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“I see you, you know. The way you paint with such love. And you always stare back at the painting as if you aren’t sure you’re truly worthy”—he hesitates—“of being loved back.” I push my tongue against my cheek, fighting the tears that are trying so hard to give me away. Hiroshi places his hand on my shoulder. “You are, Kiko. And the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be to accept what you cannot change.”
My mother is incapable of real love. It explains so much.
I’m the worst sister in the world. Mom insists she doesn’t know why he did it, even though Shoji begged the doctors and Dad not to let her see him.
“Your dad didn’t have the affair, honey. It was Brandon with—” She doesn’t want to say it. Not out loud, and not to me. But maybe the truth was too heavy for too long. Everything goes still. The air presses down on me and I can’t move. “It was Mom.” My voice is hollow. I’m hollow. Mom had the affair. With Jamie’s dad.
“Hey, Kiko?” “Yeah?” “Do you remember when some of your money went missing?” His face goes white. “It was me. I took it.” It wasn’t Uncle Max. It was my brother. My face crumples in surprise, but I try to smooth out the creases before Shoji starts to feel bad. “Why would you do that?” He shrugs. “I was going to run away.” A weak laugh follows. “This was plan B.” I don’t join in on his humor. “Well, thanks for telling me.” “I told Dad, too. I thought if he found out later he might not let me live with him.”
“I know you always wanted to use makeup,” she says enthusiastically. “And you’re almost an adult, and I’m sure you’re going to do what you want to do. So I thought you could at least look at these to get an idea of what looks good. There’s nothing worse than someone putting on makeup the wrong way.”
Beauty is unique and special and it looks different for every person in the world. I don’t need Mom or her magazines to try to convince me otherwise.
Because all I ever think about is Jamie, and I’m supposed to be working on rehabilitating my mental health. I know I want to be stronger. I know I don’t want to feel as if I need people to meet my expectations as a mother, friend, boyfriend, or even brother. I want to find self-worth without needing it to come from someone’s approval. I want my first steps into my new life to be ones I take on my own.
“You don’t need to keep making fun of California. I’m probably not going back anyway.” My voice is dry. I haven’t slept very well since I’ve been home. Being here makes me feel constantly on edge. “Did you and Jamie have a fight?” She blinks at me with intensity.
“Shoji isn’t coming back, Mom.” “We’ll let a judge decide that.” I’m scowling. “If you take Dad to court, I’ll tell the judge everything. I’ll tell them about Uncle Max. You’ll never get custody.” She sets her mug down. Her eyes twitch. “Where is this coming from? Are you angry with me about something?” Saliva fills my mouth. It must be my nerves. They make my chest itch too. “Why did you tell me you and Dad split up because he cheated?” She pulls her hands away from the keyboard and shifts. “I told you he had an affair because that’s the truth.” “Before or after you cheated with Jamie’s dad?”
“Does it matter?” “Yes.” My hands shake. “Because I thought he had the affair because you were fighting about me, not because you were fighting about you.” “Well, I never told you that.” “But you did.” I blink. “Or you implied it anyway. You told me I was always causing problems. You said I was making it hard for you and Dad to get along.” “Because you and Jamie were constantly hanging around each other. It was hurtful.” “How was I supposed to understand that?” I growl. “You never explained it. I thought you had told Dad about Uncle Max. I thought he was angry that he was still living in our
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“I will never apologize to Uncle Max. Never.” “Well.” She sighs. “I think that’s very immature, Kiko. I’ve already called him and made things better.” The sides of my head throb. My knees feel weak. “You need therapy.” Mom laughs the most over-the-top, hysterical laugh I’ve ever heard. “It’s not funny. There is something wrong with you. Who treats their kids this way? There’s a reason none of us want to be around you. There’s a reason Shoji wants to live with Dad, and why Taro spent the rest of the summer with his friend, and why I want to go to art school thousands of miles away from you.” My
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try to take a breath, but I feel like throwing up. “Are you trying to say you think you were sexually abused when you were a kid?” My voice is so dry I’m sure my words are going to crumble into thousands of tiny, brittle pieces. I try to think logically. I try to be calm. She shrugs and twists her face like this is a genuine possibility. “I mean, who knows? Maybe a hypnotherapist could find out.” “Do you have any memories at all that are making you think this? Did anything weird happen to you?” I ask through stiff breaths. Like, I don’t know, an uncle sneaking into your room? “No,” she says
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I tell Dad everything. I tell him about Uncle Max. I tell him about Mom. I tell him I know the truth about their divorce. I tell him I thought it was my fault. He’s quiet at first, but when he starts to cry he has to bury his face in his hands to hide from me. I think he feels ashamed, even though I tell him I don’t blame him. When he calms down, he hugs me and says he thinks I’m the strongest person in the world, as strong as a polar bear.
move in with Dad. He goes with me to help pack up my room when Mom is at work. She left a letter for me on my bed. It’s from Brightwood. I’ve been accepted into their art program. I know I should be more excited, but it’s hard to be happy when I still don’t know what I’m going to do. California feels like it’s slipping farther and farther away from me. I’m not sure I’m brave enough to go back and do it all over again but this time without Jamie.
You’d basically have a place here if you’d like it.” He pauses. “Is that something that would interest you?” Oh my God. “Yes. Yes, absolutely. Umm. I don’t understand though. I got a rejection from you guys already.” “Yes, for our painting program.” He pauses. “But you applied again, for drawing? About a month ago? I’ve even got your recommendation letter here from Hiroshi Matsumoto, which was quite impressive.” “And you’ve seen my portfolio?” “Yes,” he repeats. “Well, the photographs anyway. We’d expect you to bring your actual portfolio with you to the interview, but the photographs were
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Mom has always been good at pretending things are fine when she doesn’t want to apologize. But I don’t need an apology. Not anymore. I have my whole life ahead of me—there isn’t room in it for anger about things I don’t have the power to change. I’ve mourned the loss of the mother I imagined could exist. I accept the one I have will never be the one I need. And that’s okay—because I will be the person I need. I will be the one I can depend on, the one who has the power to make my life better or worse.
And I’ll probably always feel my heart thump when I think someone is criticizing me. But I can live with that. I accept myself. Mom tells me to call her when I get to California. She doesn’t hug me good-bye, but she stands in the doorway waving until her house disappears from my rearview mirror. I don’t drive north or south or east or west. I drive forward.
We fit together not because we need each other, but because we choose each other. Our friendship was always our choice. Love was a natural progression. Jamie stares at the painting for so long that I think the room actually starts to get darker. When he turns to face me, he looks relieved. Calm. Jamie turns back to the painting. We don’t need words. We just know. Our fingers find each other’s.