Chapter 1 At Least It’s Not Delaware #2
Ma waves her hand at me. Despite my setting very clear boundaries, she’s not going to listen.
Ma has been trying to set me up with someone ever since I came out at fourteen.
It was around that time that Whitney and Archi both had a crush on the same boy in class, and, try as I might, I just couldn’t see what was so attractive about him.
But Sally Sayashi, the lead singer of my favorite J-rock band?
She’s who I imagined I was kissing every time I practiced on my hand.
“You say you want to date a girl, but where is your girlfriend, huh?”
I face-palm. Leave it to Ma to practically scream those words in public like she has zero self-awareness. Thanks, Mother.
“Look, just because you’re good at bouncing around from person to person, that doesn’t mean I am, too,” I say, peeling my hand off my face.
“I’m not rebounding.” Ma huffs then cocks her head to the side as if wondering if she used that term correctly. She didn’t, but it’s not like I keep up with modern slang, anyway. That’s too mainstream, and I refuse to uphold the status quo. “I’m having fun. And this summer, you should, too.”
Has she seriously forgotten the real reason I’m going to Japan?
My future is on the line! I should’ve prepared for my departure better.
I had months to design my application collection, but every time I scrolled the internet for inspiration, nothing felt right.
There’s so much that goes into Asian fashion—culture, material, storytelling—it’s impossible to settle on one idea.
But that’s what CIF is asking for. I call myself a designer, but am I really cut out for this if I can’t think up three dress ideas for my CIF application?
“I’m not rebounding romances this summer,” I say with a smug smile. “I’ll be too busy with my mentorship to even explore Tokyo.”
Ma does that thing where she clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “You’ll be busy, yes. But you never know when you’ll fall in love. It just happens, whether you plan it or not.”
I sigh. There’s no getting through to her, is there?
We may look alike, but that’s where the similarities end.
She’s the dog energy to my cat. She’s the Taiwanese to my American.
And by now, she’s dated so many men that the only ones I remember are the ones who bribed me with chocolate scones or strawberry rhubarb muffins.
Every weekend, it’s someone new. I love that for her.
And for my taste buds. She’s never been a traditional mom because she’s punk through and through.
But I’m not really someone who wants to hop around from relationship to relationship.
One and done for me. My first girlfriend will be my last girlfriend—my forever girl.
Besides, the societal pressure to date around has always felt exhausting to me.
For a while, I thought I was a demisexual lesbian because of that.
But now that I’m older and wiser, I’ve realized not wanting to date around isn’t a reflection of my sexuality.
It probably stems from watching Ma’s love life and wondering what it would’ve been like if she’d settled down with at least one guy. My dad, to be specific.
“TAKE YOUR LAPTOPS AND ELECTRONICS OUT OF YOUR BAG!” a stout man in a blue uniform shouts with bravado.
Ma and I have almost made it to the front of the TSA checkpoint. Once the agent scans my boarding pass, that will be it. Ma will have to turn around and exit the line while I move on without her. She’ll be alone for the summer, and I’ll be on my way to my host family’s home.
The Nakamuras have been emailing me about my flight and accommodations ever since Odyssey Global finalized my study abroad program.
Since they’ve hosted other American students in the past, Mrs. Nakamura has been on top of everything, offering up answers to questions I didn’t even know to ask.
If it wasn’t for them and their connections with my school, this whole thing wouldn’t be possible.
But because of the time zones, it’s been difficult to keep in contact with Mrs. Nakamura about my final travel plans.
She still hasn’t replied to my last email.
Will I even have a ride from the airport once I land?
Or what if I got the time and dates all wrong?
Chill, Lilyn. The last thing I need to do is spiral. I’m only freaking out because I’ve had all this time to think up a theme for my application and I still haven’t come up with anything. But I will soon. I have to.
I pull out my phone and refresh my email, hoping for a response from Mrs. Nakamura that will make it feel like I have two lungs full of air. Nothing.
No big deal, right? It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo, anyway. She’ll respond when she wakes up. But I’ll be in California by then.
I can’t think about it anymore, so I hand my phone to Ma. “Can you record me?”
Ma takes my device, and I step back, finding the space in this crowded line.
I owe most of my social media virality to her.
She knows my best angles and will make me do multiple takes to ensure perfection.
Plus, it helps that she’s obsessed with Chinese social media trends.
Those influencers come up with the best transition videos.
“Ready?” Ma asks. The camera is at the height of my head but slightly tilted down so my followers can see my qipao.
I nod, ready to march forward and give the camera a twirl. “I am.”
Many hours later, my flight lands in Tokyo, and the pilot tells the passengers that the local time is 3:12 a.m. I’m a mix of wired and tired.
All I want to do is curl up in my seat and take a nap.
But at the same time, my butt is cramped from sitting in economy for twelve hours straight.
No matter how many times I stretch my arms over my head, I can’t seem to get the blood flowing back into my extremities.
The plane docks, and the passengers rise from their seats looking like zombies.
My kind of people. The moment I step off the aircraft, I note how empty this airport is compared to my layover at LAX, and how the signs are written in both English letters and Japanese characters.
I have to figure out how I’m supposed to get to the Nakamuras’ house from here.
I find a seat in the terminal and gaze out a window with a view of the giant airplane I just disembarked.
The sprawling Tokyo lights had fanned out beneath me on my arrival.
I even caught the faint outline of Mount Fuji just before the plane landed.
But now that I’m here, I can’t see the skyscrapers and veins of city streets.
Instead, I take a picture of my plane and send it to Ma—wait, what time is it in DC?
I take my phone off airplane mode and hope that by now, Mrs. Nakamura has replied to my email.
While my phone reconnects, my foot thumps. I nibble on my lip while I wait. Finally, the texts roll in.
Ma: I love you! Have a safe flight
This house is too quiet without you
Are you in Japan yet?
Lilyn: Just landed
Now that I know I’ve sent Ma a photo of my boring plane, I swipe over to my emails.
Please, let there be a response from Mrs. Nakamura.
If not, I might have to spend the night at this terminal and find a coveted charging port for my dying phone.
Relief fills me when I see a new notification in my inbox.
I tap on it quickly and skim the message.
Hi, Lilyn!
Glad to hear you landed in California safely, and thank you for sending over your flight details. I’ll make sure we’re at the airport before 3 a.m. local time to pick you up. My daughter, Aiko, has been looking forward to meeting you. We’ll be waiting for you in the arrival hall.
Welcome to Japan,
Mrs. Nakamura
Thank God. I slump back against the seat as the pressure in my chest deflates. This has to be a good sign, right? I may not know the exact vision I want to share with the CIF admissions committee, but at least my housing accommodations are in order.
My phone buzzes again. I think it’s Ma texting that she’s glad I got to Japan safely.
But when I peer down at my phone screen, it’s a message from an unsaved number.
And judging by the eighty-one in front of an unfamiliar area code, this is a text from a Japanese number.
Maybe it’s Mrs. Nakamura, though I don’t remember giving her my cell.
Unknown: Hello, Lilyn. This is Hana Matsumoto, your mentor for this summer. I have emailed you three times regarding your schedule and have received no response.
This is my last attempt to contact you about your mentorship. I have planned your first lesson for the day after your arrival, June 3 at 8 a.m. sharp. I am a businesswoman, and I value my time. Do not waste it.
My stomach and my heart switch places. Wait—what?
I sit up straight and read the text over and over again, as if that will change the words.
This can’t be happening. I was on top of everything—well, almost everything.
How have I missed these emails from my own mentor?
Though, now that I think about it, why wasn’t I in contact with her from the beginning like I was with Mrs. Nakamura?
My fingers are icicles, but somehow, I find the strength to slide back into my emails. There’s nothing marked unread. That is, until I swipe over to my spam folder.
Oh.
No.
Three emails. All from an address that never made it to my inbox. The fact that she even texted me after all this feels like a miracle.
Without a mentor, I won’t have the resources I need to make my collection. I won’t even have the coveted letter of recommendation. This whole trip will have been for nothing.
It’s three a.m., but I text back anyway. I’m flustered, I’m jet-lagged, but none of that matters. I can’t mess this opportunity up.
Lilyn: I’m so so so sorry, Mrs. Matsumoto! I never saw your emails. I will be there tomorrow at 8 a.m. sharp.
I’m about to hit send when a tiny voice in the back of my head says that I need to double-check the time. The last thing I need is to confirm the wrong dates. When I glance at today’s date, my stomach drops again.
Today is June 4. I must’ve gotten this text while I was in a different time zone. My first meeting with Hana Matsumoto has already passed. And by the looks of things, I’m not getting another chance.