“Henry,” I gasp. “Hold my hand.”
I shove my sweaty hand in his direction, and he grabs it just in time. Just as the coaster dumps us over the edge.
And then we’re falling, falling, fucking falling . . .
A scream tears itself from my throat.
As we careen toward the ground, the ocean, where are we even going, I don’t know anymore, I am flooded with every single feeling I’ve been trying to hold back all week.
My frustration and rage at not being able to find my mother. My desperate hope to belong with someone, to be wanted, to finally get that piece that will make me whole. My giddiness when Henry looks at me in that certain way.
All of these things course through my blood, through my bones, through my entire being. That door to my heart feels like it’s flying open, reckless and free.
We keep falling, and I scream and I scream and I scream. I can’t seem to stop. All of this has to come out.
And as tears stream down my cheeks, a realization hits me square in the chest.
I do want that happy ending, goddammit.
I want to feel whole, complete. I want that dreamy moment that ends every Grace Kimura movie. I want it so badly, and as we plunge to our possible deaths in the sea, I can no longer deny that. Not even a little bit.
I want it with all I have, everything that’s in my heart, all of these feelings that are flooding through me.
I throw my head back and scream again, and Henry squeezes my hand tight.
We finally hit the bottom of the drop, and the car shifts to a flatter track, towing us back to the start.
“Amazing,” Henry says, pumping his fist as we exit the car. His other hand is still clasping mine—I can’t seem to let go.
“Are you okay?” he says, as we make our way back to the boardwalk area. “Was that . . .” He stops and faces me, his expression concerned. “Was that all right?”
I meet his eyes. Take in a few deep breaths. Reach up and smooth his hair, hopelessly mussed from the coaster.
“It was more than all right,” I say slowly. My voice is hoarse, my throat raw. I nearly screamed myself into oblivion. “It was so . . . exhilarating. Liberating.” I give him a small smile. “I can’t really explain how I feel about anything specific right now, but I do feel like I let some things out that needed to get out.”
I raise our clasped hands between us.
“Thank you for holding my hand.”
He smiles and brushes his lips against my knuckles.
“Come on,” he says. “We’ve definitely earned some fried cheese.”
The Hot Dog on a Stick stand—which is apparently the original Hot Dog on a Stick stand; all mall kiosks are mere pale imitations—is a bit off the pier and the boardwalk, a cheery red-and-yellow hut plonked down right next to the beach.
It’s so weird—I’ve lived in LA all my life and never been to the pier, or this stand. I always assumed it would be annoying and loud and touristy and that I’d hate every second. And maybe I would have, if I hadn’t come here with Henry.
We get a cheese stick for him and a corndog for me (I can’t quite bring myself to commit to his fried-cheese lifestyle) and a giant lemonade to share. Then we walk out into the sand, and he spreads his jacket on the ground for us to sit on.
“I’ll give you this,” Henry says, waving his cheese stick at the ocean. “New York does not have sunsets like this. This is incredible.”
He takes a bite of his cheese, settles himself back on his elbows, and grins at the horizon. The sun isn’t really fighting to stay today. It’s more like she’s trying to put on the most majestic show she can manage. Sinking toward the ground with her brilliance painting the sky glorious shades of pink and yellow and orange. Showing us her beauty in one all-consuming explosion of light.
I take a bite of my corndog, reveling in the greasy mix of slightly sweet bread and salty hot dog. And for a moment, we just watch, easy silence settling between us like the softest of blankets. I slip my shoes off and let my toes sink into the sand, still warm from baking all day.
There’s a sense of calm at my center, after screaming all my feelings out on the roller coaster. Like the door to my heart is just sitting there now, open. And the nure-onna doesn’t seem to mind at all.
My gaze slides to Henry.
“Hey,” I murmur to him. “I was just thinking: What if I don’t find Grace?”
He flips onto his side, his brows drawing together. “You will.”
“But what if I don’t?” I say. “I . . .” I play with my now hot-dog-less stick, twirling it through my fingers. That sense of calm surges through me again. “I think maybe it would be okay.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
I turn back to the brilliant sunset, taking it in. “I keep looking for her,” I say slowly, “but I think I’ve been looking for something else this whole time. Something bigger. And it was easy to put that all into one person, this mysterious figure who I actually know nothing about.”
“Like she represented something?” Henry says.
“Yes. Because like I said before, I thought finding her would magically solve all my problems. I’d feel like I belonged somewhere, with someone. I wouldn’t stick out so much, because everyone would know who I belonged with. I’d stop feeling like the only one with a bad temper, like a constant disruption, like . . .” My throat thickens, and I swallow. “Like a mistake,” I manage. “But . . .” The beginnings of tears burn my eyes, and I swallow again. “I don’t know. The past few days . . . Sensei Mary and Eliza welcoming me back with open arms. My sisters telling me all the ways they feel
