Swimming to Tokyo (2 page)

“She believes her own hype,” I start.

“Yeah, like she thinks she’s all that,” interjects Cory Malone from behind me. I breathe a sigh of relief and spend the rest of the class period re-reading long sections of the book and purposely avoiding eye contact with Professor Kerr.

“I hate English.” This is the first thing I say to Mindy when I throw my bag into the seat across from her at Vicki’s Diner. We meet at Vicki’s at 10:10 every Tuesday and Thursday. I have time to kill before my next class, and Mindy doesn’t start her shift there until 11:30. Vicki lets me sit in the employee booth, even though I’m not an employee, because my mom and I used to be regulars. Decaf coffee and buttered toast. Vicki still remembers.

Mindy looks up from her phone. She’s wearing blue eyeliner and black lipstick today. There’s no way Vicki’s not going to make her wash off that lipstick before her shift. No. Way.

“What happened this time?”

“I just feel completely incompetent. Like, I read the same book as everyone else, but then when it comes time to actually discuss it, I don’t see how they actually got all this crap out of it. I mean, it’s a book. Did Margaret Atwood really write with all this symbolism in mind?”

Mindy raises a pierced eyebrow at me. “Margaret Atwood? Most definitely.”

I let out a breath of frustration. “Okay. Fine. Maybe everybody knows that. I mean, hell, maybe I know that. I took this class because I thought it would be easy, but there’s no way I’ll get an A. I don’t participate. When I do, I’m awkward. I’m always late…”

“Seriously? Why were you today?” Mindy is the last person on the planet you’d expect to be a fanatic about being on time, but she’s never late. Ever.

“I had to go get Babci’s antibiotics. I forgot last night.” I dig a tissue from my pocket. “Oh, and guess who I ran into at Walgreens this morning?”

“Charles Walgreen, himself?”

“Better. Finn O’Leary.” I watch her mouth drop open, a little bit like mine did when Finn offered me money.

Mindy aims a pointy purple fingernail at me. “You mean you, like, literally ran into him?”

“I was short of cash and he lent me five dollars. Said I could buy him coffee next time he’s in town to pay him back.” I try really hard to sound nonchalant and it mostly works.

Finn O’Leary has been a topic of conversation with me and Mindy since he showed up at Westfield High two weeks into our senior year. We both noticed him, which is unusual right there because Mindy and I have very different taste in guys. Granted, she noticed him for his buzz cut and the tattoo that peeks out from underneath his shirtsleeve. I noticed him for those bottomless eyes and the muscles underneath that tattoo. But we both agreed he was capital-H Hot.

“What?” Mindy’s disbelief is loud, and the few other patrons at the diner turn to look at her. She’s on the verge of giving them the finger when Vicki shakes her head at her from behind the counter and Mindy stops. Whenever Mindy does this, I immediately glimpse the girl I met in first grade: eager to please, with pink bows in her then-blond hair. That was at least seven hair colors ago.

“I’m dying with my stupid allergies and I must have dropped my money when I was getting my tissue out of my pocket. Finn took pity on me, I guess.”

“Okay, right. What’s the part where he suggested you buy him coffee? And what’s he doing back in New Jersey in the middle of the week? I thought he went to college in Boston or somewhere?”

“He goes to MIT.” The fact I remember this is a testament to the crush I had on him last year, although Mindy’s kind enough not to comment. She just nods and lets me continue. “I don’t know what he’s doing home. But I offered to pay him back and he suggested I buy him a coffee next time he’s in town.”

“Like, word for word?” Mindy scrapes her nail along her lip as she asks this and examines the black underneath her fingernail. The black lipstick is recent, thanks to a weekend trip into the city, but it totally works for her in a way no one else can pull off. In high school, there’d be one or two girls every year who’d goth out and start dressing like Mindy, walking like her, even dyeing their hair like her, but they were never really convincing. Probably because Mindy isn’t goth or punk or whatever label is in that year. Mindy’s just…Mindy.

I shrug. “I don’t know. More or less.”

Mindy widens her blue eyes at me. “So are you going to? I mean, he’s obviously here now, right? No time like the present.”

“Sure. Great idea. A) There’s the fact that I have no idea how to get in touch with him. And B) There’s no way I’m going up to Mr. I-Don’t-Talk-to-Anyone and offering to buy him coffee.”

“Well, he talked to you first, right? Maybe we were all wrong about him and he’s just shy?”

No way. Finn’s aloof, not shy. There’s a world of difference between the two, and he was a loner at Westfield High because he wanted to be. That was clear. He had a friend or two, but Mindy and I weren’t the only ones who noticed him when he showed up. Lots of girls made a play for him and he shot down every one of them—even Kathy Johnson, homecoming queen, snow queen, and inevitable prom queen. She’d sauntered up to him in the café, asking if she could join him, and he’d turned those black eyes on her and said no. In front of everyone. Just, “No.”

“But this morning he was really…friendly.”

I don’t realize I’ve actually said the thing about him being friendly out loud until Mindy says, “Maybe he just hated high school?”

“Well, in that case maybe
you
should ask him for coffee.” I laugh as I say this, but it still earns me a withering look. Mindy, as she’s pointed out, didn’t hate high school any more than I did; she just didn’t play the game.

“As if, my dear.” Mindy gives me one more roll of her eyes and changes the subject. “What are you doing later? Liz has a date.”

Liz is Mindy’s mom, although I’m pretty sure Mindy hasn’t called her “mom” since we were in seventh grade. My mom would’ve killed me if I tried that, but Liz doesn’t mind, as far as I can tell. “A date?”

“Some guy she met at Trader Joe’s. Do you want to meet me after my shift for dinner or something?”

“I can’t. Apparently my dad has news of some kind, so we’re having a family meal for a change. But that should only take an hour. Come over at eight and we can hang out.”

“News, huh? What kind of news?”

“I don’t know. Babci didn’t know either. I think he has a girlfriend, so he probably wants to set the stage to introduce her.” I say it like I don’t care, but there’s a knot in my stomach thinking about it. I shouldn’t care. It’s been three years…Dad should be happy.

I cross my fingers under my leg as Vicki approaches with the coffee pot. Maybe it will be something else. Babci just said he had news. It could be anything.

W
hen the doorbell rings at 8:10, Dad greets Mindy, closes the door, and ushers her into the dining room before I even remember I invited her over. I’m sitting at the table. My fork still has a piece of meatloaf stuck to it, resting on my otherwise untouched plate.

“Hey, Zo.” Mindy scans the dining room table. Babci and Dad have eaten a little, but it looks like we’ve just started.

“Do you want something to eat?” Dad asks. He gestures for Mindy to sit down, but she has the sense to decline.

“No, thanks. I ate at work. Is everything okay?”

“Maybe you can talk to her.” Babci smiles a little at Mindy with a nod at me. “You and Zosia go. I’ll save if you get hungry.”

“Zo,” I’m already walking out of the dining room, but Dad yells after me. “It’s going to be fine, Zo.”

Like repeating it for the nineteenth time will make it so.

I take the stairs two at a time and Mindy runs behind me. Despite her clunky boots, she’s pretty fast and is in the door two seconds after me. “Zo, what the hell? What’s going on?”

My face feels like it’s going to split into a thousand pieces if I move my mouth, so I just shake my head and go to my laptop. I pull up Google, and Mindy nudges my butt over to take half my chair.

“Distance between Westfield and Tokyo? What the hell?” Her face is too close; it looks like she has three eyes.

“My dad got an offer to move to Tokyo for three years.” My voice is flat with a lot less emotion than I’m feeling.

6,741 miles. Westfield, New Jersey, to Tokyo, Japan is 6,741 miles.

“What do you mean, your dad got an offer to move to Tokyo?” She squints at me now.

“The bank asked him if he’d consider taking over the Asia market.”

“And he said yes?”

I jump up and lean against the windowsill so I can see her. “Well, no. He said he’d have to go home and discuss it with his family, which is supposedly what we were just doing. But it was really a sales pitch because he wants it.”

“But what about…you?” Mindy hesitates on the last word like she’s afraid of the answer, and I don’t blame her.

“Well, obviously I’m off to University of Rhode Island in the fall anyway, but I can spend the summer in Tokyo. Maybe even a Christmas or two, although the Japanese make a much bigger deal of New Year’s than they do of Christmas. Did you know that? I didn’t, but apparently it’s all very ceremonial, which is great. It’s great, right? Because he said it was great. Not many college students get this kind of opportunity, you know. Plus, I have such an aptitude with languages I’m bound to pick up a fair bit of Japanese.” My voice rises and I take a deep breath, hoping it will help.

It doesn’t, especially as I get to the next part. “He’s going to have to go there off and on for the next few months. I can stay in the house with Babci until the semester finishes, and he’ll definitely help as much as he can to get everything sorted out for the move. The renters don’t want to move in until after Memorial Day because they’re relocating from California. California, of all places. Can you believe it? They’re working with a Realtor who Dad takes the train with, so she helped sort out all the dates and details.”

“He’s going to rent the house?” Mindy’s eyes widen.

I nod and squeeze my eyes shut, sliding down to the floor. “Well, if he’s in Tokyo and I’m off in Kingston, no one will be here. Babci sure as hell doesn’t want to stay here any longer than she has to, and it doesn’t make sense to leave it empty for most of the year.”

“But your mom…”

That’s when I lose it. Big gulping sobs that take my breath away. Mindy sits on the floor beside me and puts her arm around my shoulders, but she’s smart enough not to speak. Not that there’s anything to say. Because even though Dad told his bosses he had to talk to his family first, it’s a done deal. I can tell by the look in his eye when he talks about it. Nervous, but happy. Excited, like he hasn’t been since before mom got sick.

Nine tissues later, I’m still teary but no longer hysterical. Mindy and I sit cross-legged on the floor, and her tone is cautious when she speaks. “It will be okay, Zo. I mean, it will.”

I give her a watery smile. “Yeah. I mean, Tokyo for a summer might even be cool. You’ll be at your damn science camp anyway, and it beats waitressing at Theresa’s, but it’s just…it’s leaving the house.” I take a shaky breath, hoping to hold back another flood of tears. “All my memories of my mom are here. How can someone else live here with those?”

“They won’t. You’ll take them with you. Your memories of your mom are here.” Mindy taps my head just as a knock sounds at the door.

The door swings open before either of us can say anything, and Babci stands there with a ShopRite bag in her hand. She shuffles across the floor and sets the bag down in front of us on the floor. “You don’t eat dinner, so I brought it to you. Maybe will make you feel better.”

Mindy digs into the bag and pulls out a bag of rippled potato chips and a tub of French onion dip, two Diet Cokes, and a bag of plain M&Ms. “Babci, you know exactly what will cure this.”

Babci is so used to Mindy calling her Babci she doesn’t even blink. But she does shake her head in a way even Mindy knows means business. “This is no cure, but Zosia will see this isn’t worst thing.” She turns to me. “Your father, he needs this. I convince him to go; you will be fine. So if you are mad at anyone, you are mad at me.”

“What?” I jerk my head up. Did she just say…?

“I said, your father, he is going to say no, but I tell him go. You will be fine.”

That’s what I thought she said. “Why? Why did you tell him I’ll be fine? Do you think that’s true? Do I seem fine? Did you tell him to let other people move into our house? Did you tell him that would be fine, too?” My voice gets louder and higher.

Babci’s, by contrast, is soft as she replies in Polish with an apologetic look to Mindy. Mindy is my only friend she’ll speak English with, which I find funny. Not because of Mindy, because she’s known her forever. But the other girls who come around aren’t going for the goth/ punk rocker look and I’d think Babci would encourage those friendships. I asked her about it once and she said she had no interest in talking Barbie dolls and neither should I, so we both left it alone after that.

“Oh, Zosia. Don’t you think it hurts him, too? This house was their dream. Their life was here. But your father needs this. He needs a new start.”

I cut her off in English. “So you both decided it’s okay to let strangers take over our home because he needs to get on with his life?”

Babci bites her lip, and I can tell she’s mad because she answers me in careful perfect English. “And so it is only fair if you are getting on with yours?”

She limps a little back out the door and closes it behind her. I let her because I’m mad she knew about this and didn’t tell me, didn’t warn me. And madder that she sided with Dad, whom she really only warmed up to after Mom got sick.

Mindy pulls open the bag of chips and takes the lid off the dip, scraping her finger around the edges. She reaches for a handful of chips and starts dipping them one by one. I follow her lead and eventually open a Diet Coke, which we pass between us.

I’m not sure how long we sit there eating and not talking, but the words that come out of my mouth when I do speak have nothing to do with Tokyo or moving. “I almost forgot. I got an email from my roommate at Rhode Island today.”