hard for me. I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or pissed.
“Where’s Kenji?” I asked.
“Sobering up to welcome you home.”
“Really? I have a home?”
“Your home is in Tokyo.”
“Will you be okay?” I asked Ryuu.
We were standing in the driveway at Tak-Luxxe, where a taxi waited to return Ryuu to his own home.
He smiled and my heart melted. “I’ll be fine,” he said unconvincingly. “My parents will be mad, then go back to ignoring me and being miserable.”
I kissed him. In plain view, for anyone at Tak-Luxxe to see. He was here, he was mine, and I would never accept him being anything less than warmly welcomed on this property. “Thank you,” I whispered into his ear.
After Ryuu left, I returned to Kenji’s penthouse. There was a family meeting taking place in the living room, with Uncle Masa, Kim, and Mrs. Takahara waiting for me there. There were no cries of “Thank God you’re safe, Elle!” or “We’re so sorry you felt the need to run away!”
No. There was tea and a nice assortment of Japanese confections beautifully arranged on a tray and a quiet acknowledgment that everything was different, but somehow, I’d made my point.
“Where’s Kenji?” I asked.
“Meeting with a doctor to discuss a treatment plan,” said Kim. She looked pointedly at me, and for the first time—from the gentleness in her voice and the concern expressed in her eyes—I felt she looked at me as a niece and not a stranger. “He is genuinely sorry about what he said to you before he left. He doesn’t really want you to return to America. But he is very aware that he does not know how to be a father.”
“I don’t know how to be his daughter,” I admitted. “But I want to try.”
“He does, too,” said Mrs. Takahara, to my surprise. “We had a family talk after you left to decide how to proceed. We know we all need to try.”
Like a therapist or just someone very experienced with diplomacy, Uncle Masa served us all tea and said, “We’re happy you’re home, Elle. We all have amends to make. Who would like to start?”
No one said anything.
So Uncle Masa said, “I’ll start. I should have tried to be here more often when you came to Tokyo, for consistency and transition. I’ve fixed that now. I’m coming to work for Takahara Industries. I’ll be taking over Kim’s old job and living in a suite on the forty-sixth floor. My home will always be your home, too.” The prospect of having Uncle Masa so close was beyond comforting.
“You may call me obaasan,” Mrs. Takahara said. I knew from Imogen once talking about her own Japanese grandmother that Mrs. Takahara was asking me to call her the formal Japanese word for someone else’s grandmother and not sobo for someone’s own grandmother, but it was a start. I appreciated that she was trying.
Kim said, “Mother and I would like you to start joining our weekly matcha tea ceremony.”
I was secretly pleased but didn’t want to give her that satisfaction, so I didn’t let it show. I said, “I’d like for you to be who you are.”
“What does that mean?” Kim asked.
“Be out and be proud” was all I said.
Kim looked surprised, and Uncle Masa and Obaasan looked clueless. Kim answered me in Japanese.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, feeling wary.
Kim said, “You’ll know soon enough. We’ve arranged for you to start taking Japanese lessons with a tutor after the New Year. If you’re going to be one of us, you should speak our language.”
“I’m proud of you,” said Obaasan out of nowhere. “You are a strong girl. You talk back too much, but you’re smart.”
I said, “Thank you, Obaasan. If I’m strong and smart, maybe I got some of that from you.”
She nodded, as if to say, Well, duh.
Suddenly, Tak-Luxxe seemed so much less like a castle prison. It felt like a home, with all the glory and awkwardness of a flawed family.
For the first time here, it felt like a true fresh start for me.
Uncle Masa had brokered some kind of peace in the Takahara family. I would never be privy to what he’d said and how he’d fought for me to stay, but he’d persevered and won. He arranged for Kenji to start an outpatient alcohol recovery program during his leave of absence from work. Kenji would go there during the day and be home with me at night. Uncle Masa had convinced Mrs. Takahara and Kim that the potential “shame” of people knowing of Kenji’s addiction would be better than all of us living with the consequences of not dealing with it. Kim would be stepping into Kenji’s job permanently. She’d be the first female CEO of Takahara Industries. Kenji would support her when he returned to work, and not the other way around. Maybe the company would survive the government audit and Kinoshita scandal; maybe it wouldn’t. Certainly with Kim leading it, Takahara Industries had a better chance not to go directly into bankruptcy.
My job in the family would be to resume my life at Tak-Luxxe and ICS-Tokyo. I liked that offer.
When I returned to my bedroom after the family meeting, I finally turned my phone back on. There was a message on it from Imogen Kato.
Hey. I heard what happened with Akemi. Fuuuuck! And I heard you ran off with Ryuu Kimura? I hope all this scandal doesn’t mean my favorite expat is returning to America, because things are only just starting to get interesting. Arabella finally told us (and her family) why she really left for Bolivia. I guess what I want to say is: I’m sorry. I was a jerk. PS—Nik’s been iced out and Arabella’s family has hired a lawyer to press charges against him.
I rolled my eyes in Imogen style. The Ex-Brats were so shallow and stupid, but I couldn’t deny I liked Imogen. And I was proud of Arabella for speaking up.
I sat down at my computer to write a letter to Mom, when a knock came at my door. I opened it and saw Kenji standing in the hallway, next to a box on the floor that was covered in a blanket with a bow on top.
“For you,” he said. He looked sober but tired. The devil I knew. “I ask for your forgiveness. I never wanted you to feel like you were an experiment here. You are my daughter. I will learn to be a father. I want to do better.”
“I want to do better, too,” I said. I was still sore but also hugely relieved. I wanted to stay and try for us to build a life as a family. I wanted to be honest with him and I wanted to support him through his troubles. “What’s in the box?”
“Open it.”
I removed the blanket. There was a cage beneath it.
With a cat inside.
I opened the cage and the sweetest black kitten emerged, meowing. I picked up the soft, furry angel and snuggled it under my chin.
“What should we call him?” Kenji asked.
“Ravenclaw,” I answered.
I remembered a
Japanese expression that Akemi had taught me. Neko no uojitai, to describe a cat refusing fish. She said it was a phrase used to describe someone pretending they didn’t want something they’d eventually break down and just take.
I didn’t want to deny what I’d hoped for my whole life.
For the first time, I hugged Kenji. After the slightest hesitation, he hugged me back.
My imperfect, alcoholic, charming, generous father.
RACHEL COHN is the New York Times best-selling author of several young adult novels, including Kill All Happies; Gingerbread; Shrimp; Cupcake; and, with David Levithan, Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist, Dash & Lily’s Book of Dares, and Sam & Ilsa’s Last Hurrah. Visit Rachel online at rachelcohn.com or on Twitter @rachelcohn.