Chapter 4 Tattoos up the Wazoo
Tattoos Up the Wazoo
Mrs. Nakamura goes all out for my welcome-to-Tokyo dinner, but all I can think about is the mess of paper, pencils, and sketches littering my workstation.
I sit on a cushion in the Nakamuras’ dining area.
Plates of cold soba noodles are surrounded by bowls of dipping sauces and tempura veggies.
My stomach rumbles as if telling me to inhale this feast before the ice fully melts into the noodles.
Alas, all I can do is sip on the cup of mugicha and wonder how I’m supposed to sketch when I don’t even have a vision.
Mr. Nakamura’s talking about the latest baseball stats.
Judging by the fact that I have yet to see him not wear a baseball tee—a generic fashion choice, I might add—his favorite team must be winning this season.
Then Mrs. Nakamura mentions attending a book club at a new coffee shop.
And while Aiko is telling her parents about her day, I keep zoning out. That is, until she says my name.
“—don’t you think, Lilyn?”
I blink and focus on her from across the table. She’s wearing her ear-to-ear smile like she just cracked a joke. Too bad my thoughts were so far away that I didn’t hear the punch line.
“Sorry, I guess I’m more jet-lagged than I thought,” I say. It’s my excuse for everything, mostly because it’s true. “What did you say?”
“Auntie Hana’s shop,” Aiko repeats without batting an eye. “She’s got so much fabric, don’t you think?”
My mind reels back to Matsumoto Alturations.
I see ink, both painted onto fabrics and stained into skin.
My brows pinch reflexively. Ugh, why am I still thinking about Yua hours later?
I mean, it is kind of punk rock that her very presence breaks the status quo of Japanese culture.
Ma would get a kick out of that. But there’s no point in lingering on her tats when it does nothing to help me escape my rut.
“There are so many different patterns to play with,” I say, coaxing the images of the mannequins wearing kimonos back into my brain.
“I was reminded why Mrs. Matsumoto is so renowned here. She’s got an incredible eye for design.
She knows which parts of her designs are the focal points and which materials will accentuate them. Which is probably why…”
…Yua’s got an incredible eye for design, too.
At least, I imagine she does. Besides, if she helps her mother mentor, then she’s got to be good, right?
Maybe it’s the way her tattoos expertly sit in her skin.
Or maybe I’m assuming things about her because she carries herself with so much confidence.
Her body art can’t possibly be positioned this well without some sort of design know-how.
Maybe I’m thinking about her this much because I know I need help on this assignment.
But I can’t ask for help from my mentor’s daughter!
If I admit to Yua that I came to Japan without any designs, she’ll tell her mom—a mother whom I’m trying to impress.
And there’s no way Mrs. Matsumoto will call me a hardworking potential college student if she knows how underprepared I’ve been for this whole thing. My gut twists.
They’re staring at you, Lilyn. Finish your thought.
“Which is probably why…I can’t wait to get started!” I finish. “This next week is going to go by too slowly.”
No, it’s not. I’m going to blink and then I’ll be showing up at my first lesson with doodles of stick figures in my hands. They might as well be drawn out in crayon, too. Ugh, I’ll never get into CIF.
No. The stress is getting to me. I need to keep my chin up. I’ve always found a way through stressful times. I’ll think of something for this, too.
Mrs. Nakamura chuckles. “I have no doubt you’ll create some truly inspired pieces! We’ve all seen your work on social media. It’s so exciting to watch a protégée work in real time.”
I bring the small cup of mugicha to my lips so Mrs. Nakamura can’t see my grimace. I’m not a protégée, though. If I were, I’d at least have some words written for my personal essay by now.
The Nakamuras have scarfed down half their plates while I haven’t even made a dent in mine.
I grab my chopsticks and force myself to stomach the food.
At first, I’m too nauseous to even take a bite.
But the moment the tempura crumbles in my mouth, I can’t stop myself from inhaling everything else on the table.
I dip the chilled soba noodles in Mrs. Nakamura’s secret sauce and slurp them all down.
In no time, I’m pregnant with a food baby and still picking at the scallion garnish with my chopsticks.
Mrs. Nakamura gets ready for bed while Mr. Nakamura walks the dishes to the kitchen sink before following behind his wife. Aiko starts washing the dishes and, wanting to show my appreciation for the meal, I join her in the kitchen.
“You okay?” Aiko asks. She’s wearing a pair of rubber gloves and scrubbing a pan in a shallow pool of soapy water. “I could tell you were thinking about something else during dinner.”
Aiko hands me the pan, and I pat it with a cloth before hanging it on a rack to air-dry. Should I dump more onto her? Should I tell her the things I haven’t even told my own ma yet? But after I suck in a deep breath, I find myself sharing something I wasn’t expecting to.
“I already miss my ma.” There. It’s a partial truth, and a weight leaves my shoulders when the words leave my tongue.
“I miss hugging her and talking to her and being able to ask her for advice. I’m in a totally different time zone, which makes it hard to stay in touch.
I didn’t realize I’d be homesick so soon, I guess. ”
Aiko stops what she’s doing and turns off the faucet. The kitchen falls silent when the water stops running. “I know I’m not your ma, but do you want to pretend I am? Ask me for advice. I’ve been told I’m wise for my age.”
She has been right thus far. “With those rubber gloves on, you kinda do look like Ma.” I giggle. “But sure, what advice do you have for a young artist who hasn’t exactly drawn any designs but still needs to bring in sketches for her mentorship by next Monday?”
Aiko plants her rubber fists on her hips like a motherly caricature. “Young lady, you mean to tell me you haven’t done your homework?”
My smile wavers. I know Aiko is only joking around, but in a sense, yeah. No, I haven’t done my homework, and it’s biting me in the butt.
Aiko must’ve caught my expression, because she drops the character. “Well, my advice is simple.”
I arch my brows. “What is it?”
Aiko’s not smiling with her lips, but she is with her gaze. “I think I know someone who can give better advice than me. Well, and my version of your ma.”
“Who?” I lean in with my curiosity piqued.
A light shimmers behind Aiko’s eyes. And in this moment, I know who she’s going to say before she even says it. “Yua.”
My food baby kicks, and I shake my head rapidly. “What? No, I can’t do that! She’ll tell her mom I came all the way to Tokyo unprepared.”
I half expect Aiko to rub her chin in consideration, but instead she waves me off. “Yua’s said that happens a lot. Once, she even had a mentee come to Tokyo without a sewing machine.”
I snicker. At least I’m not that unprepared. I should be able to make three yukatas by the end of the summer. Still, that doesn’t mean being honest with Yua about my lack of preparedness will ensure she keeps my secret.
“If there’s anyone who knows how particular Auntie Hana can be, it’s Yua,” Aiko continues, turning back to the sink.
She dunks another pan into the soapy water and gives the sponge some elbow grease.
“Of all the mentees Auntie has had, Yua’s been her student the longest. I think that makes her a little more empathetic to your situation. ”
Aiko hands me the pan, and I dry it while lingering on her words. Yua’s received lessons from her mom her whole life. And since she knows what it’s like to be in my position, then maybe being honest will garner more sympathy than judgment.
“Are you sure I can trust her?” I finally ask. Aiko does know Yua better than I do. She’s already put herself on the line to get me one last chance with Mrs. Matsumoto. I doubt she’d give me poor advice now.
Aiko chuckles like I’ve asked her a silly question. “Oh, yes. Yua knows all about the pressure of meeting expectations.”
“Okay…Well, Yua did say that if I need to brainstorm anything, I can always swing by Cuppa Coffee. Wherever that is,” I tell her, because I know time is limited and I need to draw something now rather than wait around for inspiration to hit. Showing up with nothing is not an option.
Aiko rubs her stomach as if she didn’t just enjoy a massive dinner with me ten minutes ago. “We need to go to Cuppa Coffee, then. Tomorrow! You have to get their Japanese coffee. It’s absolutely perfect for the summer and—your life will never be the same again, Lilyn Jeong. I promise you.”
Even though I know she’s talking about how trying new foods will change me forever, meeting with Yua could also be the first step to changing me forever. Once I’ve found my muse, I can stop stressing about my college application. “Do you want to go in the morning?”
Aiko’s stomach gurgles before she says, “If they weren’t closed at this hour, I’d say we swing by now for some dessert. But it’s fine; they open again at nine.”
Tomorrow morning seems so far away. For a whole night, I’ll be wondering what I’ll do if talking to Yua doesn’t help with my college application.
What if she only reminds me of how in over my head I really am?
I mean, everything I know about sewing has come from YouTube tutorials and social media influencers.
Am I even ready to study at a place as prestigious as CIF? Or under a mentor like Hana Matsumoto?
I distract myself from my thoughts by reaching for a plate to dry, but Aiko pats me on the shoulder.