by Tria, Jay E.
“You don’t want to hear anymore, do you?”
Jill looked back at Yuki’s open gaze. “Your son speaks just like you,” she muttered.
Yuki laughed. “His father tries to be an influence on him. But he will always be my son, no matter the oceans that separate us.” She turned to a small mixing bowl and attacked its contents with a whisk.
“You don’t really stop loving someone,” Yuki continued calmly, as if they were still in a lecture about character development, inside a stuffy classroom in the middle of humid July. “It’s just that you’re different now from the person you were yesterday. And you can’t go back. Even if you can, why would you want to?”
“I don’t know.” Jill shifted her weight on her sneakers, the laces on one shoe coming loose. “Maybe to change some things. And to keep some things.”
“You know what they say about change, and death and taxes?” Yuki whisked and whisked.
“Yes,” Jill said. “The triple threat to a happy life.”
Yuki laughed, a sound high and clear as bells. “Well they are bitches. And most times, you can’t really tell them what to do.” The whisking stopped, and Yuki’s small hand was on Jill’s. “And you do get to keep some things. You’re just too busy being sad now to realize it.”
Jill stared at the tiny fingers grasping hers, alabaster as a doll’s. “Don’t you ever think you could’ve tried harder?” she pressed.
Yuki returned her hand to her work, studying the green onion slivers now. “My ex-husband thinks he is happy playing around, sifting younger girls through his beautiful long fingers. I think I am happy being alone, surrounding myself with bright minds that pass me by. I wish one day we would know ourselves better.” She looked at Jill. “That is my only wish.”
The kitchen door opened with a loud crack. A boy stood in the doorway, the harsh light of the sun white behind him, blurring the edges of his long silhouette. He took a step forward, the light dancing around him, illuminating his face. He looked like an angel.
Shinta smiled at Jill, radiant as the sun. Her mouth opened into a small O, her mind pulling out a vibrant memory, warm under her skin.
Jill turned to glare at her professor. “I meant to tell you this years back. Your son should come with a warning.”
Yuki burst out laughing, nearly spilling the contents of her bowl.
November 11, Saturday, three years ago
Jill typed feverishly on her laptop, pausing as the picture loaded. She held back a laugh and it came out a snort.
“What are you doing over there?” Kim turned, beside her on Kim’s living room sofa. He picked up the remote and hit pause on the TV. “You’re missing the movie. Then you’re going to ask me to repeat what happened and I have to explain everything—”
“I won’t. You can rewind.”
“What are you—?” Kim had craned his head to check her screen. There in full glory was a picture of Shinta, wearing tattered clothes and drenched in blood, his left hand in a thumbs up, a toothy grin on his face.
“Shinta’s shooting a samurai-versus-ninja movie,” Jill said, clicking to load more pictures. “He dies in this, skewered with a sword. Then his head gets chopped off.”
Kim flopped back on the sofa, hitting play. “I would like to see that.”
“I know right?” Jill said excitedly. “He’s sending me that picture next.”
“You’re missing something here.”
“Right, the movie.”
“No, this fight.” Kim was glaring at the TV. “Why don’t you just go home and talk to him? If you wanted to see him beheaded so badly.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right.” Jill shut down her laptop and shoved it inside her backpack. “I’m back.”
She took his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder, eyes glued to the TV, her head trying to remember what she was watching exactly. This must be an Oasis Live in Albuquerque DVD, or a science fiction movie. Kim consumed only from one sort or the other recently.
“You know that’s not healthy.” Kim hitched his shoulder, pushing her head away.
“What?”
“Whatever it is you have with that actor person.”
Jill scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re talking like you didn’t pass out in his mother’s house just months ago. Didn’t you duet on Copacabana? And My Way?”
“He can’t have a crush on me, can he?”
“Well he can’t have a crush on me either, look at me!” Jill cried, waving her hands.
“I am,” Kim growled. “And I see the way he looks at you. It’s like he wants to devour you on the spot.”
Jill paused. “You think I’m hot?” she teased.
“Still fighting.”
She sighed, leaning back on the couch. “Don’t be stupid. Shinta is surrounded by perfect celebrities every waking moment of his life. Why would he look at a commoner like me?” Jill inched closer to Kim, planting a trail of kisses on his neck to soothe his temper. “Besides, what would you have me do?” she murmured in his ear as her fingers crawled along the waist of his boxers.
She heard Kim swallow a hard breath before he pushed her away again. “Stop talking to him,” he said flatly.
Jill stared at him, one eyebrow rising to meet her hairline when he did not take back his words. “You’re telling me to stop being friends with Shinta?” She spoke slowly.
Kim nodded, arms crossed, seemingly happy she finally understood. “Add Miki to the list while you’re at it.”
“You’re not serious.” Her temper was rising in her chest. And she was trying to be the bigger woman here. “You can’t tell me who to be friends with. You’re not the boss of me.”
“Oh I think I am.”
“What about your friends?”
Kim shot her a dark look. “They’re the same as yours. It’s too late to dump Son and Nino. We’re stuck with them for life. And their playing is actually getting better these days.”
“Stop talking about the band for one fucking second.” Jill ground her teeth. “I meant the cool Math kids you play pool with. And don’t tell me you only chaperone when they get high! I can’t believe I fell for that.”
Kim’s mouth flapped open and close uselessly, until he seemed to decide on an argument. “That’s not the point. I’m not pre-cheating.”
“What the hell is pre-cheating?” she shouted, on her feet now. She grabbed her backpack from the floor and ran for the door, slamming it close as she went.
Her rage fueled her pace. She flew past their garage where Kim’s brothers were playing basketball, past his mother who was watering orchids in the garden, until she was out the gate.
Just yesterday Kim was annoyed that she walked too slowly at the mall, the week before that because she fell asleep and didn’t text him back. Then something about her missing a gig because she had to cram for an exam, her staying out late with Miki over a school project, and her calling Kim a jerk.
Okay, so maybe that last one was her fault. It was supposed to be a joke but she didn’t hit the punch line well enough. And she called him that in front of his cool Math friends. But did Kim have to take everything so seriously all the time?
And okay maybe she should’ve been paying more attention to him tonight. It was Saturday stay-in date night after all.
She stopped. She was already several houses and two light posts away. She sighed out slowly, counting to ten, breathing out her anger. She turned back.
Kim was running toward her, in his ratty shirt and cartoon-print boxers, his bare feet padding on the concrete.
Jill’s eyes widened at the sight. Then she burst out laughing. She had to. It was the kind of funny that sent tingles down her fingers, like a scene from a romantic comedy that she always wanted to happen to her in real life. She stifled her giggles and hurried back, meeting him halfway.
“You’re right,” Kim panted when he reached her. “You’re the boss.”
“Good we got that cleared up.” She hitched up her bag on
her shoulder and took his hand, steering him back to the direction of his house. “I love you, you jerk.”
April 27, Monday, night
It was the last Monday of the week, which meant Ten Happy Hours night at Commute Bar. It was the time of the month that the bar served beer half off and invited ten bands to play, all in an ambitious effort to pull in a Monday crowd. It always worked.
The crowd had just dispersed from the floor, going back to their tiny rickety tables as the next band edged forward to prepare their set. Jill sat with Nino and Son, an empty platter of peanuts between them, both hands wrapped around a sweating bottle of beer.
“You’re wasting the subzero, Jillian,” Son scolded her, already on his third bottle.
“Don’t get drunk,” Jill warned him.
“At least not yet,” Nino added.
“We’re not on for at least three more sets,” Son argued. “With beer this cheap, you can’t stop me.”
Jill moved her bottle away as Son made a grab for it and took a swig. Her eyes were on the door when Miki came in, trailed by a girl. She sputtered beer on the table.
“That’s new,” Nino said, thumping Jill’s back helpfully.
Jill’s eyes stayed on the new girl, her heart beating against her ear. She was tall, about an inch short of Miki’s 5’8, with a thin boyish frame under her blue shirt and faded boyfriend jeans. What a strange sight, thought Jill. Miki with a girl.
“Are you sure she’s not yours?” Son nudged Nino.
“Too tall for my type,” Nino said plainly.
Miki and the girl reached their table. The girl spoke first.
“I’m a big fan,” she said, reaching out a hand to Jill. Jill’s head was jarred to the memory of MRT radio girl, but shook the hand anyway. “I’m Ana.”
“Jill.” The handshake lasted longer than necessary. “These are Nino and Son.”
Miki stood stiffly beside their table as Ana made her rounds with Nino and Son’s hands.
“What are you standing there for?” Jill turned to him.
“Nothing.” He stumbled on the seat beside her. He looked up at Ana, at the full table, then at Jill.
“I’ll pull myself a chair,” Ana said with a smile. “And something to drink for everybody?” In a moment she had hopped off, zigzagging through the maze of people and noise.
“Well, look at you.” Son thumped hard on Miki’s back. “So out of practice.”
“It’s not a date,” Miki said to Son’s jeer.
“Not if you keep acting like a stiff toad,” Nino said.
“Ana thinks it’s a date.” Jill pointed her bottle to the bar, where Ana was waving energetically at Miki. “Explain, please.”
Miki grabbed Jill’s bottle and downed the warm contents. “She was in one of my electives before.”
“Didn’t we take all our electives together?” Jill frowned at Ana’s slim back and her tight ponytail, trying to jog her memory. “I can’t place her.”
“I’d be surprised if you could,” Miki said with a small grin.
“You anti-social pariah,” Nino agreed, pointing his lips to Jill. “You could’ve been classmates with someone for four entire years and never known her face.”
“This isn’t about me.” Jill glared at Nino.
“You were saying, Miki,” Son prodded.
Miki grunted. “I ran into her yesterday, mentioned tonight.”
“And here we are,” Nino summarized.
“Here we are,” Miki agreed.
“We always knew you had so much untapped potential,” Son said, pinching Miki’s cheeks fondly. “So much wasted.”
Miki turned to Jill, inching away from Son’s reach. “Where’s Shinta?”
“Being a mama’s boy. Professor Mori said I’ve been monopolizing her son so she took him away.” She took her bottle back from Miki. It was empty.
Miki flashed an open smile, then made for Son’s beer bottle next. Soon Ana was back, with her own chair, a tray of a dozen subzero alcohol bottles and a giant bowl of nachos.
Jill stared at her, thinking, how perfect she is. She took one bottle and chugged, her eyes on the door again when Kim entered, trailed by a girl too.
She coughed out beer on the table, splashing Nino’s shirt. Nino didn’t seem to mind. Nobody did. Their table seemed as frozen as her lungs as Kim approached them, a stranger in tow.
Jill couldn’t see her, could not make out any details. Something clouded her eyes, and the familiar vacuum was in her ears. From somewhere far, she heard Kim speak.
“Scary crowd tonight. I hope no one’s drunk yet.”
“I don’t know. I think that might come helpful.” Nino had pressed Jill’s hand around a new beer bottle.
Kim said the girl’s name, and the girl said some things.
“You’re the girl from Math 100!” Son exclaimed. “Were we classmates from my first take, or the second one? Was that a June?”
The girl laughed. Already she was connected to Jill’s friends by more than Kim’s hand.
“There’s a free table.” Kim spoke again, and said hand reached the girl’s waist. “We’re up in about an hour, guys. Nobody get wasted until after! Later.”
Jill kept sitting up straight, knowing Kim and his friend had taken the table just behind them. His voice still reached her in this vacuum, interlaced with the girl’s giggles, as Jill’s insides filled with dead air and her stomach shrunk in itself.
The vacuum broke, bile rising to her throat. Jill shot up and flew out the door.
Her sneakers pounded on the concrete. She made it past the queue of patrons outside, through the metal gate of the parking lot. Acid, air, alcohol, and whole peanuts spilled from her mouth to the gravel floor. She sunk on her knees, her hair on the stones, one arm wrapped around the clenching pain in her stomach.
“Up you go.” Miki took her arm and gently pulled, one hand running soothing circles on her back.
“I didn’t hear you come,” Jill muttered, staggering upright. “Go away, I’m gross.”
Miki turned her to him and wiped her mouth with the back of his hand. “There.” He smiled. “Clean as new.”
He towed her to his car, which was nearer the scene of Jill’s vomit crime, and they sat on the hood. Jill breathed in the cool air, the bitterness in her tongue aching for water. Darkness still clouded her eyes, cold sweat covering her arms. She blinked and waited for the colors to return.
She turned to Miki and concentrated on his face. Soon his image sharpened, the deep crease between his brows a curious contrast to the calm lines of his mouth.
“Do you wish you met Ana in Economics 100 instead of me?” she said, mouth dry and tasting of bile.
“Where’s that coming from?”
“She’s cute and perky and obviously socially adept.” Jill paused as she processed this. “She’s like the anti-me. That’s so strange. But then she’s also tall and skinny and she moves like a boy, like me.”
“Huh.”
“I never understood why you of all people never had a girlfriend. Or so you claim.”
Miki pulled out a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pushed it on Jill’s hand. “Sometimes girls can be very cruel,” he said.
Jill took it, noting how old fashioned her best friend was, carrying a white handkerchief around, as the tears made a free fall down her cheeks.
“Boys too,” she murmured. She allowed Miki to pull her head down to his shoulder, so he wouldn’t have to see her noisy, ugly cry.
January 11, Thursday, two years ago
Jill trained her eyes on the queue number display: 114. She looked back at the slip on her hand, hoping the number would be different. It still read 150.
She and Miki had just entered the bank and pulled out that queue number from the machine. Her mother wanted a check deposited, and the very strict order was that she do it today, come hell and what not. Jill noticed her mother had been keeping her busy with all sorts of errands the past week, and she appreciated the kindness behi
nd the bossiness.
But being busy could hardly keep her mind off things when said things felt so new and fresh, like an eternally gaping gash on a scuffed knee.
Miki sat beside her on an ottoman in the middle of the lobby, squished between two other bank clients, surrounded by more ottomans and clients waiting for their turn with the tellers. It seemed like Jill and Miki had picked a peak hour.
Jill stared at the sweaty back of the man standing in front of the teller, pushing her mind towards other thoughts. She nudged Miki’s arm beside her.
“Why don’t you want to see the musical with me? I told you I have an extra ticket.”
“Because it’s Beauty and the Beast.” Miki rolled his eyes, but when he looked at her there was amusement on his lips. “Yes, Belle is a hot book nerd, but still. You can tell me to hop on a plane with you to anywhere now and I’d totally drop everything. But a musical…”
“Anyone would drop anything to hop on a plane to anywhere.” Jill stuck her tongue out at him.
“I don’t do musicals unless it was required by a teacher and I had to submit a reflection paper on it.”
“Not true. You would leave at the first intermission and have me do the reflection paper.”
“See my point?” Miki grinned.
The queue display sounded twice, calling customer numbers 115 and 116. Jill looked at the number in her hand again, the digits disappearing as her brain focused on a terrible thought. The thought pulled out a feeling, and a sob made its way to her chest.
The queue display pinged again. Miki turned to her, his expression quickly forming into alarm at the sight of her face. “What’s happening? Are you crying?”
“No.” She held Miki’s gaze. Her eyes were hot and stinging and Miki was a hazy image.
“Why are you crying? Look, I’ll come with you to the stupid musical if you want it that badly. It’s not a big deal.”
His words came out in a panicked rush. Miki inched closer, angling his wide shoulders as if trying to protect Jill’s tears from the curious eyes of the crowd in the bank lobby.