I stand in front of Finn’s building debating if I should press the buzzer when an old lady comes through the front door. I smile and bow, slipping inside as she exits. Did I know I was coming here all along?
Maybe.
But it doesn’t help with the way my heart pounds and it’s not from climbing the stairs. I stare at the number on the door for two minutes and let my fist rise and fall three times before I knock. He might not even…
The door opens in front of me and the thought vanishes.
I lick my lips and tighten my fingers around the strap of my bag. “Um, hi.”
Finn’s eyes are dark and unwelcoming. “What are you doing here?”
“I, um, wondered how you were.”
“Yeah.”
That’s not an answer, but it tells me everything. And makes me a little braver. “Are you going to invite me in?”
He shakes his head. “I’m on my way out.”
I look down. It’s hotter than hell, but he’s wearing jeans and a blue-and-white striped button-down. Definitely the closest he gets to dressing up. “Where are you going?”
He looks off beyond my shoulder. “I’m meeting someone.”
Nice. That didn’t take long, did it? “Who?”
His voice drops a notch. “No one you know.”
“Anyone I should be worried about?”
He shrugs. “Depends what would worry you.”
“I can think of a few things.” I match my tone to his, but I might never be able to use my right hand again from how tightly it’s wrapped around the strap of my bag.
He lets the corner of his mouth turn up a degree before he catches himself. “It’s not your concern.”
And his eyes thaw. For just a second. Combined with the hint of a smile, it’s a thread. A tenuous one, but I grab it. “You want company?”
“Do I want company?” He echoes the words back at me, and his eyes are flint again. “Do I look like I want company?”
“No.” All his face is saying is that he wants me out of here. Out of his sight. Completely. So I fix my eyes on his shirt, the thin blue stripe. The shell button.
“I can’t do this right now.”
The striped shirt turns away and goes back into the apartment, although he doesn’t shut the door behind him.
I think about running. Possibly all the way back to New Jersey.
But he comes out five seconds later and turns his back to me as he locks the door. I stare at the space between his shoulder blades where I know the dragon’s tongue lashes his spine.
I don’t mean to touch him.
But the next second my palm flattens against the crisp cotton, squeezing his shoulder, running along his back before I stop with my fingers twisted through his belt loop.
He stiffens, and I’m pretty sure his grip is tight enough on the door handle to break the damn thing off. I’m still staring at how white his fingers are next to the black door when he leans back into me.
I’m completely unprepared for his weight, and my fist flattens against his side, creeping toward his stomach. My breathing is shallow, and I close the three inches separating us so my chest rises and falls against his back. His hand on my elbow pulls me closer until my cheek is hard against his shoulder blade.
“I can’t do this right now, Zosia.” His voice is soft, his grip tight on my arm.
I at least have the sense to hesitate. To know that whatever I say next will determine, if not everything, then close. My lips press into his shirt, and I nod. “Okay. But you walked out on me twice in two days and I’m not up to a third. You need to be done.”
“Do I?” There’s at least a small smile in his voice, even though I can’t see it.
“Yes.” I bite my cheek hard so I won’t say anything else. Amelia is this cool. Possibly Mindy. But not me.
“Or what?”
I was wrong. I realize that immediately.
This is the moment that will determine everything.
“Or you’re just a guy I spent one amazing summer with in Tokyo.” I let go of him and cross my arms over my stomach when he turns around to face me. I stare at his throat between the pointy collar of his shirt, smooth and tan. “And I really want you to be more than that.”
“I’m—”
“I’ve never fought for anything in my life. Even when I could have, I didn’t. My dad always said I was as good a swimmer as Allison Moore. I beat her almost every time when we were on JV and I liked it. I liked winning. But then my coach said I should get more serious. I could be really good. And I stopped running, started skipping practice, got sloppy in the pool. Because I didn’t want to care so much that I couldn’t walk away.” My words are fast but not fast enough to keep up with my head.
I pause for air, and Finn tries to fill the gap. “I’m—”
I continue like I didn’t hear him. “All summer, we’ve had this push-me-pull-me thing, and I was finally done. I thought I was ready to let you go. I have the picture in my head of the minute I decided. I thought it was all I needed. With my mom…it was my sixteenth birthday. August 15. We knew it would be the last one. She was way too sick, and the chemo wasn’t doing anything but making her weak and bald. I remember looking at her across the kitchen and she was laughing and eating cake and she looked happy. She was there and she was happy, and I remember thinking that day, ‘It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay to go while we’re all still laughing.’And when I think of her, that’s what I remember. That’s the picture in my head. I have one of you, too, but it’s not the right one.”
“How do you know?”
“There’s no peace in it.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not the right one.” His voice is soft, bordering on apologetic.
His words cut through my resolve like a knife through a melon. “I…it’s not. That’s not how this is going to end up.”
I’ve been focusing on his shirt collar and his throat the whole time. It’s the only way I can make myself say anything that’s come out of my mouth the past two minutes. The tears still threaten somewhere between the back of my nose and behind my eyes, and I know if I look up I’ll cry.
Although all it takes is his finger tracing my jaw. By the time he lifts my chin up, my eyes brim with tears and his face blurs in and out of focus. I can’t even see his eyes, and I really, really wish I could.
Especially with what he says next. “I’m meeting my father. He’s on his way to Sydney via Tokyo. He emailed me on Saturday and asked to meet. He wants to make amends, he said.”
Ice shoots down my back from my neck to my knees, but at least it freezes the tears. I blink a few times until I see Finn’s face. It’s composed, calm except for the way his jaw flexes while he waits for me to say something.
Saturday night. I thought he’d been talking in theory. But he knew. I wish I could remember exactly what he said, but Saturday is a blur, so I say, “What do you think about that?”
“I think I’m going to be late.” He shakes his head a little. “I was on my way out the door.”
Right. “Did you…did you want company?” I brace myself for his refusal.
“I don’t know.” Which isn’t a flat-out no.
So I inch up to it like he can’t tell exactly what I’m doing. “Where are you meeting?”
“That coffee shop in Ueno we went to that time. I couldn’t think of anywhere else.”
“I’ll take the train up with you.” I say it like it’s been decided.
“Sure. Yeah.” He picks up a backpack from the hallway near the door and takes a couple of steps. I watch him go before I realize he said yes, although I totally expect him to change his mind.
We keep our distance the whole way to the station. I nearly take his hand, but stop myself. The next move has to be his. As the train jerks away from the platform, I see our reflection in the window, his hand reaching for my shoulder, then dropping back to his side.
“You can touch me.” I spin around. He’s closer than I thought. “You should, actually. Before I spontaneously combust.”
He smiles. A real one that stays in his eyes. “I might like to see that.”
“I bet you would.”
After that, I expect it. Anticipate it. Practically hold my breath for it. But he doesn’t touch me until we’re two stops from Ueno. It’s crowded, and normally we’d be pressed together, sharing a hand grip instead of leaving room for a small child between us. Now, even the couple of times we’ve been shoved together, he’s stepped back.
Until he doesn’t.
His arm goes around me and draws me close, nestling me into that space where I fit along his hip. The relief washes over me. I don’t try to hide it, and I have to dig my fingernails into his shoulder so I won’t cry out.
“Ouch. That hurts,” he says.
“It would be rude to burst into flames in front of all these people.” I try to keep my tone light, and it almost works.
“It would mess up the trains for the afternoon, that’s for sure.” His hand slips under the hem of my tank top to the bare skin of my back. “Where did you say you were going?”
His thumb hooks the waistband of my shorts while his fingers flutter between my skin and the thin fabric of my shirt. “I didn’t.”
His belt buckle digs into my ribs and I shift so it doesn’t hurt so much, but the train jerks to a stop and I end up slammed against him. Way too close for public transit. His knee is between my legs and his hand clutches my butt. Because we’re both reaching for the bar above our heads, our chests meet, and I’m far enough under the curve of his arm that I feel his breath hot on my temple, moving along the edge of my hairline to my ear. His lips barely even graze my skin.
And by barely, I mean maybe not at all.
My mouth brushes the skin peeking above the button of his shirt. It’s not a kiss. But when he draws me the last centimeter to him and I look up, that is.
It feels like a first kiss.
Not our first kiss because that was wild. Breathless. And this is not. It’s soft and tentative.
And in the middle of Japan Rail less than one stop from Ueno.
That thought more than any sense of propriety makes me pull back. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Now. I mean, with your father. You didn’t mean for me to know. I get that. I don’t expect—”
“I wasn’t even considering meeting him before Saturday. Before we had that fight. But then I walked and I thought. I was going to tell you. But then everything happened and I couldn’t. I thought if I saw him maybe then…”
The train lurches to a stop, but this time instead of melting together we break apart. We get separated by a bunch of school kids leaving the train, but Finn waits in the middle of the platform for me and his hand finds mine as I walk up beside him.
His hand is sweaty. Hot. Maybe it’s because he’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. But probably not. I squeeze his fingers and try desperately to think of something to say that’s the right amount of comforting but casual. Something that will make him laugh. Smile.
We go through the turnstile, and Finn’s grip tightens. I grab his forearm with my other hand. “Are you…”
My “okay” is drowned out by the shout from across the hall, the deep Irish brogue that rings above all the Japanese chatter filling the station. “Son. It’s good to see you, m’lad.”