Chapter 2 Sayonara, Tokyo
Sayonara, Tokyo
I’m standing in the arrival hall with my massive suitcase, but I’m caught in a fog.
There’s a part of me that wants to record myself meeting the Nakamuras.
I’m sure Ma and my followers would love to see every second of my time in Japan.
But there’s another part of me that can’t move.
Can’t think. Can’t comprehend that I’m lucky enough to have this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Even though I’m the one who messed it up.
Despite the rocks knocking around in my stomach, I manage a smile for the slender woman wearing a brown cardigan.
She materializes from my haze and introduces herself as Mrs. Nakamura.
This whole time, I imagined a little old Asian lady with hair just as gray as Amah’s.
But when she shakes my hand, I realize she’s been a white, middle-aged woman this entire time.
Then it dawns on me. She mentioned that she’d met Mr. Nakamura while he was stationed at the Navy base in Seattle.
After traveling the world, they finally settled in Tokyo to be closer to Mr. Nakamura’s extended family.
Mrs. Nakamura says something and gestures to a girl my age.
This must be Aiko, but none of it registers.
I do my best to maintain my smile, but even as she hugs me and squeals about how excited she is to get to know me, I can’t stop thinking about how I’ve missed my first meeting with my mentor. My shot at getting into CIF is over.
Aiko rolls my suitcase as I follow her mom outside to the line of waiting taxis.
A driver loads up my possessions while Aiko and I slide into the back seat.
She’s rambling about the summer, but all I want to do is cry my face off to Whitney and Archi.
Since they are a grade above me, I got to see them have incredible experiences during their respective study abroad programs. They’ve been so excited for me to follow in their footsteps as an incoming senior. But now…
“Lilyn?”
An unfamiliar voice cuts through my thoughts.
Aiko peers at me from the opposite end of the cab.
The lights at the terminal catch in her rose gold hair, which looks like it was freshly dyed for the summer.
Even her brows are rosy, and only a sliver of her naturally dark roots is showing.
She smiles at me with a set of big front teeth and even bigger canines. “Jet-lagged?”
I shake the fog from my mind. Should I tell her what’s really going on? I don’t know her, but I am in a crisis, and I have nothing more to lose. “No. Well, yes.” I sigh, not wanting to say what I have to. The moment these words leave me, they’ll be real. “I think I lost my mentorship.”
Aiko tilts her head to the side. She sits there like she’s waiting for me to continue. But when I don’t, she finally asks, “What do you mean?”
I hand Aiko my phone. Her deep brown eyes skim over the words. She reads the text message once more before sucking in a big breath. Great. That’s exactly the reaction I need. I messed up, but nothing says You’re screwed, Lilyn like Aiko’s expression right now.
“Auntie Hana can be kind of uppity, but I’m her favorite.
She’s been a family friend since long before I was born.
Her daughter and I are practically sisters!
Let me take you to her boutique tomorrow—or, well, later today.
” Aiko twists her face into a reassuring smile and returns my phone.
“I’ll explain everything to her. Don’t worry about it.
You booked the wrong date for your flight, and the time zone change didn’t help. She’ll understand.”
I blink at Aiko. Is she serious? I didn’t respond to the four attempts Mrs. Matsumoto made to contact me, and all it takes to rectify that is one quick chat?
The logical part of me is doubtful, but I’m too exhausted to dwell on much else.
A flicker of hope rises in my chest, and I hold on to that.
I’m not giving up without a fight. CIF is the only school that specializes in what I want to study. I have to get in.
It’s almost four in the morning when the taxi driver pulls up to the Nakamura house.
The streets are much quieter now that we’re away from the airport and central Tokyo.
Electrical wires line the sidewalks from overhead while low clouds reflect a shade of orange emitted by the city lights.
Their home is a modern design made up of two floors, each with a patio overlooking the street.
Unlike suburban houses in the US, this one doesn’t have a yard.
There’s no grass, but there are plenty of potted plants and trees on their patios.
Maybe it’s the darkness, but it takes me a while to figure out where their house stops and where their neighbors’ homes begin.
I thank the cab driver with a quick arigatō-gozaimasu—it’s one of the few Japanese phrases I know.
If I didn’t learn Mandarin with Ma in the house, how am I supposed to pick up Japanese?
With three different writing systems and various levels of honorifics, there’s no way I’ll grasp enough of it to get around without the Nakamuras.
Though, while we were driving, I did notice quite a bit of English under the street signs written in what looked like kanji.
Hopefully, that will be enough to prevent me from getting lost like Whitney did in Paris.
I roll my suitcase up the cement walkway and into the Nakamuras’ home. Aiko helps me haul my luggage up to the second floor. Mrs. Nakamura shows me to the guest room, then immediately goes to bed. I don’t blame her. Who wants to be awake at this hour?
Aiko flicks the lights on to my new tatami room.
Mats made of rice straw and soft rush grass lie across the cozy space.
Shoji screens cover the windows. They give me privacy and hide me from the golden glow hovering over the city.
The beige walls and brown wood accents aren’t black enough for my taste, but I can get used to it.
Especially since the sticky humidity and the potted greenery are kind of like visiting my family in Taipei.
Minus the lush green mountains and boba shops everywhere.
Either way, I’m clearly not in America anymore.
“I hope you don’t mind that I set up your futon before we picked you up at the airport,” Aiko says, sitting down beside my sleeping arrangements in the center of the floor.
“I figured you’d be too tired to put an entire futon together.
Especially if you’ve never done it before.
Just remind me to show you how to put it away in the morning. ”
I thank Aiko, even though I don’t have the heart to tell her that the futon is so small and thin, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep on it with all the support that my gargoyle posture needs.
“Okay, so now that it’s just us…I gotta ask. Is it true that you’re internet famous?” Aiko says when I say nothing more.
It’s not exactly the conversation I want to have at this hour, but I push my luggage over to the closet with the sliding door and reply anyway. “If having 189,000 followers counts as internet famous, then yeah. I guess.”
“What’s your at?” Aiko asks, eyes flashing.
How does she have this much energy right now?
I tell her, and Aiko squeals so loudly, I have to slam my hands over my ears.
“Okay, I just wanted to make sure I followed the right account. When I heard you were coming, I obviously had to look you up on, like, every social media platform, and WOW! It’s like I have a literal celebrity in my home, and—oh my God—we are going to have so much fun this summer! ”
The moon is still out, and I’m nowhere near as enthusiastic as Aiko is right now.
Or ever. But her energy is a breath of fresh air from the storm that’s been raining on me.
Between leaving Ma for the first time, having to deal with the time zone differences, and missing my mentor’s emails, I’ve been drowning in anxiety.
But if Aiko is as close to Mrs. Matsumoto as she says, then maybe all is not lost. I just need to wait until they talk.
“I’m really not that big compared to other influencers.
” I pull my stuffed bat, Boba, out of my suitcase first and set him on my new futon.
The world would burn in hellfire before I left him in DC.
“You know, my virality is only thanks to my ma. She’s the one who suggested I post my handmade hanfu online.
She directed my first video and everything. ”
“You went viral on your first try? Okay, now I must find that video.” Aiko flips onto her stomach and goes into hardcore FBI mode. Her hair falls across her shoulders, and she pinches her thin lips like that will help her scroll faster.
I set my second piece of luggage on the tatami and flip it open.
A workbench has been tucked into the corner of the room where the hardwood isn’t covered by tatami.
It’s big enough for me to set my sewing machine on it.
There’s even a little hanger on the wall beside my new desk.
It’s probably meant to hang coats, but instead, I drape Whitney’s lavender Polaroid over it.
This poor camera has seen better days. Scuff marks bruise the corners, and a dark spot stains the shutter button from months of use.
Since the device is mine for the summer, I gave it the Lilyn touch by crocheting a black strap for it.
But I did that back when I thought I’d be here for the summer.
Now I don’t know if I’ll even be here long enough to see the weekend.
Aiko gasps, her brown eyes bigger than Boba’s. “I found it!”
She taps the video. The audio is a remix of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” I don’t need to look over Aiko’s shoulder to know what happens in my own video. It’s only twenty-five seconds long and features four of my handmade gowns inspired by the seasons.