Chapter 44
Noah
Noah took his time preparing for the day.
Back in California, he had learned a sixteen-step skin regimen popularized by the viral video “Sixteen Steps to Sweet, Sweet Skin,” which featured a D-list actress dancing around her bathroom with a plethora of expensive products.
Unfortunately, Noah was smack-dab in the target audience, as he had an income that allowed him to buy all sixteen plus a need to maintain that income by looking good.
The first day back home, Nami had seen him trying to organize all of his products while not missing a step in the extensive routine.
She started laughing so hard she peed her pants.
Since then, he had tried to do it covertly, but it was hard when he had to use the hall bathroom and anyone who was awake would notice what he was doing.
And that night with Aya, he had completely missed the routine, yet his skin had been glowing the next day.
So he snuck into the hall bathroom. The least he could do was shave and moisturize.
It made him feel ever so slightly ready to face the day.
While he scrutinized his skin under the yellow, unflattering light, he thought about what Justin had been saying.
He would definitely have come to the engagement party. He would have considered it unmissable.
While he was looking for a softer towel, the memory of Nami’s gender reveal party came back to him. His mother had yanked the phone away from his dad. Even though he couldn’t see it, he could picture the exchange.
“I don’t like gender reveal parties,” Noah said. “Look, I’ve been to enough out here. They’re universally tacky.”
“Yes, that is exactly the point, Noah,” his mom told him. “Whether you are personally fond of the exact variety of party. And if you are not, there is no way you should even consider making the trip.”
“Great,” he told her, clicking through his email. “I’ve got a photo shoot that weekend anyway.”
The party, of course, seemed like great fun.
Nami had some amazing friends from high school, so they were there.
Two of her closest friends were Twyla and Martha, Aya’s little sisters.
Aya had been there, too, though she wasn’t in many of the photos.
Noah had decided it really was the whole weird “gender reveal” thing that had kept him away.
But if he had been willing to be honest with his family, he might have admitted that the thought of seeing Aya was overwhelming.
Would we talk? Pretend to be casual? Try to avoid each other?
It seemed like way too many decisions to have to make in the space of a short little party, decisions he’d been happy to avoid at the time.
After fixing his part in the mirror, he gave a wry smile. Maybe if he had only seen Aya, they would have gotten back together a lot sooner. If that had happened, the weekend would have been taxing but not in the way he expected.
When he got in the kitchen, Nobu and Justin were preparing to leave.
“Dad needs you to go move some furniture for the nice lady next door!” Nobu sang. His voice was still way too loud, and Noah winced.
“Why?” he mumbled.
“Bye,” said Nobu. “Enjoy your indentured servitude, dear brother! It’s long overdue!”
Justin stopped to give hugs to everyone before he departed. He stroked Nami’s hair. Apparently, the whole Kato family was gathering at the break of dawn.
“You don’t have to go yet, of course,” said Noah’s mother. “Stacy texted me, and I said I’d send you over later.”
“I’m not going to go help her,” said Noah.
“Then you’ll be forcing your father to go with his bad back. I hope you’ve thought that one through.”
“I can’t believe you’re going over!” said Noah. “For what? She’s trying to close the museum.”
“She’s not trying very hard, Noah,” said his father. “She was never the ringleader.”
Noah opened the fridge then closed it. He was so used to spending time with people who avoided carbs that it still felt strange to have a normal breakfast. He took out everything his parents had made—miso soup, rice, fried mushrooms, oatmeal with berries.
There had apparently been bacon, but Nobu had clearly finished it off. Only the wonderful aroma remained.
When he was seated, he glared at his parents. “Tell me the story,” he said. “Then I’ll decide if I want to join.”
His parents told it in fits and starts. It had all started with a so-called “society” of people who voiced their loud opinions at school board meetings.
They had all kinds of changes they wanted to see at the school, of course, and at first, it was just a loose collection of issues.
But they soon began to concentrate on one specific thing.
Field trips and research with the Internment Memorial Museum had always been part of Love Hollow High’s history curriculum.
And it made things interesting for the students.
More than one graduate had come back reporting that they were much more comfortable with primary source research than their college classmates.
The combination of digital database access, well-maintained archives, and original research was a boon for the seniors who took the advanced American History course each year.
That was, until the society people turned against the projects.
Their leader, Carl, always had a mustache and a scowl.
He had worked for his father’s real estate company for his entire working life, so unfortunately, he had both disposable income and lots of free time.
And he seemed intent on devoting all of it to blocking access to Love Hollow’s biggest museum.
All at once, all the schools were barred from having field trips there.
The partnerships between the museum and local businesses broke down one by one.
Carl didn’t mind tourism, but he was determined that nobody should visit the museum.
Any tourist who looked the least bit Asian was going to be scrutinized, even if they had just come for mountain biking in the hills, not a museum visit.
Carl’s argument seemed to be that the students weren’t learning “the good things” about America anymore.
It was rather strange, as he was only in his early fifties, so he hadn’t exactly grown up in an era where America was overly romanticized.
He wanted any talk of World War II to begin and end with acts of heroism in Europe, and he would have happily skipped over the entire Vietnam War—except to disagree with pardons for draft dodgers.
He seemed to have a strange focus on the Battle of Little Bighorn, which to him, epitomized American heroism.
He viewed with great skepticism and hostility anyone who said a word about “Indians.” “Native American” wasn’t in his vocabulary, much less “Indigenous peoples” or “First Tribes.”
Few of Carl’s followers were quite as bombastic as he was, but it didn’t matter.
They’d done their damage. The Love Hollow Gazette was filled with warring letters to the editor, and the high school history teacher ended up resigning and taking a job in Oregon instead.
The Katos had to step down from the museum’s board, as they were accused of having a conflict of interest. They’d even stayed away from museum events, although they still attended the Pilgrimage every year.
“We blend in there,” joked Noah’s dad. “If anyone says they saw me, I’ll just tell them it was actually someone else. And they’ll probably believe that.”
Noah’s mother shook her head. She was clearly not ready to joke about the matter.
“Mom, why are you even still here? I had no idea it had gotten this horrible.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And go where, Noah? Some antiracist la-la land where we wouldn’t encounter anything like this?”
He stayed quiet for a moment. “Maybe a place where, you know, there are more Asian people?”
She smiled. “We would be abandoning the people who are here. Even Aya’s family. How would you feel about that?”
He didn’t have an answer. Though his heart sang that Aya was going to move away, that she would come to his house in LA and bring the homey quality it had never held for him, he wasn’t ready to say that.
In fact, Aya had seemed extremely unwilling to consider a move to California.
But perhaps he hadn’t done enough to convince her.
His father put his hands on the table and rose more slowly than Noah remembered. “Anyway,” he said. “One of us had better go over and move that end table.”
Noah stood, but he wasn’t admitting defeat quite yet. “After everything you told me? How about she calls her friend Carl and has him move it for her?”
His mother smiled tightly. “Oh, she doesn’t actually think much of Carl. None of them do.”
His father seemed to see that his approach wasn’t working. “She’s our neighbor, Noah.”
“Don’t make this a Catholic thing. Love thy neighbor, blah blah blah.”
“Fine, then. I won’t. But if we refuse to help her, who benefits? She’ll think we’re bad neighbors, and let’s face it, we will be. She’ll also be even less likely to consider our perspective in the future.”
“But you don’t even challenge her,” he said. “She’s charged with teaching children! How is this good for them?”
“Having no teachers isn’t great for them, Noah,” his father said sternly.
“Do you know how hard it is for us to find permanent teachers, even substitutes? We always have vacancies. We had to fill the high school history position with a recent grad, and after what she endured this past year, she quit. I’m surprised she lasted the whole school year, honestly. ”
His mother’s mouth was firmly set. “Your father refuses to force any of the other teachers to transfer into that position.”
“They would leave too,” he said quietly, touching his wife’s arm. “So I’d be losing even more teachers. What would be the point of that?”
Noah was with his mother. “You should force the teachers who agree with this shit to take those vacancies.”
His dad started to smile again. “And have our high schoolers taught by someone who thinks that the internment was not a problem, perhaps even a brilliant idea? Oh, I don’t think so. I’d take the position myself before that happened.”
“Well, you may have to,” said his wife. “You’re not going to find anyone else to do it. And our students can’t graduate or go out into the world with no knowledge of history. Unlike their parents.”
At that point in the conversation, Nami chose to come in. “You could change it all, Noah.”
Their mother, seeing where her thoughts were going, made to hush her. “It’s not his responsibility.”
But Nami wasn’t listening. With Hana asleep in her arms, she said quietly but fiercely, “Then whose responsibility is it, Mom? If our family doesn’t do something, who will?”
“Why d-don’t…” Noah began, but his stutter prevented him from getting the rest of the sentence out.
“Don’t you dare ask me to pay for it,” snapped Nami. “Don’t you think I would if I possibly could, a hundred times over? Don’t you think I hate having to fight Byron for child support?”
It was the first time she had mentioned her ex—the first time Noah had heard his name since he’d been back, actually. Even when he was alone with his parents, they seemed to be perfectly willing to pretend he was dead.
“Nami,” said their father. “Sweetheart. You don’t have to fight him. If it’s better for you to drop the rope—”
“It’s not better for me,” she hissed. Her scowl was at odds with the gentle movements she was making to keep her daughter asleep. Back and forth, back and forth, she rocked her. But her eyes were bright with hatred. “That bastard needs to pay.”
“I agree,” said their mother, muttering a word in Japanese that she usually reserved for the worst men she had ever encountered. Noah almost never heard her use the word, but she and Nami seemed united in their anger.
“I was going to ask if there were any fundraising avenues that were, you know, untapped,” he offered weakly.
His mother shook her head, ushering Nami out with Hana.
His father took over the discussion. “Your Aya…”
Noah shook his head. “She’s not m-mine dad, not in any way. She’s not even answering my texts right now.”
“Your Aya,” he said, that time with a slight smile, “she really did the best she could. The museum got all kinds of grants. There were lots of fundraisers. Everyone who had ever visited was asked to contribute. But without visitors and without community support? It’s been an uphill battle.”
“So what’s going to happen?”
His father shrugged. “Housing costs are going up,” he said carefully. “And the land it’s on is very valuable. So it’ll likely be sold to pay off debts.”
“But the main building itself could stay open, right?”
His father gave a sad smile. “Noah, you have a fancy house. Do you really think you would want to share it with a museum? One that reminds everyone that this is just a place, one with a dark past, not some sort of Western paradise?”
Noah felt another jolt of guilt at his father’s words. “My house isn’t that fancy,” he said. “Not for the neighborhood. Not for LA, really. It’s just that I needed something private—”
His father waved a hand. “It’s okay, Noah,” he said. “You give what you can.”
Noah squirmed. He hadn’t been giving, not really.
He went to fancy charity galas, sure, the ones with the best canapés and the highest chance of being photographed with beautiful women.
What a waste all that had been, he reflected.
He should have just written checks instead.
And he should never have forgotten Love Hollow.
In the days when he’d had more cash, he could have made sizable contributions, maybe even kept the museum from floundering.
Now, when they most needed his help, he couldn’t open his wallet.