“Mama?” the little boy asked, not understanding but clinging to her as tight as he could.
“Leave him alone!” his mother screamed, her voice pleading and desperate. “He's only a little boy. He's an innocent.”
The hands in the night didn't care.
They yanked at him.
And though he tried to hold on to his mother, eventually, they dragged him out of her arms. “Mama! Mama!”
“Tak-lun!”
“Victor?”
Another voice calls the little boy by his English name. It’s soft and pretty.
“Maahmaaa!” He’s trying to call for his mother. But there’s something wrong with his voice. He can’t speak. Can’t form words properly…
“Tak-lun!” his mother screams from far away.
“Victor, come on, wake up! You’re scaring me.”
Victor once again awakens with a jerk. This time on a plane.
He finds Dawn right in front of him. Her headphones are hanging around her neck, and her hands are on his knees, which she’d apparently been shaking to get him to wake up.
He rubs a hand over his face. Another nightmare…
His heart rate calms, and the echo of his mother’s voice fades from his ears as reality returns.
Dawn appears worried. And even more confused. “What was that all about?” she asks.
At the beginning of the plane ride, he would’ve paid money for her to show him any amount of consideration.
But now, humiliation rolls his stomach. His past, this current bout of weakness—they aren’t things he wants her to know about him.
So instead of answering her question, he asks, “Why are you learning Korean?”
She visibly jerks. Then instead of answering, she asks, “Where are we going anyway? We've been in this plane forever.”
His first instinct is to tell her that it's a surprise.
But then he remembers her earlier question about choices.
“Do you truly want to know?” he asks back. “It's a surprise. But if you don't want to be surprised, I'll tell you. I'll tell you where we’re going.”
She stares at him, her eyes sharp as if he’s asked her a complicated math question.
But in the end, she grumbles, “I guess I'll go with surprise. I’ve waited this long.”
Before he can reply to her choice, she returns fully to her seat and slams the headphones back down over her ears.
Hostility continues to radiate off her body in waves. But she chose surprise.
Victor inwardly smiles.
This feels like progress.
8
DAWN
I chose the surprise option, but after we land, it becomes pretty clear that we’re in Japan. And I can't help the thrill of excitement that pops off in my chest as we climb into a Nakamura Legend outside the small airfield.
I haven't been back to Japan since my family left under a storm cloud, right before my high school graduation. I drink in the sight of the country I haven’t seen in over fifteen years as we pull away from the airport.
But then, “What Do You Mean” by Justin Bieber comes on the driver’s radio as if the universe just has to soundtrack all the confusing feelings swirling around inside of me. And I can’t help but peek over at Victor, sitting in the seat beside me.
Okay, is there a reason this guy has to keep on getting hotter with age? It's only been a few weeks, but I swear he's even better looking than the last time I saw him. Despite the humid late summer weather, he’s dressed in forest green trousers and a long-sleeve gray mock turtleneck that clings to his muscles.
Probably because it covers all of his tattoos, except for the one on his hand. But even overdressed for the weather and with dark circles under his eyes, he’s still ridiculously handsome. Like a tattoo model, trying to blend in with the rest of us.
He suddenly glances my way and catches me staring. I inwardly curse and look away.
But instead of just letting me try to live down my embarrassment, he reaches out and gently taps me on the shoulder. Just like he used to in high school, when I looked away from him, and he wanted to see my eyes so that he could tell me something. And even though we’re no longer in high school, I automatically shift my eyes back to him, doing his bidding before I can stop myself.
“Could you ask the driver to change the station? I hate this guy.”
Normally, I would've passed on his request without protest. But now I answer, “No, J.B. is one of my favorite singers.”
Victor lifts a very skeptical brow. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” I answer him, my tone snippy and defensive. “It's impossible not to love him.”
Victor rarely vocalizes, but he snorts out loud.
“Hey, don’t hate on my boy, Justin,” I shoot back, totally outraged. “Justin Bieber songs on repeat were the only things that got me through tedious late-night inbetweening sessions back in undergrad.”
“I will hate on Justin,” Victor answers with a stubborn grin. “I will continue to hate on all of his songs.”
“Let me guess ‘I’m Sorry’ is the one you hate worst of all.”
The amusement fades from his face.
And that’s a good thing, I decide.
The moment is a needed reminder that Victor and me aren’t just having a friendly argument. Our relationship is toxic. And that’s the real reason we’re here in Tokyo of all places for this so-called date.
I lean forward and say to the driver in super rusty Japanese, “Excuse me can you turn it up? This is one of my favorite songs. The louder, the better.”
Victor glowers at me as The Bieb’s smooth vocals fill up the car. And I flash him a triumphant smile.
Being petty is fun. Holding onto my anger is good. I just have to keep on reminding myself of that when we get to whatever swanky hotel Victor reserved for us.
So I’m pretty shocked when the car drops us off at the Shinjuku Station, and Victor leads me toward the down escalator. There are hotels and even malls attached to many Tokyo’s stations, but that’s not where we’re headed. We walk through the automatic fare collectors toward the Keio Line.
Whoa, I haven’t been on public transportation since my days using the Pioneer Valley five-college bus system to go to frat parties at Amherst. I can’t see Mr. When I’m Not Driving My Audi I’m Flossing in the Back of My Bentley being all that comfortable with Japan’s subway system either.
But he leads me directly toward Platform 4 like he knows exactly where he’s going. And about a minute later, we’re holding on to a pole and zipping away on a Keio Express train to God only knows where.
Well, God and Victor.
I’m beginning to regret asking for our final destination to be a surprise. Now I'm dead curious about where he's taking me. And that little thrill of excitement upgrades to full-on anticipation.
I almost let go of the pole to ask him where we’re going in sign language. But then a voice inside my head warns, Dawn, you’re letting him suck you in again.
So instead, I clamp my lips and remind myself that he's the worst kind of monster. The kind that gives gifts.
I covertly check him out again as we rocket toward wherever we’re going. Specifically, the left hand wrapped around the pole between us. While my fake wedding ring is currently floating somewhere in the New Jersey sewer system, he’s still wearing his like our marriage was actually real.