Chapter 19 Good to Go and Good to-Go #2
Yua sighs. “I know. The appointment is this upcoming Thursday, so I’ve still got some time to work on my heavy-handedness. But if I can’t get this done, then who knows how long it’ll take for me to get work as a full-time tattoo artist?”
Yua’s bouncing her heel, even though she still hasn’t shown me her design yet. I set my hand on her knee to still her. In an instant, she stops bouncing her foot and takes a deep breath.
I want Yua to live her dream more than I want to keep her in my life. If knowing she gets to follow her heart means that she’ll still be far away from me, then let it be. That’s the beauty of a wilting rose.
“You’re Yua Matsumoto.” I look deep into her dark brown eyes. “You come from an entire lineage of artists and designers. The universe would bend its will for you. There isn’t anything you can’t do.”
Yua’s gaze goes to my hand on her knee. Slowly, she nods, like she’s letting my words seep in. When she raises her gaze to meet mine once more, Yua says, “Well, technically, I can’t do a cartwheel.”
I roll my eyes and shove her knee away.
“And I can’t parallel park,” Yua continues, the corners of her lips rising. “I can’t even drive, for that matter.”
“I hope you crash and burn,” I grumble.
“I can’t talk to cats, either,” Yua adds, ignoring my remark.
“But once, when I was in elementary school, Aiko and I found a cat on the playground. It was hiding in the bushes, and we couldn’t get it out.
But then I meowed at it, and it came out to lick my hand.
For a year after that, I genuinely thought I could speak to cats. ”
I can’t fucking stand this girl. “Just show me your design.”
Yua stifles a laugh and flips her phone over.
I take it in my hands and look at the outline on a giant sheet of paper.
I can see how this design could sit perfectly over someone’s left shoulder, then split right down their spine.
The focal point is a bright orange tiger with flaming red eyes.
Its fangs are out in a brutal snarl while its red tongue curls in a menacing way.
The tiger is surrounded by leaves and hibiscus flowers.
When I zoom in on the design, I spot a tiny orange hummingbird amid the flowers.
It’s bright enough to blend in with the flowers without overwhelming the design.
Behind the tiger is a line of mountains. White snow peaks the caps while clouds spiral in on themselves. It’s a contrast to the greens, oranges, and reds below while also creating depth. There’s even a small touch of birds flying in the background that breaks up the—
Yua’s finger is under my chin.
My eyes tear away from the image when she lifts my face up to meet hers. Before I can think twice about how she shouldn’t be doing this, Yua’s already closed her lips over mine.
One minute, I was gazing at her artwork.
The next, she’s kissing me again. For real, this time.
As if me admiring her work was all it took for her to throw sense and rationality out the window.
Her hand slides from my chin, across my cheek, to that space behind my ear.
Her fingers comb into my hair as she deepens the kiss, mouth opening wider as if she wants to take more of me in.
I’m lost in the sensation, melting into her touch and floating away.
I don’t remember setting the phone down.
All I know is that I want this, too. I’ve been wanting it.
When I’m eating breakfast, when I’m falling asleep—all day, the ache of her touch haunts me like memories.
This is what I think about when I wake up, and this is what I yearn for when my head hits my pillow.
I reach for her waist, eager to pull her in. But before my hands can find her, the wood creaks from overhead.
Yua and I spring apart like bunnies who’ve heard a branch snap. We both shoot our gazes up to the ceiling as if we can see through the wood. But when I don’t hear anything, I settle my gaze on hers. The moment our eyes meet, Yua and I are giggling once more.
Yua offers me a hand to shake. “Thank you so much for coming to Matsumoto Alturations, my platonic friend.”
I pump my hand against hers. “Ah, yes. The pleasure is all mine, my dear acquaintance. Your hospitality has been duly noted.”
Yua tightens her grip on my hand and lowers her voice. “Hospitality? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
I yank my hand away only to wag my finger at her. “I’m going home.”
I finish the first yukata in three days—record time. This one wasn’t the one I was worried about. Nonetheless, the fact that I finished it before my next session with Mrs. Matsumoto is a cause for celebration.
“You know what we should do?” Aiko asks while I dance around my room.
I stop spinning and glance at myself in the full-length mirror. I still can’t believe this concept was once an idea in my head and now I’m actually wearing it. “Celebrate with another round of Super Hawk?”
Aiko waves her hand at me from her seat at my work desk. When I asked her to come in and look at my yukata, she had to be at eye level.
“No.” Aiko shakes her head. “Let’s go get some ramen! Bring your camera with you. We’ve got to take some more pictures of Tokyo.”
I have been craving ramen—not the kind that I can get in a cup at a 7-Eleven, but a real bowl.
Besides, it’s lunchtime on a Thursday, and I can’t think of a better way to jump-start my weekend.
I hang my yukata up in the closet before throwing the Polaroid back over my shoulder.
It’s been a while since I’ve done some sightseeing.
I should’ve done more of that last week, but at least I finished my essay.
With that out of the way, the rest of my summer will be sewing and sightseeing.
In less than thirty minutes, Aiko and I have ridden a train all the way to Tokyo Station.
There are so many sights and sounds, it’s disorienting.
Between the squeaks of the train tires, the chatter of pedestrians, and the chimes over the speakers followed by an announcer saying something in Japanese, I’ve almost forgotten what we came here for.
When Aiko said she was taking me to Tokyo Ramen Street, I’d envisioned an outdoor venue in the vein of Tsukiji fish market.
I’d be sitting at the bar, ordering food and watching the steam rise from cauldrons of broth.
But this station is so massive, it makes me think of what a love child between an airport and a mall would look like.
“I thought you said this place was called Tokyo Ramen Street,” I say, following Aiko down a long indoor hallway. Shops are open on either side, revealing places to purchase plushies, souvenirs, and candies. Signs point in various directions with English words under Japanese characters.
“It is,” Aiko says, guiding me through the labyrinth like a bloodhound on a scent. “I just…haven’t been here in a while.”
I resist face-palming. While Aiko navigates us around the giant indoor space, I take snapshots of plushy Pikachus, cake cafés, and the giant dome at the heart of the station.
It kind of reminds me of the giant dome inside the Capitol Building back in DC.
Massive pillars hold up the rounded roof while a mosaic of stones carves out a star pattern above my head.
Finally, I think we’ve arrived, because Aiko stops at a hallway with blown-up images of ramen lining the walls. My stomach churns. The broth looks so creamy, and the noodles look so chewy.
“Found it.” Aiko beams. “See, I knew where we were going. I just wanted to take you on the scenic route.”
I snort.
There’s an entire hallway of ramen shops and a kiosk at the mouth of each individual restaurant.
I pick a place to eat. This one has a picture of spicy pork ramen on the display menu, and I like my broth to have a little kick!
Aiko and I order from the kiosk at the front of the restaurant.
The machine prints out a ticket, and I take some pictures of Tokyo Ramen Street while we wait for our orders.
Moments later, our number comes up. Aiko and I walk to the counter to pick up our bowls.
“Is this to-go?” I ask, glancing down at my ticket. “It just seems so convenient.”
How did I not know that this is how some food is ordered in Japan? It’s contactless, it’s quick, and I feel like the last time I ordered food this way, it wasn’t at an eat-in kind of restaurant.
Aiko shakes her head. “No, it just gives the cooks a chance to get your orders ready before you sit down.”
We take a seat at the shop we ordered from.
The tables are squished together to make room for all the people during the lunch rush.
Honestly, I’m surprised we even found a place to sit.
The last time I was somewhere this crowded, Aiko and I were on our way to Tsukiji fish market.
There were so many people at the intersection waiting to cross the street that it felt like we were all packed in like sardines.
Aiko said something then about masks, too. But I don’t think much about it as I break my chopsticks apart and plunge them into this spicy pork broth.