“There are no ditches in Little Tokyo!” Rory yells. They sound like they’re on speaker. “And if she was dead, she wouldn’t have answered her phone!”
“I’m not dead!” I squeak. “And I’m not in a ditch. And . . .” I pause and take a deep breath, the truth of the photo sinking into my bones. I can’t stop myself from blurting it out. “I think Grace Kimura is my mother.”
FIVE
“Get in here.” Rory grabs my free hand and tows me inside, her face scrunched into a look of extreme determination. “Belle’s creating a diversion,” she hisses as I slip my shoes off and she leads me down the hall toward our living room.
“A diversion?” I say. In spite of my current state of total confusion about . . . well, so many things, I can’t help but smile a little. Rory’s in what Belle and I call Super Sleuth Girl Detective mode—so single-minded in her pursuit of whatever goal has captured her fancy that she starts going all Nancy Drew and shit.
“Yes.” Rory gives me a curt nod as she continues stomping down the hall. “So we can have a Sister Conference.”
“You didn’t tell the Aunties, right?” I say, momentary worry skittering through me.
After I’d given Belle and Rory a blabbery, incoherent version of my conclusions over the phone, they’d told me to come home immediately so we could discuss. But I’d insisted they not say anything to Auntie Suzy and Auntie Och, because . . . well. I didn’t even know where to begin.
I mean, if my theory’s correct, Auntie Suzy has basically lied to me all my life about who my mother is and, you know, the fact that she isn’t dead, and—
Ugh.
I can’t think about any of this without my brain spiraling in a million different directions, my kaiju-temper threatening to flare up and destroy everything around me. No, I can’t ask the Aunties about this yet. I feel like I’ll explode.
“Hi, Moms!” Rory says loudly, stomping her way into the living room. “Rika’s back. She has food.”
Auntie Suzy and Auntie Och look up from their respective TV trays. Since our living room is also our dining room, everyone has their own TV tray, although we’re not actually allowed to watch TV during dinner (an issue Rory vehemently protests every chance she gets). I meet Auntie Suzy’s gaze and immediately look away. All I see now is that girl from the photo, smiling like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Leave food here,” Auntie Och says, tapping her TV tray. “Belle-chan needs you. She’s in her room.”
“Needs . . . me?” I say, my voice tipping up at the end.
“She is having some kind of crisis,” Auntie Suzy says, her brows drawing together. “A teenage crisis. That she couldn’t talk to us about.”
“So dramatic, ne?” Auntie Och says with a snort. “Everything is crisis. When I was younger, we shove it down, act like everything is okay. Then started plotting revenge on whoever wronged us.”
“Come on,” Rory tugs my sleeve, waggling her eyebrows at me meaningfully. They’re bouncing up and down so much, they look like overcaffeinated caterpillars.
Oh—this must be Belle’s diversion. So we can have a Sister Conference. Or Sister-Cousin Who Just Found Out Her Mom Is Possibly Alive and Also Possibly One of the Most Famous Movie Stars on the Planet Conference.
I allow Rory to drag me down another narrow hall in our apartment, to Belle’s bedroom. Belle whips the door open just as we arrive. Nak comes trotting up to me, barking his tiny head off. He’s wearing a pink doggie sweatsuit that’s identical to the human-sized one Belle is wearing—probably part of an Instagram shoot. Belle is on a quest to make her dog an influencer and nobody’s going to stop her. Except maybe Nak himself, who objects to the multitude of outfits and photo shoots his would-be stardom seems to involve. Even now, he stops barking for a second to gnaw at his sweatsuit’s tiny sleeve.
“God, Rika!” Belle exclaims, pulling me and Rory inside and slamming the door behind us. “Rory and I had to work overtime to make the moms believe you hadn’t been murdered or something. And then we had to set everything up just right.”
“Set everything up for what?” I say. “I thought we were just going to talk—”
“Mostly, yes,” Rory says, her eyes darting back and forth. “I have to go do one thing.”
“I’m not even going to ask,” I say, slumping on the bed as she stomps out of the room.
“Let me see,” Belle says, holding out a hand.
I fish the photo out of my pocket and hand it to her. Her eyes get all big.
“Holy shit,” she says. “That is totally Grace Kimura. And Mom.”
She stares at the photo for a moment, her expression shifting as her world adjusts. After all, this means Auntie Suzy lied to her, too. Unless . . .
“You didn’t know about this, did you?” I demand.
“Rika-chan.” Belle’s face goes deathly serious, and she sets the photo to the side. “Of course not. I would never.” She reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the family iPad—a gadget of questionable repute that Auntie Och won in an eBay auction. Nak, apparently forgiving her for trying to make him a star, snuggles up next to her. “Also, do you really think I’d be able to keep my cool over the fact that I might be related to Grace Kimura?”
“Point,” I murmur as she unlocks the screen.
It is weird, though, the way the whole family is obsessed with Grace Kimura. Did Auntie Suzy do that on purpose—like, get Belle and Rory way into those rom-coms at a young age so she could follow her sister’s illustrious career? Does Auntie Och know about this, even? I mean, she must . . .
I guess that explains why my mother’s death was so shrouded in secrecy, why there was no funeral, why it was like she just disappeared. Because she did just disappear—only to be
