“An Asian Hollywood princess,” Belle murmurs.
“Over the years, she kept asking when she could come back,” Auntie Suzy says. “When she could finally be a mother to you. I always said the time wasn’t right.”
Auntie Suzy pauses again, taking deep breaths. Then she forces herself to turn and meet my eyes.
“This is where I went wrong, Rika-chan, but you must understand that it didn’t seem that way at the time. The years stretched on and . . . it was never the right time. I’d finally made a place in the community for myself—for our family. Our restaurant was thriving. I felt like I belonged, at last. And you seemed to be doing so well—you had judo and your sisters, and you were so”—she smiles a little—“so fierce. Your spirit was one of the boldest I’d ever seen. I didn’t want to disrupt any of that—I couldn’t bring myself to rock the boat. We’d fought so hard . . .” She trails off, bowing her head. “And there were other complications as well. The backstory Grace’s Hollywood people invented for her was completely made up, no mention of Little Tokyo or her secret child. She kept talking about how this would have to be done a certain way—there would be some kind of big-deal publicity photo shoot, revealing you. You would suddenly be in the public eye, exposed. Everything about you would be scrutinized, picked apart. You were still so little, I couldn’t imagine . . .” She shakes her head, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I could not see how that would be good for you. Grace and I finally had a huge fight when you were five. Twelve years ago. And I told her that she could keep the money she had started to send back, we didn’t need it. We haven’t spoken since.”
Auntie Suzy pauses for so long, I think maybe that’s the end of the story—appropriately bittersweet. But then her mouth curves into the most wistful of smiles.
“But I could never resist watching her movies. I felt like I was finally seeing her get the happy ending she’d always deserved. And that I was still connected to the person I’d once been closer to than anyone in the world.”
I think of how Auntie Suzy always looks at the end of a Grace Kimura movie—tears in her eyes, that same wistful smile lighting her face. I always thought she was crying because of the cheesy romantic beauty of it all—but she was crying for so much more.
Auntie Suzy meets my eyes again. “I’m so sorry, Rika-chan. I don’t think I can ever make up for what I’ve cost you. You must know that I always did what I thought was best for you. You were your mother’s complete opposite when you came out—red-faced, screaming, always so angry. But I knew you were going to fight hard for everything, just like she did. And I loved you as immediately and fiercely as I loved her.”
Auntie Suzy’s eyes fill with tears again, and she gives me a wavery smile.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Silence falls over the crowd, enveloping us like a blanket. I just stare at Auntie Suzy. I barely remember anyone else is in the room.
I don’t know what to do next, so I let pure instinct guide me. I give Rory’s hand a squeeze and pass her my nure-onna shirt, then slip out of the booth, gathering my big skirts around me. I slowly cross the room to Auntie Suzy, my eyes never leaving hers. I stand in front of her for a long moment, still not sure exactly what I’m doing. She draws herself up a little taller, like she’s bracing herself. Waiting for a fight. Because she knows I’m always ready for a fight.
I should be angry with her. After hearing that story, my kaiju-temper should be raging to get out. But all I see when I look at her is the girl she used to be, the girl who fought like hell for everything. Who fought like hell for me. And yes, who’s made a bunch of mistakes along the way, but mistakes always tend to happen when you’re fighting so damn hard. I know that better than anyone.
I thought I was waiting for someone to want me. But all this time, someone did.
I take another step forward, closing the distance between us.
And then I collapse against her, throwing my arms around her waist and burying my face in her shoulder. I let out a long, shuddering sob—something that feels like it’s been bottled up inside me for the past seventeen years.
“I love you so much,” I whisper.
“Oh, Rika,” she says, stroking my hair. “Rika-chan.”
“Wait, I have a question!” a little voice yells, puncturing the moment.
Auntie Suzy and I look up from our embrace to see Rory jumping to her feet, planting her hands on her hips in indignation.
“Why didn’t anyone in Little Tokyo recognize Grace when she became a big star?” She narrows her eyes at some of the older people in the room. “I mean, none of you thought it was odd that this supposedly dead outcast girl was suddenly on all your movie screens?”
“Years had passed by then,” Auntie Suzy says. “She looked just different enough that people could pretend like they’d forgotten about tragic little Grace Rakuyama.”
“Hmph,” Auntie Och snorts, getting to her feet. “It was also shame.” She glares at everyone else. “This community was ashamed of that lost girl who got pregnant, ne? They treat her like garbage, then she die. When she shows up again in the movies . . .” Auntie Och shrugs. “Easier to act like they never see her before. Easier to pretend she’s a whole new person.” Her glare intensifies, and some people in the room can’t help but shrink away from it. “We have too many secrets. Too
