When You Were Here

father taught me how to save spiders I found in the house by returning them to the outdoors rather than stepping on them, how that was one of his sweetest legacies that my mom saw in me even when he was gone.
    I can hear my mom saying these words. These are my mother’s words; these are my mother’s stories. I know these stories. I lived these stories. But I like them more when they’re being told to me, knowing my mom told them to others, knowing my mom wanted to share me with her friends here. She feels alive here, like she left a living, breathing part of herself here in Tokyo. The thought crosses my mind for a second: Did my mom leave these stories here for me? I’m sure that sounds terribly selfish, but did she plant the seeds of these stories, like she planted gardens and flowers and bulbs, so they could find their way back to me? Was that some kind of gift, maybe a legacy, she left for me? Maybe she knew I’d come looking. And maybe she wanted me to have them, a gesture from beyond the grave, a guide for me to keep moving, keep living, keep asking.
    “Those are some good stories. Assuming they’re all true,” I tease, and it feels good to be playful again.
    “Maybe someday you will tell me a story.”
    “Maybe. But stories aren’t really my thing.”
    “Oh, but they are my thing. And wait! There’s one more,” she says, that smile lighting up her face as she bounces once or twice on her cushion.
    “She talked about how you were in love with her best friend’s daughter.”
    I grip my hand around my teacup and look down.
    “She said, Danny has been in love with my best friend’s daughter since he was in third grade. He had a crush on her when she wore this cute black-and-white gingham dress to school, and he talked about how pretty she looked. And then in junior high he was always going over to her house to show her some funny cat or dog video, or she was always coming over to do the same. As if I didn’t know they liked each other. ” Kana laughs, kind of a snorting laugh, and she sounds just like my mom. “And she said Holland was crazy about you.”
    Against my better judgment, against all my ramparts and defenses, I look Kana in the eyes, because I still want the reminder that Holland was into me too.
    “She said she used to say to Kate, They are so in love. So maybe we’ll be in-laws as well as best friends .”
    We were both crazy in love, crazy for each other. That is true. That is a story that doesn’t change. But the story has been told. I know the ending.
    “So are you back together with this epic woman? Will she be joining you in Tokyo? Maybe flying in across the sky wearing her cape and Superwoman costume?”
    I shake my head. “Nope.”
    “Then we will find you a fabulous Japanese girl to mend your broken heart.”
    “I didn’t say it was broken.”
    “You didn’t have to,” Kana says.
    I look at the candles flickering on the shelves. They remind me of the night I almost burned Holland’s pictures after she dumped me. I had saved all of them, ordered prints of the best ones of her, including her beating me in a winner-take-all round of Whac-A-Mole at the Santa Monica Pier.
    “Ha! Take that!” Holland held her arms in the air, victorious. I snapped a picture of her. And many more—her walking ahead of me to skee ball, her ordering cotton candy, her offering me a piece of the sugar cloud.
    “How is it possible that you’re hot in every picture?” I asked as I looked at her images on my phone.
    She rolled her eyes. “Because you’re in love with me. Same reason you’re hot on my phone.”
    “Let’s get a shot of you on the Ferris wheel.”
    Her eyes widened; then soon we went sailing into the night sky. She gripped my hand as we rose higher while the cars filled with people. I could feel her nails digging into me at one point.
    “You okay?”
    She nodded. “Yep.”
    We reached the top, the highest point on the Ferris wheel. “Take a look at that.”
    She kept looking down, though. She stared at her feet. I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Are you afraid of heights?”
    “No!”
    But she wouldn’t look up. The Ferris wheel stopped moving. “Take out your phone,” I said to her.
    I started texting her so she wouldn’t have to see how high up we were. You can see the Hollywood sign from here.
    She wrote back, No, you can’t!
    Then it was my turn. Fine, but I can see that guy who walks on stilts down on Venice Beach.
    Is he wearing that