Chapter 13 Come on, Get down with the Homesickness #2
“Okāsan!” She waves at her mother, gesturing for her to come down to the shop. But as she does so, the sleeve of her shirt slides down. Orange scales and the saturated blue water of her dragon tattoo appear for a millisecond. And then they’re gone.
My teeth clench, and my attention darts to Mrs. Matsumoto; her gaze is steely. Though it’s always steely.
I swallow the lump in my throat and look back to Yua. If Mrs. Matsumoto saw what I saw, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sighs and turns to me. “Stay here, Lilyn. A client is asking for me. When I am done, we will pick out three yukatas to make from your portfolio. Understood?”
A smile springs to my cheeks. Yes! I’m so elated, I almost forget about Yua’s exposed tattoo. Almost.
Mrs. Matsumoto descends the stairs, and Yua follows her. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, but it’s strange to stand up here waiting. I slip my yukata back into its plastic bag and hang it on the coat rack.
I shouldn’t snoop, but this is Yua’s home!
Once we tell her mom that we’re dating, I’ll probably be spending more time up here, anyway.
I might as well familiarize myself with it now.
Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion that Mrs. Matsumoto has bones surrounding the den she calls a bedroom.
At least after a quick look I’ll be able to put that theory to rest.
I wander around, searching for bedroom doors. I only find another set of stairs leading up to the third floor. I’m tempted to climb them when a wooden dresser catches my eye.
Yua’s family has an ancestral shrine in their living area, just like Ma and I do.
A heavy wooden dresser leans against the wall while old photographs of her deceased relatives face me in diluted black and white.
There are so many photographs that they can’t all fit on the shrine.
Some of them are hung on the walls around it.
Grandfathers in graduation gowns. Grandmothers in red bridal kimonos as intricate as Amah’s.
Aunties and uncles gathered around a table full of food.
At least, I imagine they’re aunties and uncles
I’m examining Yua’s family portraits when I remember what she said to me at the coffee shop.
About her choice between following her dream and becoming a tattoo artist or doing her duty and taking on the boutique when her mother retires.
What must it be like to sit at this dining table every day and see her ancestors staring back at her, knowing where her heart lies and wondering what will become of their legacy?
A bell jingles somewhere below my feet. The patron must’ve left, which means Mrs. Matsumoto will come back for me at any second.
I pull away from the shrine and wander over to the stairwell, not wanting to get caught being too nosy.
I strain my ears, eager for her to call me down so we can begin sorting through my designs and pulling fabrics. Instead, I hear muffled yelling.
I’m frozen at the top of the stairs. I can’t see the boutique from here, but I can’t mistake the undeniable sound of Mrs. Matsumoto speaking in rapid Japanese. And I can’t mistake Yua speaking in the same tone to her mother.
I know I shouldn’t listen. It’s not like I can understand what they’re fighting about, anyway. But something tells me that Mrs. Matsumoto did see that tattoo.
The shop door opens. The bell chimes again. Then the door slams shut so hard, I can feel the wood rock beneath my feet. Silence. Something tells me that Yua isn’t here anymore.
I’m holding my breath to better hear the sounds coming upstairs. Footsteps. Heavy ones. Mrs. Matsumoto. She’s dragging her feet like she’s exhausted from a long day of labor, even though it’s only lunchtime.
“Lilyn?” she calls up to me before appearing at the base of the stairs.
I hurry down, pep in my step. I didn’t just hear a fight. I’m here to make clothes.
“Yes?” I say, faking a smile even though all I want to do is look around the shop for Yua. Is she okay? When I don’t see any rainbow-haired silhouettes moving by the mannequins, I know my hunch was right. She’s gone.
Mrs. Matsumoto massages her temples. “An emergency came up. I will have to postpone today’s lesson until next Monday.
In the meantime, I’ll send you home with some translated books on sericulture to read.
Your school sends me so many students, I’ve had to keep them on hand for moments such as this.
Then you can focus on writing your essay, understood? ”
My jaw is slack. I want to protest, but there’s a tired look in Mrs. Matsumoto’s eyes. The bags underneath are sunken, and the wrinkles around the corners carve out like spiderwebs. If this is how bad she looks after one fight with her daughter, then I can only imagine how Yua’s feeling right now.
I nod politely. “I understand.”
Mrs. Matsumoto guides me back down the stairs and into her workshop.
She grabs the books on silk production off her personal bookshelf, moving like an emotionless robot.
As tempted as I am to ask her how she’s feeling, I keep my mouth shut and instead focus on the books she’s lending me.
After she loads them up inside a tote, I take them from her and throw the bag over my shoulder.
The moment I’m out of the shop, I pull out my phone and find Yua’s name.