When You Were Here

night I arrived. The pill bottles are still there. I take them all to the kitchen and dump the contents of each one into the trash can. It turns out that disposing of medicine isn’t that complicated. I looked up the guidelines online. You’re just supposed to mix up the pills with “undesirables” like coffee grinds or cat litter and then toss them out in the trash. I don’t havelitter or coffee grinds, but I think trash is kind of undesirable too. I’m about to tie up the bag when I think of another bottle I’ve forgotten. Only this one is mine. I go to the living room where I keep my painkillers. I look at the bottle longingly for a second, remembering the feelings, the way these pills took the pain away, the way they took me away. I’ll miss the escape. Still, I dump the remaining ones in the trash and toss the bag in the incinerator in the building.
    I resume my path to the sponge-cake café, and soon Holland and Kana join me. Holland is wearing rainbow socks up to her knees and a new pair of pink Converse sneakers. She looks totally adorable.
    Kana holds out her arm as if she’s presenting Holland, in her new duds, to me.
    “You know what they say,” Holland says. “When in Rome…”
    The next few days race by. Holland stays with me the whole time. Sometimes we sleep in together, and sometimes we eat breakfast at the fish market. Then we walk through the gardens in the afternoons and we stroll through the shops and she buys bracelets and plastic sushi for her mom. One afternoon we meet Kana and give her the wigs that have finally arrived, and she immediately models the electric-blue one. Later that same day I call Jeremy and tell him that he can have the piano, that it’s all his now, and he shouts a victorious yes . Then, as Holland and I walk through the side streets, getting lost in the maze of alleys and then getting found again, she asks when I’m going back to California. Istop and consider the thought. It’s not the first time it’s occurred to me. Because the thing is, I can’t really picture returning to California. This is where I belong.
    “I don’t know, honestly. I like it here. And I think I know a way to get Sandy Koufax here too. For the rest of the summer. I thought I would stay at least until school starts.”
    She nods. “So you know that promise I made? Not to keep secrets from you?”
    I brace myself. Not now. Not after all this.
    “Well, this might be a good time to let you know that I started reaching out to schools in LA. To see about transferring.”
    “Really?” I don’t bother to hide the massive grin.
    “Yeah. Really. There are some good options for the fall for me. What do you think about that?”
    I run a hand down her arm. “I think if you’re really serious about going to school in LA, then you should spend a few more weeks here. With this boy you’re into. And his dog.”
    “Well, you already had me at boy. But dog too? Doesn’t get any better than that.”
    “Is that a yes?”
    “It is always a yes.”
    A week later Sandy Koufax arrives by private jet, well-rested and ready to fetch tennis balls. I say thank you to Kate’s Tokyo client for letting my dog hitch a ride over the Pacific in such style. Kate, ever the wizard, even made some calls so Sandy Koufax wouldn’t have to be quarantined. My dog slobbers me with dog kisses and happy whines.
    Holland and I take her for her first walk in Tokyo, and all the sights and sounds make her a little bit nutty, but I know what she wants. As Holland heads off to meet Kana for jelly crepes, I take Sandy Koufax to Yoyogi Park as the sun goes down. I toss her a ball, and she chases it, returning to our routine instinctively, like it was just yesterday when we last did this. She is the same; this girl is the same. I have spent so much of my life surrounded by women, by girls, and here I am with a new clan—some I’ve known my whole life, some just a few months. It’s good to be here with this new family, a patchwork family, in this place where I belong.
    But for now it’s just me and my dog.
    Sandy Koufax rushes back to me, drops the tennis ball, and waits for another throw. I oblige.

Acknowledgments
    One of the most frequent questions a writer hears is “Where did you get your inspiration from?” Often, inspiration comes from many places and many people.
    First and foremost, the heart behind When You Were Here was inspired by one of the most amazing and resilient people I have ever known—Sharon