Sushi for One? (19 page)

“No, you were just too
tired
to pick me up for my MRI. Which was at 11:00 a.m.”

“I already said I was sorry.” Trish didn’t sound like it.

“You know what? You can make it up to me if you’ll help me the few days after my surgery.”

“That’s just it, Lex. I can’t do it again. This is just like the last time.”

“What last time? My sprained ankles?”

“No . . . you know . . . after the rape.”

Arctic winter flash-froze her heart. Lex had never spoken the word. Trish hadn’t either, until now. The ugly sound settled in the room like dirty snow on a roadway. “I don’t understand.”

“You were so depressed afterward.”

Lex didn’t clearly remember the days, even weeks after the attack. She remembered feeling like weights were on her legs, her arms. She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t speak about it.

Trish kept talking. “I understand the trauma for you and all that, but being with you drained me emotionally.”

Lex remembered Trish with her in those days — Trish as her constant, the only bright star in her blustery night. Trish’s smile, Trish’s touch on her arm, her shoulder, her head — the only touch Lex could tolerate at the time. Outside of her dad and brother, only Trish knew what had happened to her. She hadn’t even told Venus or Jenn, much less Grandma.

Lex swallowed. “I was counting on you to help me through the surgery.”

Trish shook her head, her eyes on the walls, the ceiling, out the window. “Kazuo says I’m giving too much of my time, that you’re being too clingy and demanding.”

“What?”

“I can’t do it again, Lex.”

Lex sat there, breathing hard and fast. And really, what could she say?
Oh, okay. I promise not to be a basket case now that I’ve lost my knee and Wassamattayu in the same day.

Trish sighed into the silence, then turned and walked out the front door. She shut it firmly behind her.

Lex stared at it. She realized she hoped it would open again, and she looked away.

Her gaze fell on her bulky leg, braced in a black web of Velcro and metal. The physical pain didn’t come close to the aching in her heart every time she saw it. Her first major surgery.

She’d never thought it could happen to her. A few sprained ankles, a few torn muscles here and there. Nothing serious.

This . . . This sucked the life out of her soul. She felt hollow and fragile.

She never felt hollow and fragile. She was always strong and healthy.

Maybe she’d never be strong or healthy again.

Lex squeezed her eyes shut as a tear spilled out. She bit her tongue, hard. The pain helped her focus, kept her from exploding into a billion little fragments.

Who would take care of her? She and her dad moved out this weekend. She could no longer handle the stairs for the room in the condo she’d found, so she had called and taken a ground-floor studio in south San Jose, the only thing she could afford, sight unseen because she couldn’t get a hold of Trish to check it out for her. Maybe she had been relying on Trish too much lately.

Had Lex been smothering her? When she usually only saw Trish once or twice a week at church or Bible study? But she tended to call Trish when she needed her for something. Maybe that was smothering.

Lex sighed, but it came out like a sob. Just call her a wet, smothering blanket.

Who would take care of her? Dad? No — Dad had never been comfortable with helping her with personal stuff. He’d always stayed away from it, leaving one of her aunts to help her when she was growing up.

Jennifer? She’d be sympathetic and mothering, but she had to work. Venus? Lex had never been as close to prickly Venus as Trish.

She had no one . . .

The phone rang. Lex measured the distance between the couch and the cordless, then hauled herself to her feet to pick it up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Lex, it’s Venus. This is going to weird you out, but I suddenly felt like I should call. Maybe it was God trying to talk to me.”

Lex burst into tears.

Venus sighed. “I guess God was right.”

Say good-bye.

Lex memorized the shape of the funny door knocker on the old oak door, the crooked front window, the sagging roofline. Besides that rental house in college with her three cousins, and that very brief time she’d had her own apartment — dark memories there — she’d only known this house. Mom had died here. It felt like leaving her all over again.

Behind her, Venus slammed her trunk. “Is this all?”

“Yeah. Dad bought me a storage unit and dropped off the rest of the boxes yesterday.” Separated from all her things.

Venus got behind the wheel and strapped her seatbelt on while Lex got into the passenger side of the beat-up Honda. “Are you sure we should take my car?”

“With mine, we’d take two trips because the trunk isn’t big enough.”

“I’m just not sure this thing will make it with all the extra weight.”

“It had better.” Venus fired up the engine. It roared to life, then died.

“See?” Lex thrust her hands out, as if saying a mantra to the goddess of old cars.

Venus gave her a mean sidelong look. “Grow up, will you?” She banged her hand against the dashboard, then turned the key.

The Honda came to life.

“How did you do that?”

“Cars respond to bullying more than praying.”

The car whined and complained on the freeway, especially at the speed Venus made it maintain. Once on streets, it rebelled, belching smoke and jerking every time it started up from a red light. They limped into the driveway to her new apartment building, the Honda moaning and sputtering.

Venus slammed her door and stabbed a finger at Lex over the oxidized hood. “How do you stand driving this thing?”

Lex flung her arms wide. “Do you see me with enough money to buy a new one?” She moved on her crutches to the manager’s apartment.

A cheerful Hispanic woman answered the door, patting her gray bun in place and reeking of garlic.

“Hi, I’m Lex Sakai. I’m renting a ground-floor apartment.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I’ve been waiting for you. Oh, injured your knee? No wonder you need a ground-floor unit. You’ll like this one.

The last owner who had pets moved out seven years ago, so the smell’s gone away by now. Here’s your key — oh, I guess you can’t carry it and walk with crutches, can you? I’ll carry it and show you to your apartment. Watch the hanging pots — oops, that one nailed you, huh? Be careful about Mrs. Delarosa’s pansies, over there. Sometimes I think if people just breathe on them they die, but she gets so upset. Aw, don’t worry about Mr. Parks’s dog, he can’t get past the security door, and he’s more bark than bite. Mr. Parks walks him twice a day without fail. Here we are. I’ll open the door for you. There. Welcome home!” The woman flung open the door and waggled a few ringed fingers like Vanna White.

Musty smell — it had been unused for a long time. Just enough floor space for her bed and her boxes, although it would be a squeeze to get to the bathroom. The short carpet was stained but clean. Same with the walls. A mini kitchenette took up an entire wall.

“It’s . . . fine.” Lex managed a polite smile.

“Oh, there’s your friend with your boxes. I’ll let you unpack. Here’s your key, I’ll leave it on the counter. If you need anything, just ask me.” She bustled away.

Man, that woman could talk. But friendly. Probably nosy too.

Venus crossed the threshold and stopped. Stared. Tried not to grimace. “Are you sure about this, Lex?”

“Do I have a choice? I couldn’t afford anything else.”

“This place is a dump.”

“Venus, what happened to ‘speaking the truth in love’?”

“That is love. You’re lucky I don’t dump this box and leave you stranded.”

Lex knew she was kidding, but the dingy surroundings seemed to almost weigh her down.

Venus dropped the box she held into a corner. “I’ll bring in the pieces of your bed.” Lex was glad they were light enough for her to handle by herself.

After she left, a head popped into the open doorway. “Ha-roh?”

“Hi.” Lex smiled in greeting at the wizened round face, the round body, even the gray hair caught up in a bun as round as the ones in the Chinese bakeries.

The eyes disappeared as she smiled, her mouth in the shape of a plump pot sticker. “I Mrs. Chang. Next door.”

She’d picked up at least a few phrases from Venus and Jenn’s Chinese dads. “
Ni hao ma?
”

Mrs. Chang exploded into cackles. “You accent terrible.”

Lex laughed.

“Japanee?”

Lex nodded.

“You eat
chou dofu
?”

What was that? Lex shrugged and shook her head.

“I get you some.” Mrs. Chang disappeared.

Venus appeared with one side of her aluminum bed frame. “Neighbor?”

“I think so. She’s Chinese.”

“Does she speak Cantonese or Mandarin?”

“Dunno. I can’t tell the difference.”

Venus sat a hand on her hip. “Why not? Trish can, and she’s as 100 percent Japanese as you.”

“This coming from a 50 percent Japanese.”

“At least my dad taught me Mandarin, thank you very much.”

“Trish can tell because she sings — she’s got a musical ear. The only note I can tell is if a volleyball is bounced and it makes a flat squish.”

Venus snorted in amusement in spite of herself. “When’s your dad coming by with the box spring and mattress?”

“He said he had something to do until three. So he’ll swing by the house, pick it up, and bring it here around four.”

“Something to do? Like what?”

Lex shrugged. “I never asked. He didn’t want to talk about it.”

Venus propped her hands on her hips. “Your family’s lack of communication is something else. How do you guys get anything done?”

“Hey, hey, hey. I grew up with one brother and a single dad. I’m lucky when they tell me good morning.”

“Ha-roh?” Mrs. Chang peeked her head in again. “I bring you — ”

Venus snapped as straight as a Japanese bow. “Lex — ”

“Thanks, Mrs. Chang.” Lex took the plastic food container filled with brown-beige cubes. Oh, it looked like fried tofu.

Eww, what was that smell?

Venus’s mouth had frozen in a plastic smile. She murmured to Lex, “Don’t open it. Just say thank you to Mrs. Chang.”

“What are you talking about?” Lex tugged at the container. She loved Chinese food. She ate anything Jenn’s dad served her, even when he didn’t know the English name for it.

“I’mgettingtherestofyourbed.” Venus disappeared like a ninja.

Mrs. Chang motioned to the food and beamed. “You like?

Good.”

Lex cracked the cover open.

Ugghhh.

She didn’t think anything could smell so rotten in her life. She cranked the lid back down. Her eyes watered, but she slapped a toothy smile onto her face. “Th-thanks, Mrs. Chang.”

“You want more, you ask me.” She turned and strolled away.

Venus reappeared with another part of her bed, then gagged as she entered the studio. “You dummy. I told you not to open it.”

Lex wiped at the tears gushing from her stinging eyes. “What the heck is that?”

“Stinky tofu. From what I’ve been told, it’s an acquired taste.”

“You can actually eat that?”

“My parents’ cat won’t even eat it.”

“Ugh.” Lex tossed the container onto the counter. “I heartily apologize for not listening to you.”

“You? Apologizing? That’s a first.” Venus drew her eyes wide.

“Oh, bite me.”

Venus chuckled and started putting the bed frame together. “This is kind of a long commute to work for you, isn’t it?”

“It’s only temporary.”

“Is your boss okay with your leaving?”

“Yeah, Russell okayed my leave, no problems.” Lex tugged at one of the Velcro straps on her brace. “Besides, the doctor said I could go back to work six weeks after surgery. But I’ll still be in rehab, so I’ll need to take off time to go to physical therapy sessions each week.”

“I guess I’ll have to take you to PT until they say you can drive.”

Lex winced. “Yeah. Thanks a lot, Venus.” She coughed at the dust in the air. “After the surgery, when my knee can handle stairs again, I’ll look for a room in a town house.”

Venus snapped the aluminum frame into place. Something seemed to catch her eye. She squinted toward the far corner. Lex glanced over.

A small spot on the carpet.

The spot moved.

“Aaaiiieee!” Venus climbed to her knees on top of a box of books. Lex sat on another box and drew her legs up.

The mouse scurried away.

TWENTY-THREE

S
he couldn’t pray.

Lex huddled in the middle of her bed and stared at the clock. She should try to get some sleep for surgery tomorrow. It would also keep her from thinking about the bottled water in her fridge that she’d like to chug in defiance of the “no water after midnight” rule the surgery nurse had given her.

Even after a week in her apartment, Lex still kept her ears strained for rodent-like sounds. The mouse hadn’t made a repeat appearance, but she still surrounded her bed with traps.

The blessedly silent studio seemed like a cage with walls too thick to let her prayers through. Would God even hear her if she did pray?

I’m pretty mad at You, You know. Yeah, You probably already know.

Maybe she should read her Bible. Except . . . it still lay packed somewhere in her boxes. Besides, she had no idea where to read. Knowing her luck, she’d open it up to a list of genealogy. Or worse, some bloody, violent war.

She felt abandoned, just like when Mom had died. The chemo that made her sick, and then the futility of it all. Dying at home, with Lex’s hand holding hers. Mom had even dressed up for the occasion.

Lex shivered. It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to think about Mom and dying the night before knee surgery.

She needed to be strong. She should think about what she did have. She had Venus taking care of her after surgery. She had a ground-floor apartment, found last-minute, and the mouse hadn’t returned. She had a terrific surgeon — the doctor for the Oakland Raiders, no less.

So go to sleep and let him do his thing tomorrow.

Lex lay down. Listened to the quiet apartment.

Couldn’t sleep. Obsessed about water.

“You’re not going to need anesthesia.” Venus nudged her again. “You’ll fall dead asleep on the table.”

“Can you not use the word ‘dead’?”

Lex shifted in the uncomfortable chair in the surgery center’s waiting room. Actually, it wasn’t that uncomfortable, she just didn’t like sitting in it. Especially when she wanted to drink a lake and eat a horse.

The door at the other end of the room opened, and a nurse clad in colorful cartoon scrubs smiled at her. “Lex Sakai?”

She trudged through the door into the main area of the surgery center. The nurse directed her to a bathroom, where she set a gown, socks with rubber treads, a bonnet, a bag for her clothes, and a urine cup on a chair.

Lex picked up the cup. “I haven’t drunk any water since yesterday.” She sounded kind of whiny.

The nurse had a venti-size order of patience. “That’s okay if you can’t go, but please try. Now change into everything, but you can keep your underwear on.” She closed the door behind her.

At least this bathroom had a chair. Lex unstrapped her leg brace and undressed, shivering in the chilled tile room. The bootie socks were warm, but the gown gaped in front (at least it didn’t gape in
back
). She also managed a trickle into the cup and left it on a shelf with a huge sign “Urine cups.”

Oh man, she was thirsty. She wanted a tall glass of ice water, chilled beads of condensation dripping down the sides, pooling at the base.

She whimpered.

Lex exited the bathroom, and the nurse who’d been leaning against the wall waiting for her, gave her a pat on the back. Lex twitched away, even though the nurse had meant her touch to be reassuring.

She led Lex to a small room with two recliners separated by a curtain, each in front of a TV set. Venus stood inside, talking to a dark-skinned Asian man who seemed to be demonstrating a strange contraption. He saw her and introduced himself as Alan.

“This is your CPM machine — Continuous Passive Motion machine. After surgery, you’ll put this on your bed and strap your leg into the cradle — ” he pointed to a metal cradle lined with soft faux lambskin — “and turn the machine on. It will bend and straighten your leg very slowly, and for only a few degrees at first. You’ll increase the degree during the next two weeks.”

“Alan told me how to set it up when I get you home.” Venus was far from flirty or chummy with Alan, but it had been years since Lex had seen her so relaxed around a male. He must be one of the few who had the courtesy not to ogle her gorgeous face and lust-inspiring figure.

The nurse sat her in the recliner and then covered her with warmed blankets
. Warmed.
A perfect temperature. The gown didn’t seem so skimpy anymore.

“Take this marker and write ‘yes’ on your surgery leg and ‘no’ on your good leg.”

Okay, now that was just scary. “You mean sometimes they open up the wrong leg?” Her voice had a screech at the end.

The nurse winced at the sound. “No, don’t panic. They don’t open you up. This will be arthroscopic, so he’ll only cut three small holes into your knee.”

“He can repair it with only three small holes?” Her voice still had that screechy thing going on.

“Oh, yes, it’s the best kind of surgery. Don’t worry.” She set a hand on Lex’s shoulder. Lex jumped.

Another nurse joined her. They started an IV on her and scrubbed down her bad leg with some neon orange soap that looked like it zapped every last germ.

The nurses left, and Venus sat in a chair next to her.

Suddenly, the magnitude of what Lex was about to go through smacked her across the head with the force of a two-by-four plank.

She’d be unconscious. And she might not wake up.

Her stomach started to ripple. Her hands trembled where they lay against the warm blankets. She licked her dry lips, swallowed against the ball of fuzz lodged in the base of her throat.

She had to go to the bathroom. The warm blankets added to her incontinence problem.

“Venus, flag down a nurse.”

“Why?” Venus tore her eyes from the TV.

“I need to know if it’s okay to go to the bathroom.”

“Sure,” the nurse chirped once Venus had explained everything.

“Just take your IV bag. There’s a hook next to the toilet.”

Venus had to carry the bag while Lex grabbed her crutches and hopped to the bathroom. Once she sat down, the IV line also got in her way.

Back in her recliner, she felt a little better, although her stomach still jiggled.

A nurse peeked in on the older woman sitting in the other recliner.

“You’ll be going into surgery in a few minutes, Mrs. Tyler.”

Lex couldn’t see her around the curtain, but she heard Mrs. Tyler’s quavering voice speaking to her husband. “Charles, look at me.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Turn off that TV. Look at me. This might be the last time I talk to you.”

“Now, don’t be scared, honey — ”

“Don’t be scared? How can you say that to me now?”

“It’s a simple procedure — ”

“I might never wake up.”

Lex’s chest squeezed tight.

“Charles, promise me you’ll give me a nice funeral.”

“Honey — ”

“And don’t invite your cousin. I can’t stand her. And promise me you’ll marry again. You need someone to take care of you.” Her voice ended on a sob.

“Honey, you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll miss you so much, Charles.”
Sniff, sniff.

“I’ll miss you too — I mean, what are you talking about? You’ll be okay.”

“And don’t forget to water the gardenia plant.”

The nurse bustled in. “Mrs. Tyler, they’re ready for you.”

“Oh! Good-bye, Charles. Don’t ever forget me.”

A nurse wheeled the weeping woman out the door. As she passed Lex, she clutched her bad shoulder — marked with a “yes” — and her distraught husband trailed behind.

Lex and Venus stared at each other with wide eyes after she had left. Venus bit her lip. “You, um . . . want me to pray for you?”

“Yeah . . . yeah, I guess.”

“Dear God . . . Thanks for Lex. Thanks for her
really skilled
surgeon. And
really good
nurses. And
really excellent
surgery center. Please help her feel calm. And, uh . . . help her wake up afterward. Amen.”

“Gee, Venus, you pray so eloquently.”

“Hey, it’s a prayer.”

“True.”

A new patient strolled into the room, this time a college-aged, athletic redhead. “Hi.” She smiled at Lex and Venus.

Lex searched her joints for any swelling. “Are you sure you need surgery?” she asked the girl.

“Oh, sure.” She sat in the recliner and automatically held out her arm for the IV. She peeked at Lex around the curtain. “I re-tore my ACL a month ago, so the swelling’s gone down.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, this is my third ACL surgery.”

“
Third?
”

“Uh huh. I keep snapping them like rubber bands. But Daddy’s an ex-football player, and he has great insurance. He coaches a college team now, but he’s loaded.”

Lex suddenly had visions of years of surgeries draining her pocketbook. “Venus, I need to go to the bathroom again.”

“What’s your problem?” Venus grabbed the IV bag.

“I have to go when I get scared.”

“Oh, great.”

Lex relieved herself — wow, she had a lot this time — and sat back down just in time for her anesthesiologist to arrive.

Dr. Frank looked like he’d sucked a lemon. He adjusted his glasses and glared at her over the rims. “Any allergies?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Any family history of heart disease, yadda, yadda, yadda?”

Did he just say, “Yadda, yadda, yadda”?

“Uh . . . no.”

He sighed and pursed his lips. “How’d you tear it?”

“Accident.”

He grunted. “Well, obviously. How?”

“Someone fell into me.”

“Hmph.” He scribbled in his chart. “Okay, that’s it. Oh, and I have to disclose that there’s a slight chance of complications, nothing is 100 percent guaranteed, yadda, yadda, yadda. Understand?”

He liked that “yadda” word. “I guess.”

“No questions?”

“Uh . . .”

“No.” Venus pinned him with a hard gaze. “Just make sure she wakes up again.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He left.

Lex’s legs quivered. Her mouth had become Death Valley. “Venus, I need to go again.”

Venus rolled her eyes but reached for the IV bag. She paused as she studied it. “Hey.”

“What?”

“It’s almost empty. It’s dripping awfully fast.”

Lex studied the drip-drip-drip. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Venus flagged down a nurse and pointed it out.

“Oh! Sorry about that. We forgot to slow it down after we got the antibiotics in you.” She changed the bag and slowed the drip.

“I didn’t flush all the antibiotics out of me, did I?”

“No, don’t worry, dear.” The nurse bustled away.

After another trip to the bathroom, Lex sat with Venus, not saying anything, just watching a rerun of
Oprah
on TV. Finally, the nurse peeked in. “We’re almost ready for you. A few minutes.”

Lex’s fingers fidgeted on her lap until Venus slapped her hand down on them. “Stop that. You’re driving me nuts.”

“You’re nuts? Think about me.”

“You are so egocentric, you know that?”

“I’m about to go into surgery. I think I’m entitled.”

“You’re going to wake up, perfectly fine and as crabby as ever. So stop making my day worse than it already is.”

“Okay, Lex, they’re ready for you now.” The nurse walked over to Lex with a wheelchair.

Lex stood and moved into the chair, surprised her legs didn’t collapse under her. She grabbed Venus’s arm. “Take my mom’s diamond earrings. I want you to have them.”

“Oh, stop.”

“And that picture frame we fought over as kids? It’s in my closet.

You should have gotten it.”

“Will you shut up?”

“But make sure I get cremated with my ratty bunny. He’s on my bed.”

Venus shoved her face in close. “I’m going to deck you so you don’t need anesthesia.”

Lex swallowed. “I need to go again.”

Lex opened her eyes. Hey, she was in a different room. She could have sworn she’d been wide awake when she counted down to eight in the surgery room. Now she felt fuzzy and she couldn’t move her leg.

Oh, no! She was paralyzed!

She would panic
after
she threw up.

“How are you?” A smiling nurse who was
way
too cheerful nudged her bed and did something with her IV. She started raising Lex into a sitting position.