Chapter 14 Is There a Problem Mochi Can’t Solve?
Is There a Problem Mochi Can’t Solve?
The chains on the swing at Tenno Park groan as I rock forward and back.
The tote full of Mrs. Matsumoto’s books sits on the mulch, leaning against the foot of the swing set.
Kids giggle while running through the waterfall cascading at the splash pad.
It should be a welcome sight, but their happy screams are outweighed by the heaviness in my chest. I’m down the street from Matsumoto Alturations, hoping someone will call me back there.
But instead of returning, I’m staring at my phone, rereading the paragraphs I texted Yua.
Lilyn: Hey, are you all right? I heard arguing downstairs and then the door slammed. Your mom is postponing our lesson until next week, so it seems like it was a big fight. Just checking in to see if you’re okay.
Did you get in trouble for your tattoo? Did that customer notice? I hope you’re okay. I’m at Tenno Park if you want to talk.
I don’t know if you told your mom about us dating. She looked upset when she came back to me. Please let me know what I can do for you.
Maybe I’m not getting a response because my cell service sucks here. Or what if her phone broke? What if she left it at home? What’s really going on?
I scuff the mulch as I swing down. I should’ve gotten international minutes before flying out to Japan, but that would’ve been too expensive for Ma’s phone plan.
I’m itching to call Yua instead of texting, but I can’t do that without Wi-Fi.
I know I should go back to the Nakamuras’ place to get a better signal, but my shoes hang on my feet like boulders.
There’s a chance Yua is nearby. What if she responds but I’m already gone?
A part of me feels like Yua’s trying to tell me she needs to be alone. Every time I think about something else, like the hot sun roasting my head or the lump of mulch that has somehow found its way into my shoe, my thoughts go back to Yua.
Ma’s the only other person I want to be with right now, but once more, I’m stuck without service. If I could call her, I imagine she’d tell me what she’s already said before: When they stop being happy, I leave.
Now, more than ever, I understand what she means. Because leaving someone when something goes wrong means not having to feel this. And yet, I can’t just move on. How can my mother drop her partners like they mean nothing?
My phone buzzes, and I hold it up to my nose, heart hammering like I’ve injected coffee straight into my veins.
Yua: I need some space right now
Sorry
I drag my heels against the mulch, stopping the swing. I know she just said she needs space, and yet my thumbs are vibrating, anxious to hammer out a response. But the longer I sit here rereading her text, the stronger another sensation burns behind my eyes.
Seriously? Did she not see the paragraphs I sent her? Does she not know I’m sitting here worried about her? And this is the response I get? I’m clenching my phone so tightly, my knuckles cramp. Suddenly, nothing’s weighing me down. I’m lighter than a feather.
Fine, Yua. Fine.
If that’s what she wants, then that’s what she gets.
I grab my bag and march out of the park, thinking that maybe I am more like my mother than I ever imagined.
“I win!” Mr. Nakamura exclaims, flipping his mahjong tiles over on the dining table. His brows bounce when he laughs, just like Aiko’s do. Except his brows are bushy and gray while hers are still rose gold from dyeing them at the beginning of the summer.
“Again?” Mrs. Nakamura groans, flipping her own tiles over so we can count the sets. “I was so close.”
I’m sure she was, but I’m not looking at her side of the table.
I’m sliding my tiles into the center once more, ready to start another game.
They clack in that familiar way that reminds me of Lunar New Year traditions and late summer nights losing to Ma.
And like all the times I’ve played back in DC, I’m getting my butt kicked.
Half the reason why is because the Nakamuras play the Japanese way.
Their strategies are different than what I’m used to.
That, and I can’t stop thinking about my phone charging in my bedroom upstairs.
Is Yua ready to talk now?
No.
Stop.
Why do you care about her when she clearly doesn’t care about you?
I force myself to ignore the tightness in my chest. This is exactly why I didn’t want to have a relationship in Japan.
And now I’ve wasted my first date on someone who didn’t even take me out on a second one.
Sure, the thrill of my heart skipping a beat for Yua was the most intense realization I’ve ever had.
But this—stressing because I don’t know what’s going on—is the polar opposite.
I shove her laugh from my mind, knowing that thinking about her won’t do me any good. But the harder I try, the more her smile clings to the back of my eyes. What’s wrong with me?
“Oh no,” Mrs. Nakamura says, waving her hands when Aiko starts dealing a new set of tiles. “No, I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”
Mr. Nakamura promptly agrees, then helps his wife up from the table. They shuffle to the stairs, leaving me and Aiko to clean up the game. Aiko slides the tiles into a shoebox that’s held together by layers of duct tape and a prayer—kind of like the tin box I have at home.
“You’ve known Yua for years, right?” I’ve been trying to give her space all day. But every minute I’ve gone without speaking her name, pressure has built inside me like a hot-air balloon. I’m so inflated I could float over Mount Fuji. I need to say something or I’ll explode.
“We’ve been friends since elementary school,” Aiko says, tilting her head. “Why?”
I flop down on the couch and tell Aiko everything that happened today.
She listens as she places the box of mahjong tiles back into her family’s board game closet.
By the time I’ve wrapped up the part where Yua finally texted me back, Aiko’s sitting on the other side of the couch, listening while a crease folds in the center of her forehead.
“Oof,” Aiko says once I’ve finished. “That doesn’t sound like Yua at all. Something about that fight must’ve really gotten to her.”
Hearing that alleviates the tension between my ribs.
I needed someone to tell me that this was out of character for her.
The girl who planned a boat ride for me couldn’t possibly be the same person who told me she doesn’t want to talk to me.
Especially after I poured so much of myself out to her already.
“So then what do you think the fight was about?” I ask, inching closer to Aiko. “We were supposed to tell her mom about the date we went on. Do you think Mrs. Matsumoto found out, and that’s why she’s postponing my next lesson?”
Aiko squints at the ceiling like she’s lost in thought. “Even if Auntie Hana found out, she’s probably more upset that Yua is dating in general, because it’s another thing that takes her away from working at their family business. Not because she’s dating you.”
I rub my palms against the couch cushions so hard, I could start a fire. I’m new to the whole dating thing, but something about the idea of Mrs. Matsumoto disapproving of us being together makes me extra clammy. Like I shouldn’t feel this uncomfortable, and yet I do.
I swallow the sensation back down and try to trust Aiko. “Okay.”
She seems to sense my hesitancy and gives me a reassuring smile. “Even if she found out about the two of you dating—I mean, look at you. With her. You’re meant to be, like a love match! I’ve known from the beginning that you have so much more in common than your creative spirits.”
Aiko laughs to herself as I adjust my seat on the couch. I wish I could see the world through such optimistic eyes. “So then what do you think I should do now?”
Aiko leaps up from her seat like she’s been waiting for this opportunity all day. “I have an idea.”
Aiko rushes into the kitchen. She yanks the refrigerator door open and rummages inside. The next thing I know, she’s back and handing me a white paper box.
“What’s this?” I say, setting the box on my lap and flipping open the lid.
Aiko says nothing, but she’s shaking in her seat like an excited dachshund.
I take that as my cue to look inside even though I can already feel something frozen inside.
Five palm-sized balls of mochi sit at the base of the box.
Each one is a different pastel color, probably marking their variety of flavors.
Normally, mochi isn’t frozen like this. Traditionally, bean paste is cradled inside a chewy layer of rice flour.
But something about the frozen contents inside tells me that the center of these tasty treats isn’t bean paste.
“Since it’s summertime, I had to get some for you,” Aiko says, dark eyes shimmering. “There’s mango, peach, vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and my favorite—matcha!”
I search the box for a bright green mochi, but don’t spot it in the mix. “Did you already eat it?”
Aiko cocks her head. Then she snatches the box and peers inside. “Oh, right. I told my dad he could have one as part of his belated Father’s Day gift. Even though my existence should be his greatest gift, but whatever.”
I giggle and pull out one of the orange mochi. It’s either going to be peach flavored—my favorite—or mango flavored, which is my least favorite. It’s a gamble, but I like my odds. This one is shaped more like a pìgu, anyway—a cute little bubble butt.
“Thanks, Aiko,” I say, holding the golf ball–sized treat in my palm. Already, the sticky rice flour is melting into my skin while simultaneously leaving behind a layer of powder. “Food is my love language. I feel better already.”
Aiko pulls out the pink mochi and clinks it against mine like we’re holding champagne glasses. “Here’s to many better days.”
Then I bite into my mochi, and yes, I chose correctly.
I’ve always been more of a texture eater than flavor eater.
Ma says I have an affinity for QQ. It’s the Taiwanese way of saying that we love eating squishy things like boba, mochi, and anything with that marshmallowy texture.
And right now, I’m in QQ heaven as the bouncy rice flour molds around my teeth.
My tongue meets the creamy center. The cold sends a shudder through the roof of my mouth when I chomp on a tiny chunk of frozen peach.
After a second bite, I’m feeling better.
By the time my palms are sticky with melted ice cream, I’ve accepted that all I can do is focus on the things within my control.