Chapter 16 A Wilting Rose
A Wilting Rose
I’m putting the finishing touches on my eye shadow as Aiko lounges on the tatami where I usually lay my futon.
Right now, it’s folded away and tucked inside a cupboard.
I’ve become a pro at setting it up and taking it down.
And surprisingly, I feel like sleeping on a firm surface has realigned my gargoyle spine.
Aiko has had me tell and retell every detail of my conversation with Yua from last night, and honestly, there’s no better therapy than a friend with amazing ears.
I’m both excited and anxious for this date tonight. On the one hand, I want to see more of Yua. But on the other, I can’t shake that feeling from last night. When she told me about California. When it really clicked for me that the last thing I ever wanted will happen.
I’m fanning my eyes to dry mascara. “I should’ve just told her what I was feeling last night.”
Aiko thunks her forehead. “Duh.”
I cap my mascara and spin around in my chair so I can face Aiko.
“But I’ve been thinking, there’s beauty in things that fade, isn’t there?
Like a wilting rose before it dies. There’s a silent, haunting beauty in knowing that what I have is delicate and can be taken away at any time. So why not embrace it while it’s mine?”
Aiko pouts. “I get what you’re saying, but I don’t like hearing that this summer is going to end! Change the topic—where do you think Yua’s going to take you in Shibuya?”
“I’m not sure.” I set my mascara down on my desk before taking a few paces back and looking at myself in the full-length mirror.
Today’s outfit is a candy-coated version of my traditional goth aesthetic.
My skirt is short and lacy, and my corset is cinched and curvy.
But I’m playing around with color today.
Woven between the loops on my black corset are ribbons of neon green and pink.
Even my stockings have bright watermelons on them.
“Honestly, we could sit on a park bench and watch paint dry. I don’t really care what I do as long as I’m with Yua. ”
Aiko nods along, though her smile flickers. “Well, I think she’s going to plan something much more exciting than that. She owes you a good time!”
I give a twirl, checking for any loose threads in the mirror. I’m not entirely sure what I’ll find in Shibuya. But considering that my time in Japan is limited, I need to make the most of it.
Since Yua’s budget is tight, I ask Mrs. Nakamura to call a rideshare to pick her up before coming to get me.
After all, Yua paid for the boat ride on our last date.
Besides, Ma gave me a little spending allowance for Tokyo that I haven’t used on anything other than food.
But now, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather spend my money on.
Yua’s sitting in the back seat when I climb in to join her.
Judging by the way she’s covered up her tattoos again, we’re going somewhere that’s probably more conservative.
I don’t really care what she’s wearing because when she’s this close to me, all I can think about is how she takes the breath from me.
“Wow,” Yua says when I sit down beside her. Her gaze is dancing down my body, leaping from my bare shoulders to the gauntlets strapped to my wrists, then back up to my deep ruby lips. Then she smiles. “Hey.”
I have to curl my lips in to keep from smiling too widely. “Hi.”
A part of me wants to reach over and touch her. To make sure she’s really here, and we’re really not fighting, and I really am going on my second date with someone as talented and beautiful as Yua. But considering that the driver can see us in the rearview mirror, I keep my hands on my lap.
The driver asks something in Japanese, stealing Yua’s attention away from me. She responds, and then we’re rolling away from Aiko’s neighborhood, the Nakamura house shrinking behind us.
“What’s the surprise?” I ask.
Yua cocks her head in that way of hers. A faded strip of purple hair brushes her bare shoulder when she says, “I’m not telling you, but I hope you saved room for dessert.”
As if on cue, my stomach growls. I made sure to eat a light dinner per her instructions. Though, to be fair, I’ve also been so excited for this date that I couldn’t have eaten more even if I tried.
Yua shares how she took the train into Shibuya after the fight.
Shortly after arriving at Studio Pink, a couple came in wanting a memento of their time in Tokyo.
She helped her mentor design a small piece, then tattooed the couple’s forearms one at a time.
It was the first time she’d done something on the spot like that.
Normally, she needs a week to create her tattoos.
Yua holds her phone out so I can see the pictures of the finished design.
One client’s tattoo is shaped like the yang sign.
Inside the swirl is a collage of cherry blossoms, lanterns, and busy streets all surrounding an adorable sleeping cat.
The other client’s tattoo is shaped in a yin sign.
Inside that is a collage of the same thing, but during nighttime.
“Holy crap,” I mutter, swiping through the images. Between the way everything in the collage melds together and the saturation of the colors, it’s like this couple told Yua a story and she brought it to life. “So, when are you going to tattoo me?”
Yua takes her phone back. Our fingers brush before she slides her device into her back pocket. There’s a smile on her lips, but she’s not looking me in the eyes. “Do you want one?”
I shrug. Between the pain, my fear of needles, and knowing Ma would probably carve that tattoo right out of me if she ever saw it, I kind of don’t. But I can’t deny that the thought has crossed my mind many times now. I won’t be able to take Yua back to DC, but I can take her art home with me.
“Maybe if you design something that I like,” I say.
Yua’s meeting my eyes now, familiar embers burning in her gaze. “And what do you like?”
I open my mouth with a response, but nothing comes out. I know what I like—sewing, designing, spending time with people I love—but those are all experiences. And it’s kind of hard to translate something you do into something you see. Though for Yua, I bet it’s as easy as going to sleep.
Before I get a chance to answer, the cab has stopped and Yua’s stepping out onto the curb. “Hold that thought. Come on! You’re going to love this!”
I slide out onto the sidewalk, boots thunking against the cement.
We’re on a different side of Tokyo—one that I’ve only ever seen through Yua’s phone.
Shibuya is bustling with people and cars and smells.
I spin around, looking up at the towers of glass and cement, at the wires looping over the intersections as if they’re strings tying Tokyo together.
Yua’s giggle catches my ear. Then she’s locking her fingers between mine and tugging me into the crowd of pedestrians. “We’re going to be late!”
Yua pulls me along, and I race after her.
It isn’t until we’re rounding a corner that it clicks for me.
Yua and I are holding hands. Before the summer started, I never anticipated anything like this.
But with Yua, it’s organic. With Yua, it’s comforting.
With Yua, it’s like we’ve already done this a thousand times before.
I’m breathless by the time Yua’s heels thunder to a stop. She releases me, and suddenly, it’s like my own hand doesn’t belong to me when hers isn’t in it.
Yua pulls a glass door open and ushers me inside. I’m catching my breath, scanning the room. I have no idea where we are. There’s nothing except for a black curtain and an attendant waiting for us by the door.
“Konnichiwa. Hello,” the attendant says, like she’s gauging what our preferred language is. They must get a lot of tourists here. Wherever here is. “Do you have a reservation?”
Yua reaches inside her pants pocket to pull out two tickets. “So sorry we’re late. My deepest apologies.”
“You’re fine. We still have plenty of refreshments,” the attendant says, taking Yua’s tickets. Then she gestures to the curtain. “Any seat is available. The session begins in ten minutes.”
Session? Has Yua brought me to a tattooing class? Or another sewing class? Or is there a stage behind these velvet curtains and Yua has brought me to one of those improv theater classes? Whitney would lose her mind over that!
But when the curtains are drawn, I’m looking at the last thing I ever expected. And honestly, knowing Yua, I’m embarrassed that I didn’t come to this conclusion sooner.
Canvases. Easels. Thirty seats lined up in rows.
Paintings hanging from the brick walls, illuminated by studio lights.
I smile so hard, I have to cover my mouth.
Yua gets me. Sitting side by side while painting together is so us.
We’ve already designed images from a phone screen apart.
There’s no better way to bond than through art.
But there’s more. Along the back wall, a bar is set up.
At least, it looks like one of those fancy cocktail bars I’ve seen in movies with speakeasies.
Except, instead of serving alcohol, they are offering basketball-sized bowls of shaved ice.
Servers behind the bar grind blocks of ice into flakes and layer syrups on top.
It’s the perfect way to beat the summer heat, especially after all that running!
Yua bumps my hip with hers. “Told you to save room for dessert.”