Ink

themselves, smaller and smaller.

Mostly I left my room the way it was, because neither Diane nor I could bear to see it pared down to the spare room it had been before I arrived. Not that we were going to admit it to each other.

Not that it needed to be said anyway. It was obvious.

Tomohiro sent me a couple of texts from the training camp, mostly passing on messages he got from Ishikawa that the Yakuza were going to rethink their plan of dealing with Tomohiro. I guess an artist who draws a gun that fires on him isn’t the most useful to have around. The Kami were too quiet, though, and I found myself peering out my window at night, wondering if they were watching us, waiting to make a move.

Yuki and Tanaka came over in the afternoon with little parting gifts. Yuki dabbed her eyes and said over and over again how she couldn’t believe I was leaving. I tried to comfort her, but how could I? I couldn’t believe it, either.

She gave me a cartoon teacup, to remember our time in Tea Ceremony Club, and Tanaka gave me a DVD set of Lost, his favorite American series, one we’d watched over and over again in English Club. His cheeks turned a deep red when I hugged him at the door, yet another casual mistake that showed I didn’t belong in Japan. I probably should’ve bowed or something.

I mailed off a parcel to Nan and Gramps, mostly omiyage souvenirs for them and for friends when I got there. I stuck in a few curry-rice mixes, not sure if I could buy them in Deep River, not sure if I could survive life without the comfort-ing smell of Japanese curry wafting from the steel pot in the kitchen. I studied Diane’s nikujaga and meat spaghetti, willing myself to remember all the details, eating thick toast for breakfast every morning slathered in honey. Buying purin puddings and green matcha cream horns from the conbini stores until my stomach felt satisfyingly ill. If I had to leave Japan, I’d go out with a five-pound bang.

While I was folding clothes for the suitcase, my keitai rang with an unknown number. I picked up, hands trembling.

“Hello?”

Nothing but the sound of breathing.

I started to panic, wondering how they got my number.

“Greene,” Ishikawa said quietly. “Ki wo tsukete na,” he managed before a rattling cough started up. Halfway through the coughing fit, he hung up. Take care. A peace offering, I guess.

Well. He wasn’t my best friend, so I could still be pissed at him. Even if he’d saved Tomohiro’s life.

The day before my flight, I was supposed to meet Tomo in front of Shizuoka Station, so I was completely shocked when he knocked on our front door. Diane answered it, a bizarre look on her face. I peeked around the corner from the bathroom, my heart drumming in my ears. Now I’d have to explain everything. As the door swung open, I imagined the worst: Tomohiro slouching in the doorway, hand pressed to the back of his head and his scars fully visible. Maybe a split lip from some fight he got into on the way over here. What if Diane somehow knew the rumors about his pregnant girlfriend? Oh god, my life would be over.

But he was standing normally when she opened the door, and he gave her a crisp, overeager bow, flooding the genkan with superpolite Japanese. I didn’t think I’d ever heard his sentences end in all those masus before. But Diane raised her eyebrows at his copper hair, the thick silver chain around his neck and the rips in his jeans. She probably thought he was a bit of a cleaned-up punk, which I guess he was.

She turned around and I ducked back into the bathroom, my face totally red and the heat rushing up the back of my neck.

“Katie,” she called out. “Um, Yuu Tomohiro is here to see you.”

“Thanks,” I said. She filled the frame of the doorway.

“He’s not Tanaka,” she said slowly.

“Um,” I said. “For the record, I always told you Tanaka and I are just friends.”

“You also never mentioned Tomohiro.”

“It slipped my mind?”

Diane gave me a stern look.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just didn’t want you to be worried.”

“Why would I be worried?”

“Because of his reputation?”

“Okay, now I’m worried.”

“He’s not really like that,” I said. “Trust me, Diane.” She frowned.

“Trust you because you’ve been lying all this time?”

“Touche.”

“If you were staying, we’d have a talk about this.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I swear, he’s nice. And our planned activities are PG, I promise.”

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

From the hallway, Tomohiro cleared his throat.

“Diane!” I whined.

“Home by nine,” she said. “Or I get a shotgun.” And then she couldn’t help herself and grinned.

Small victories, I guess. It wasn’t like she was going to pull the staying-for-a-boy line on me, because I wasn’t staying.

“We’re going for kakigori, ” I said. “Um. I have my keitai with me.”

“Okay,” Diane said, but she kept staring at me. “Have a good time. I’ll call you.” She emphasized that part.

“Um, okay,” I said and closed the door behind us. I tried to punch Tomohiro in the arm, but he sidestepped it, a bright grin breaking onto his face.

“What’s that for?” he said.

“Like you don’t know! Couldn’t you have dressed like a normal person?” I swung again. He jumped back, his arms up in the air and the smirk plastered on his face.

We walked to the food floor of the department store off Miyuki Road, debating which cafe had the most impressive spread of wax desserts in their f loor-to-ceiling windows.

We ducked under the cloth noren hanging from the doorway and sat down at a table. We ordered kakigori, shaved ice, mine melon and his strawberry with extra condensed milk.

“That’s disgusting,” I said, watching him drown the syr-upy ice with runny cream.

He shrugged. “I’m not sharing.”

“I wouldn’t want any. One bite and I’ll give my grandkids cavities.”

The nightmare of the Kami and the Yakuza hovered on the edge of our memories, and I found myself wondering if it had really happened or if it had all just been a bad dream.

“Ishikawa’s getting out of the hospital this week,” he said.

“Oh.” Back to reality.

“I’ll be careful,” he said.

I mashed the melting ice with my spoon. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He finished the last bite of his kakigori and then reached across the table for mine.

“Hey!” I said, but all I could think about was the softness of his wristband against my skin as he pulled the dessert toward him.

“Don’t complain,” he said, scooping a huge bite into his mouth. “I’m saving your grandkids hundreds in dental bills.

And do you know how many calories are in this?” He squirted more condensed milk on top.

“About a hundred more now?”

“I need to bulk up for the kendo tournament.”