Chapter 17 Painting with a Twist
Painting with a Twist
Kakigori. That’s what Japanese shaved ice is called.
And according to this menu, there are too many flavor options to count.
Red bean. Fig. Matcha with gold leaf. Watermelon mint—which seems like it’s the most refreshing option on the list. But ultimately, I settle for sakura-cherry—a flavor I’ll never find in America.
Yua orders the watermelon mint. I’m pretty sure she chose it because I told her I was thinking about getting it.
Yua makes the order, and we stand on the other side of the bar watching a worker stack our kakigori layer by layer.
Mine gets a ball of ice cream hidden inside.
Yua gets pearls of watermelon around hers.
Eventually, the bowls of dessert are handed to us on trays to keep the melting sauces and cream from leaving a sticky mess.
We carry our trays of kakigori back to our easels and set them on the tables between us.
I immediately dig in. The shaved ice reminds me of fresh powder after winter’s first snowfall.
It melts in my mouth like cotton candy as the tang of cherry dances with the floral blossom flavor.
I’ve scarfed the treat down all the way into the ice cream center by the time I realize my tongue is going numb from the cold.
“Did you want to try mine?” Yua asks with an amused laugh.
I giggle and sink my spoon into her kakigori. The watermelon flavor is much milder than the sakura-cherry. It’s not like American watermelon flavor—manufactured and sugary. It’s juicy and fruity with the perfect amount of mint that makes my teeth zing.
“I was going to say we should paint the kakigori, but I ate all our inspiration,” I say, reaching for another spoonful of Yua’s melting ice.
Yua shrugs as she shovels up a mound of mine. “How about we have a little contest instead?”
“Contest?” I echo, but Yua’s already on the move. She angles her easel away from me so that I can’t see it. She even scoots her chair away so that she’s looking at me, but close enough that I could still reach out and touch her.
“Yes.” There’s a wildness to Yua’s eyes now. They sparkle like a dozen lanterns glimmer from within. “We’re going to see who can do the best portrait of the other.”
I laugh so hard, I almost don’t notice the mint leaf I’ve scooped up. “Oh, come on. I know you’re better than me. You can tattoo a masterpiece on a whim. You’ll win.”
The glimmer is still in Yua’s deep brown eyes, but she’s cocking her head like I’ve just given her a riddle. “What are you talking about? You can sketch a masterpiece on a whim, too. I’ve seen your designs. Come on. I need a challenge.”
A grin finds its way to my lips. “Okay, fine. You’re on.”
I start my design with a charcoal outline of Yua’s face. I may have never worked with acrylic before, but I’ve watched enough painting tutorials on social media to know that I should start with the lightest color, then build up to the darker ones.
An instructor appears at the front of the class. Some of the other attendees flock to her as she gives a tutorial on how to paint a lighthouse. But some smaller groups have broken off in the back and are freestyling like Yua and me.
Occasionally, Yua asks me to stop what I’m doing so she can stare at me. I imagine she’s trying to map out my face. Either that, or she’s using this as an excuse to stare at me. To be fair, I’m doing the exact same thing to her.
The night flies by, and all that’s left of the kakigori are melted puddles on the trays. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a couple walking out with paintings of lighthouses in hand. Finally, after adding bursts of white highlights around Yua’s eyes, I lean back and admire my work.
I’m impressed with myself, considering this is my first attempt.
The proportions aren’t perfect. Yua’s cheeks are a little fuller in this painting than they are in real life.
And her forehead is wider than what I’ve depicted.
But it’s unmistakably her. If not because of her face, then because of her tats.
I’ve painted her at Venice Beach in LA. Or, I tried to, anyway.
The Ferris wheel and boardwalk in the background show the version of her I know she’s always wanted to be, the girl she probably is in London.
This girl is wearing shorts and a tank top.
Her tattoos are touching the sunlight, and there’s no stigma.
Just unapologetic Yua living her best life.
“Done?” Yua asks, shifting in her own seat.
I nod, though my stomach twists with nerves.
I kind of don’t want to show her, because I know this isn’t perfect.
Her tattoos are smudged and undefined. I just kind of put blobs of color in those spaces.
I even put a dot on her ankle to represent her frog.
And if I noticed the flaws, she’s going to notice them, too.
“I think so.” I climb to my feet sheepishly and take the canvas in my hands. I grip the edges gingerly, careful not to leave any fingerprints behind. Yua does the same until we’re standing in front of each other, ready to reveal our paintings.
“One…” Yua counts. “Two…”
I don’t have enough time to let my worry fester. I begrudgingly flip my painting around just as Yua says “three.”
I’m not sure what to look at first—Yua’s expression or her painting. So, I close my eyes, squeezing them shut until I’m brave enough to open them.
“Oh, Lilyn.” Yua’s voice is breathy. I can’t see her, but I imagine her pressing a hand to her chest. “You…you added my dragon tattoo. I love it.”
She loves my painting? I slide one eye open and let out a sigh of relief. But as I’m finally opening my other eye, I catch a glimpse of her painting.
Yua’s artwork is more abstract than mine.
It’s a full-body painting of me sitting at the edge of a river that looks an awful lot like the one in Chidorigafuchi Park.
I’m in my black qipao—the one that I wore when we went on our first date.
But Yua’s put her own artistic twist on the painting.
The grass I’m sitting on isn’t green, it’s blue.
The water I’m looking into isn’t blue, it’s pink.
And the blossoms in the trees aren’t pink, they’re purple.
It’s colorful in all the ways I never would’ve thought of before.
“Holy shit.” Everything else in my head is blank, and those are the only words that come to mind.
“Do you like it?” Yua’s voice is shy, a reflection of myself from moments ago.
Finally, I lift my gaze to meet hers. “Yua, it’s the most incredible thing I’ve seen since I’ve been to Tokyo.” Aside from you.
Yua’s beaming now—one of those wide smiles, which she’s attempting to hide behind the lip of the painting. “Can you sign your portrait for me?”
My toes scrunch inside my boots. I’ll be returning home with a custom Yua art piece.
I set my canvas back on my easel. I’m about to pick up the thin brush once more, but instead, I reach for a wider brush. I’ll sign my name, but in a language only she understands.
I hand my painting to Yua, and she looks down at my signature. It’s not in English. Instead, it’s a brown splatter that’s dripping off the canvas. At first, Yua tilts her head. Then she’s laughing and burying that smile behind a palm.
“A hot chocolate stain?” she asks, one eye peering at me from between her fingers. “Like the one you got at Cuppa Coffee?”
My cheeks are tight as I struggle to keep my laughter under control. I knew she’d get it.
“It’s something for you to remember me by,” I say, rocking on my boots.
Yua’s lashes lower to the painting, gaze fixated on that brown splatter. “I’ll never forget you.”
I’m not sure if she means for me to hear it or if she’s speaking to herself. But I step closer, narrowing the distance before saying the thing that’s scared me the most since we started dating: “I’ll never forget you, either.”
She’s looking at me now. We’re so close, I can see the freckles under her eyes and smell the watermelon on her breath. Her gaze searches mine like she’s trying to find a hint of insincerity. But there isn’t any. I’ve never felt more vulnerable and certain of something in my entire life.
Finally, her wandering gaze settles on my lips, and I know what she’s thinking. We’re only inches apart, and that’s still too far. What would it be like to seal today’s gift with a kiss?
I don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly my lips are against hers. My eyes flutter closed, and in this moment I’m weightless in the universe. The stars are a swirl of time and energy. They move around me, leaving me alone to be here. Right now. With the only star I want in my sky.
She’s literally taking my breath away, and as our lips linger, I’m realizing that expression is so much more than a cliché.
I’m holding my breath against her, too scared to lose this moment.
I don’t want to even make a sound because this is the only way I can savor this kiss.
I’ll burn it into my memories until it’s the first thing I remember when I think about Tokyo.
Then she’s pulling away, because she can’t steal my breath forever. I gulp in air while my eyes remain closed. I can still feel her lips against mine, even though we’re no longer touching.
“Hey.” Yua giggles, breath warm against my nose.
My eyes flicker open, and I’m smiling back. “Hi.”