“It should be there,” I say, setting the thermos aside to help. “I’m pretty sure I threw one in there ages ago.”
“Found it,” he says, pulling out a small red kit. The zipper crackles as he opens it, taking out a thin silver mylar blanket. His satisfied smirk tells me he’s fishing for a compliment.
“Good call, Doctor. I like how you’re always thinking ahead.”
“Someone has to,” he teases, brushing a kiss into my hair. His shoulders loosen beneath me, and I settle snug against his chest.
He’s so damn easy to please.
After turning off the engine, I spread the blanket over us, tucking it around his shoulders before wrapping it over myself. The material crinkles loudly in the car, but then it’s just the sounds of us again. Darkness surrounds us, no cars passing by.
Before I parked earlier, I thought I saw a minivan just ahead, but the snow had blurred most of my view. I can only hope that everyone stopping next to the road is as okay as we are.
“You know,” I say after a moment, my head now resting against his shoulder. “This is probably the weirdest place I’ve ever felt comfortable.”
Yosh laughs softly, his breath a soft gush against my temples. “Same. Weird, but it feels safe. With you.”
I don’t respond right away, but I reach up, my hand finds his on the blanket. Our fingers lace together, holding on to each other.
“Yoshiro,” he sighs, “that’s how my mom used to call me when I was a child.” I look up and find him smiling, nostalgia sparkling in his eyes.
“Your mom?” I ask. This is the first time he’s mentioning her, or anything about his family at all.
“She’s from Maui. Surfing was her whole life. She met my father while he was staying at the resort where she’d just won gold in a major competition. For reasons I’ll never understand, she left everything behind and ran off with him after only two days. She died when I was six.”
Six. I can picture him that small and not knowing what’s happening or how to deal with that kind of loss. It scratches deep at the spot where I carry all my love for him. My instinct tells me to move closer, fast.
“I’m sorry” I say, holding him tighter.
“A couple of years ago I legally changed my last name to my mother’s maiden name, Aoki. She’s half Japanese.”
“What was she like, your mom? Do you remember her well?”
“Some things. I remember the way she smelled. She always wore this perfume that smelled likevanilla and patchouli. She was full of light. Running around barefoot through the gardens, dancing with an umbrella in her hand while there was no rain at all! And she could talk so fast about a thousand things at once.”
I smile at him as I squeeze his fingers.
“I saw her in tears more often than I should have. She wasn’t always happy, but when she smiled, it was only meant for me, and nothing else in the world mattered. She used to tell me I was hersenko hanabi, a Japanese sparkler. Her name was Noelani. I don’t have a real photo of her. Just a print from a local newspaper reporting on the surf competitions. My nanny used to tell us stories about her in secret. We weren’t allowed to talk about Mom.”
He reaches for his wallet, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper.
He hands me the photo, and I take it carefully, afraid it might tear in my hands. The image is faded, the edges frayed, but the young woman in the wetsuit holding the board wears the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. There’s a certain fierceness in her eyes that tells me she owned every wave she ever rode.
“Oh my god, you’re surfing her board!” I say, pointing at the photo.
“Sharp eye, McKenna.” It earns me another kiss in my curls.
“It’s inspired by Mount Fuji and the rising sun. She designed it herself.”
“Amazing it’s been preserved so well for so long. ”
He shakes his head. “Not exactly. I surf replicas. Boards don’t last forever, no matter how well you take care of them. There’s this company in Australia that custom-builds them for me, so every few years I order a new one.”
I let out a small hum of understanding, stealing another glance at the photo. “She’s beautiful,” I say, looking back at him. “You look a lot like her.”
He exhales, almost like he’s relieved, maybe still a bit uncomfortable about sharing this piece of his past with me. I don’t think he’s ever told Tiffy anything about his family
“Thanks for sharing this with me.”
