know you weren’t … you know, close … but I know she mattered to you.”
For some reason I sensed none of the anger I’d felt toward Wade when he said basically the same thing.
“I should have tried harder. I should have been there.”
Grief obviously didn’t put Kyoko in her element, and I knew she felt uncomfortable. But she just stayed there in her armchair, legs curled up under her, looking glum. She picked at her dark green toenail polish.
“Wanna try Carlos again?”
I shook my head. “Let’s just go there. He doesn’t answer his phone.”
“Okay. Do you want to call Dave? Or I’ll call him if you want.”
Kyoko? Call Dave? Kyoko Morikoshi had suddenly moved beyond crabby office lunch-mate to friend. “Would you?”
“Sure. I guess you’re going for the funeral, right?”
“Yes.” My determination surprised even myself.
“Really? You sure? I thought …”
“I’m going.”
Her smile beamed slight tenderness. “Good for you, Ro,” she said, voice softer than usual. “The rest of us can cover for you. It’s not a busy month.”
She scrolled through a computer calendar and squinted at me. “Aren’t you supposed to renew your visa next week?”
“My what?”
“Never mind. You can do it in the States. Just don’t forget.”
I played with my glass and ate another mikan while Kyoko discreetly made phone calls from the other room. A purple lava lamp bubbled. My eyes passed over her walls scattered with old Goth and dark post-punk rock posters: Bauhaus. The Cure. Joy Division. And some scary-looking blond Japanese guy in all black called Gackt. Where did Kyoko come up with this stuff?
She came back in and fiddled with her laptop on her desk. “Your story on the PM’s wife posted.”
I looked up. “Oh.” Some other time I’d celebrate.
“Do you want to make some airline reservations? I can help if you want. Then we can go to Carlos’s place.”
I dragged myself over to the couch and plopped down in front of the computer. Clicked a few pages. Rubbed my face. Typed
Tokyo (Narita)
under F ROM .
The cursor blinked at me under To.
“Where does she live?” Kyoko started to correct herself and say “did” but stopped.
I banged my head against the keyboard, typing rows and rows of b’s.
“Ro? Are you okay? Calm down! I’ll do it.” She leaned over me and took control of the keyboard. “What’s her city and state?”
I rolled my head back and forth in misery. “You know what? I don’t even know.”
Tokyo at night had a soothing feeling even my mood couldn’t shatter. A taxi over to Shibuya would cost a fortune, so we took the subway. I already had too much on my credit card to buy first-class tickets, so I got coach and hoped Kyoko hadn’t noticed. She paid for our subway tickets.
A group of platinum-blond Japanese girls with eerie white-and-blue makeup and silver-white lipstick strummed guitars and sang on the side of the street. A perky summer love song, ironic for how I felt at the moment.
The subway crowds had thinned, so Kyoko and I sat side by side on the seat, purses on our lap and staring straight ahead per Japanese custom. A drunk businessman tried vainly to hold on to one of the rings, advertisement cards overhead swatting his balding head, and he finally stumbled into a seat across from us. He slumped against the glass, tie askew and mouth hanging slack. I felt like doing the same thing.
“Thanks for letting me call Wade and Ashley.”
“No problem, Ro. Just don’t forget to go to the consulate and renew your visa while you’re in the US, or I’ll be visiting you in the deportation wing of the airport.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” I tried to smile but couldn’t. “Do you really think it’s okay to take off a whole week?”
“The office will find some way to go on.” Kyoko stopped abruptly, remembering to turn off her sarcasm button. She tried again. “Dave was really sympathetic, wasn’t he? Probably a first for him.”
“I
For some reason I sensed none of the anger I’d felt toward Wade when he said basically the same thing.
“I should have tried harder. I should have been there.”
Grief obviously didn’t put Kyoko in her element, and I knew she felt uncomfortable. But she just stayed there in her armchair, legs curled up under her, looking glum. She picked at her dark green toenail polish.
“Wanna try Carlos again?”
I shook my head. “Let’s just go there. He doesn’t answer his phone.”
“Okay. Do you want to call Dave? Or I’ll call him if you want.”
Kyoko? Call Dave? Kyoko Morikoshi had suddenly moved beyond crabby office lunch-mate to friend. “Would you?”
“Sure. I guess you’re going for the funeral, right?”
“Yes.” My determination surprised even myself.
“Really? You sure? I thought …”
“I’m going.”
Her smile beamed slight tenderness. “Good for you, Ro,” she said, voice softer than usual. “The rest of us can cover for you. It’s not a busy month.”
She scrolled through a computer calendar and squinted at me. “Aren’t you supposed to renew your visa next week?”
“My what?”
“Never mind. You can do it in the States. Just don’t forget.”
I played with my glass and ate another mikan while Kyoko discreetly made phone calls from the other room. A purple lava lamp bubbled. My eyes passed over her walls scattered with old Goth and dark post-punk rock posters: Bauhaus. The Cure. Joy Division. And some scary-looking blond Japanese guy in all black called Gackt. Where did Kyoko come up with this stuff?
She came back in and fiddled with her laptop on her desk. “Your story on the PM’s wife posted.”
I looked up. “Oh.” Some other time I’d celebrate.
“Do you want to make some airline reservations? I can help if you want. Then we can go to Carlos’s place.”
I dragged myself over to the couch and plopped down in front of the computer. Clicked a few pages. Rubbed my face. Typed
Tokyo (Narita)
under F ROM .
The cursor blinked at me under To.
“Where does she live?” Kyoko started to correct herself and say “did” but stopped.
I banged my head against the keyboard, typing rows and rows of b’s.
“Ro? Are you okay? Calm down! I’ll do it.” She leaned over me and took control of the keyboard. “What’s her city and state?”
I rolled my head back and forth in misery. “You know what? I don’t even know.”
Tokyo at night had a soothing feeling even my mood couldn’t shatter. A taxi over to Shibuya would cost a fortune, so we took the subway. I already had too much on my credit card to buy first-class tickets, so I got coach and hoped Kyoko hadn’t noticed. She paid for our subway tickets.
A group of platinum-blond Japanese girls with eerie white-and-blue makeup and silver-white lipstick strummed guitars and sang on the side of the street. A perky summer love song, ironic for how I felt at the moment.
The subway crowds had thinned, so Kyoko and I sat side by side on the seat, purses on our lap and staring straight ahead per Japanese custom. A drunk businessman tried vainly to hold on to one of the rings, advertisement cards overhead swatting his balding head, and he finally stumbled into a seat across from us. He slumped against the glass, tie askew and mouth hanging slack. I felt like doing the same thing.
“Thanks for letting me call Wade and Ashley.”
“No problem, Ro. Just don’t forget to go to the consulate and renew your visa while you’re in the US, or I’ll be visiting you in the deportation wing of the airport.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” I tried to smile but couldn’t. “Do you really think it’s okay to take off a whole week?”
“The office will find some way to go on.” Kyoko stopped abruptly, remembering to turn off her sarcasm button. She tried again. “Dave was really sympathetic, wasn’t he? Probably a first for him.”
“I
Similar Books
