Love Charms and Other Catastrophes (16 page)

“I made the headboard last night,” he said proudly. “Plywood and quilt batting. It was the best I could do on short notice.”

Hijiri felt strangely at home. She wanted to curl up on his couch with a mug of tea, or maybe even sprawl out on the rug and dream up love charms.

“Love has been generous. He sends me an allowance, and I was able to buy this.” Ken reached into his closet and pulled out a staple gun. “It's a brand-new one. I can work on so many projects with this.”

Stunned, Hijiri wandered over to his bed and sat on it. The mattress sank under her weight. The comforter was so downy she had to fight falling asleep right there. “Don't tell me you have a glue gun.”

“It's in my desk,” he said, grinning. Ken put the staple gun away. “I hope this is proof enough that you can trust me with your card catalog. Or anything else you need.”

“There's something odd about your apartment,” she said faintly.

They went back to the living area. As soon as she was settled on the couch, Ken kneeled on the rug in front of her. He didn't have any backpack straps to grab this time, but he flexed his fingers anyway. “So what do you think?” he asked. “I know they aren't love charms, but this is my passion.”

“The mood, the photograph, the furniture,” she whispered, snapping out of her catlike comfort. The pieces added up. Hijiri gasped. “These are hearth charms.”

Ken nodded. “I can craft them.”

Simply put, hearth charms were charms crafted for the home. Hijiri's parents never bothered purchasing hearth charms, relying on a recommended interior designer for their house instead. But hearth charms worked in a way regular furnishings didn't: they affected mood, atmosphere, and functionality.
Not as exciting as love charms
, Hijiri thought.
Why did Love give Ken this talent?

Disappointment flooded Ken's eyes. “You're studying me again.”

“I can't help it.”

“I know.”

The flatness in his voice stung. Hijiri rubbed her face.

“Hearth charms and love charms have a lot in common,” he said gently. “Romantic love isn't the only love there is. Hearth charms come from love of home and family. A couple is happy if their
home
is a happy place.”

Hijiri shook her head. “That's not true. A couple is happy only when they are in love with each other. A house reflects their feelings.”

“Spoken like a love charm-maker,” he said, amused. “Think of it this way. If a couple is struggling—with each other, with money problems, with rowdy, unruly children—hearth charms help dull the aches and pains. It's a valuable discipline. I mean, just look at you. I've never seen you so relaxed before, even though you're completely baffled right now.”

Hijiri raised her eyebrows.

“I love your baffled face,” he added.

“How can you know these things? How can you even argue with me about love charms and hearth charms?” Hijiri asked.

“I could try answering,” he said softly. “But you know what'll happen.”

Hijiri sighed into her hands. Each time she felt like she was getting closer to understanding Ken, she hit a wall. He wouldn't even take off his sweater. It was drying already, stiff and wrinkled, but he didn't seem bothered in the least by it.

Ken leaned forward, pulling her hands away from her face. He rubbed her clammy hands, warming them. His voice was so gentle, so sorry, that she felt her heart start to thaw too. “Keep asking me questions. I'm the best source for Kentaro Oshiro facts.”

“I'm
always
asking you questions.” Hijiri's gaze dropped to their hands. His fingers slid over hers. Her skin tingled.

“Sometimes I worry what will happen when you stop asking.”

She looked up sharply.

“I know your dedication to love charms is immense,” he said, “but would you be interested in trying a hearth charm? I'll walk you through it.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

 

Chapter 11

THE RIGHT KIND OF MOOD

When she had said yes, Ken stumbled to his feet to fetch what he needed for the hearth charm. He came back carrying a stethoscope.

“What's that for?” Hijiri asked. And why hadn't she thought of purchasing one for herself? Maybe it could be a good tool for measuring her heart.

“Patience,” he said. After returning to his spot on the rug, he asked Hijiri to join him and lie on her side, facing him. “This charm works best with direct contact,” he said, patting the wood, “but it's also really uncomfortable. So we'll stick with the rug.”

Hijiri slipped off the couch and onto the rug. Her hair was still damp and clothes stiff from the twins' charms, but she settled easily. Treating him like a mirror, she curved her legs like his and copied the way he tucked both hands against his chest.
We must look like two halves of a heart
, she thought.

They were close to each other. His body heat radiated between them. If she stretched a little farther, she could brush her toes against his.

Ken handed her the stethoscope. “Put this on. Since you're not practiced in hearth charm-making, you won't see what the charm does on your own.”

Hijiri put the earpieces in.

Ken pressed the stethoscope's bell against the wooden floor above their heads. Then he closed his eyes and said something under his breath.

She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply. At first, nothing happened. She felt the soft rug against her body, smelled the damp, evergreen scent that was only Ken.

Then, like an orchestra tuning up, she heard other sounds through her earpieces: creaking footsteps, radios tuning, pipes humming, furniture shifting, and undefinable creaking from the belly of the Student Housing Complex.

“Focus,” he said. “Soon you'll
see
the complex too.”

Hijiri shoved the sounds aside, save for a few ghostly creaks and footsteps, when color flashed behind her eyelids. The colors became blue and white, forming lines, dimensions, angles. A blueprint of Ken's apartment. Just as it came to her, the blueprint slithered away. Other apartments drew themselves across her eyelids, white lines and frosty blue backgrounds.

“Hold on,” he said.

She flew through the pipes and walls, her own apartment a playground of abstract lines, before traveling deeper into the building. Finding leaky faucets and jammed windows. They flashed red, easy to spot amid the whites and blues.

“This charm is running a diagnostic of the complex,” he said softly. “I can see the very fabric of the building and pinpoint its flaws. People just assume that hearth charm-making is all about making rooms inviting. But it's more than that.”

Slowly, the colors and sounds began to fade. When she opened her eyes, she found Ken smiling at her. Hijiri pushed herself up and stretched her arms. “I don't know what to do with you.”

“That's okay. I'll be here when you do.”

Her breath hitched. “Promise?”

Ken sat up, looking tousled and content and solid. Like he wouldn't go away. “I promise I won't leave. Do what you need to do to solve me. I can weather anything.”

Hijiri wanted to laugh at his wording. He
did
survive a full-on attack from the twins. Maybe he wasn't as delicate as she thought. Some kind of pressure left her.

Ken stood and offered his hand, pulling her up with him. They were both stiff from air drying, with disheveled hair and wrinkled uniforms. “We better get cleaned up,” he said. “Don't want to scare the movers when the catalog arrives.”

She walked to the door on wobbly legs. After shoving her feet into her shoes, she turned back to him. “You'll be there later?”

“Sure.”

She squared her shoulders. “I need a table. Will you help me find one?”

Ken smiled wide enough to hurt. “Absolutely.”

*   *   *

Hijiri took a shower hot enough for steam to fog the mirrors. She stayed under the showerhead until her hair flattened against her back. Catching a cold would be a terrible setback. She hoped she burned it out of her skin with hot water and pear-scented scrub.

The shower made her feel drowsy for only a few minutes before the anticipation of receiving her card catalog brought back the fidgets. She threw on a T-shirt and jeans, tried attacking her homework, but mostly paced her apartment.

By the time the movers arrived, her bare feet slapped against the floor in a messy rhythm.

“Wait,” Ken yelled, running past the movers as they unloaded the catalog.

“What's the matter?” Hijiri asked. She had opened the door as wide as it would go, hoping the catalog would fit.

“Have you decided where it's going?”

“Wherever the movers put it should be fine.”

Ken huffed. He entered the apartment and turned in a circle, his eyes flickering over every piece of the room. “It's not going in your bedroom.”

“It could, if I want the privacy,” she said.

“Not if you want to use the rest of your bedroom. It's too big, Hijiri.” He gestured at the stretch of wall between the living area and the kitchen. “How about having your work area here? It's wasted space. You don't even have a picture hanging over here.”

Hijiri thought about it. In Fallon's apartment, she used that space for her corkboard and desk area, as did Ken. But Hijiri had shoved her standard-issue desk near the door, unused, since she preferred wide worktables or doing her homework on her bed. No matter how she thought about it, that space would work best. “I could still use my shoji screen to hide it,” she admitted.

“A little privacy and a little mystery,” he said. “And there'll still be room for your table.”

With a few grunts and adjusting in the doorway, the movers wheeled the card catalog inside. The catalog had more drawers than she remembered and she loved how the natural sunlight illuminated the messages scratched into the wood.

Ken debated with the movers over the placement of the catalog, insisting they shift it to the left, then a pinch to the right, while the two men said they couldn't see a difference in the shifting.

Hijiri perched on the armrest of her couch, relieved to let Ken take over. If it had just been her, she would have had them put the catalog anywhere, desperate as she was to give her supplies a new home. Then she got an idea. “Why don't we use the card catalog as a wall?” she said.

The movers shook out their arms and sighed.

Ken brightened. “I didn't think of that.”

“It's like building a little room for myself,” she said, excited. If they moved the catalog so that it was adjacent to the wall, with its back toward the front door, she'd be able to hide behind it to do her work. Even more room for her future worktable, since she would be using some of the living area space.

By the time the movers left, Hijiri was humming with anticipation. Charm ideas popped and fizzed inside her head, just waiting to come out. For the last time, she hoped, she pushed the feeling back. “I need that table.”

“Today?” Ken asked.

“You can't expect me to wait any longer to start crafting,” she said.

“But the shops are closing now. It's almost dinnertime.”

“Ken,” she whined. She hated herself for begging, but she needed to start crafting. Now. That very night.

He scratched the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “Okay. Let's see if anything's open.”

Hijiri snatched her bag and keys. After locking the door, she told Ken to run. They both dashed through the complex gate and onto the sidewalk. Ken breathed harshly behind her; looking over her shoulder, she saw that his cheeks were flushed and he was trying hard not to laugh.

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“Us, trying to beat the clock,” he replied.

“Just you watch. We'll find that table!”

Hijiri wasn't familiar with the shops like her friends were since she spent her walks daydreaming, but Grimbaud had a fair share of antique and thrift stores. Her worktable
had
to be there. They came upon an antique shop with twinkle lights still blinking in the windows. Hijiri stopped abruptly. Ken bumped into her from behind; she stumbled forward, her hand on the doorknob.

“Here?” he asked, his breath on her neck.

Hijiri's skin tingled. “I hope so.”

The shop was narrow and cramped. Hijiri sucked in her stomach as she walked through the rows of piled, dusty items. She couldn't tell one piece of furniture from the next, covered as they were, but Ken had an easier time.

“What kind of table do you need?” he asked softly. “Because I can see if there's anything here that meets your requirements.”

“Using a hearth charm?”

He nodded.

Hijiri lowered her voice so that the shop owner at the counter couldn't hear them. “A big, wide table that doesn't wobble. It won't break under the weight of my bottles and supplies, because I tend to use so many at once.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really.”

Ken whispered a few words under his breath. The air shifted, and she felt herself being tugged this way and that. The wind chimes hanging from the ceiling sang a haunting song.

Hijiri felt the presence of the table before she saw it. It was a deep feeling of
right
, as if no other piece of furniture could meet her needs like this one. The feeling was foreign to her; she never thought much about such things.

Ken met her questioning gaze with a smile. “Come on. It's this way.”

They squirmed through the rest of the row, stepping over a pile of fallen children's books and toward the back wall. Ken unearthed a creamy-brown table, very small and dirty from having shouldered a basket of clown dolls and an open packet of sidewalk chalk.

“It's not big enough,” she said. “I can't work on that.”