1
The daymy life turned to absolute hell started out just like any other. I woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside my window, the sensation of a paperback novel digging into my cheek…and the horrible, horrible realization that my alarm clock never wentoff.
“Shit!” The digital readout on my alarm clock flashed repeatedly—3:00 a.m., which definitely didnotline up with the amount of sunlight streaming through my gauzy red curtains. The power must have gone out.Again.
Throwing off my bed sheets, I dashed across the room to where my phone was plugged in and found it completely dead, which explained why my backup alarm system hadn’t gone off either. Dammit. I hastily fiddled with the charger while powering it on to see that it was at a whopping four percent charge. My heart sank into my toes as the screen finished booting and loaded thetime.
11:00a.m.
I wassolate.
“Aika?” my mom called sleepily from her room as I rushed down the hallway, making a beeline for the bathroom. “Why are you stillhere?”
“Overslept!” I shouted, slamming the bathroom door shut. I jumped into the shower and stifled a shriek when ice-cold spray hit me full in the face. I hated cold showers with a passion, but there was nothing for it—in this old place, it took a good five minutes for the water to warm up, and I didn’t have time towait.
I stumbled out of the shower a few minutes later, shivering from head to toe. We tended to keep the heat on low in order to save on the gas bill, so the bathroom was nearly as freezing as the water had been. I toweled off as fast as I could, then rushed back down the hall and leapt into my clothes before my extremities icedover.
Yeah, so maybe I was exaggerating. So what? I hate the cold. You would too, if you weighed ninety pounds and had almost no body fat. The curse of being Asian, I guess—we are slim and trim as a general rule, which is great in the summer when I can wear sundresses and bikinis. Not so great in the fall and winter, when I have to wear two pairs of socks and a big puffy parka that has the added function of making sure I don’t get blown away by a stiffwind.
I’m a real badass, Iknow.
After doing a quick check to make sure my clothes were wrinkle-free, I twisted my long black hair into a knot, secured it with a pair of faux-jade chopsticks, and wrapped myself up in the aforementioned puffy coat before I rushed out thedoor.
Then I rushed back in and grabbed the monkey charm bracelet on my nightstand. It was a tiny red and white monkey, made of silk and stuffed with cotton, that hung on a leather band. I never left home without it. My father had given it to me when I was a baby, too small to remember. My mother told me it was a protective charm, and that my father had made her promise to never let me leave home withoutit.
If I was being honest, I really didn’t believe in protective charms, or any of the otherShintostuff that my mom swore by, but this was the only thing I had from my father, so I clasped it onto my left wrist before heading back out the door. The part of me that hated being late urged me to hurry down the stairs and out the door, but I ignored it and raced to the room at the end of the hallinstead.
“Aika?” my mom asked as I shoved the door open. She pushed herself up in bed, her thin limbs trembling a little under the strain. I picked up her glasses from the bedside table before she had a chance to reach for them. A smile twitched across my lips as I gently perched them on her nose. She smiled back, and as she did, the wrap she wore on her head slipped sideways a little, revealing her bare scalp. Without thinking, I adjusted it so she wouldn’t lose any of her bodyheat.
“Your color is up,” I told her as I sat down on the edge of the bed next to her. I took her frail hand in mine. “How are youfeeling?”
“Much better,” she said. “I think that chicken soup you gave me yesterday did thetrick.”
She squeezed my hand, and I felt a zing ofkidart into me. She did seem to be more energetic than yesterday…but there was still pain in her, I realized as I examined the tiny bit of life energy she’d unwittingly sent intome.
“Lie down,” I said, easing her onto her back. “I’ll give you a quick healing before Igo.”
“There’s no need,” she began to protest. “You’re going to belate.”
“Hush.” I placed my hands directly over her chest, just beneath her collarbones, and closed my eyes. Taking in a slow breath, I envisioned my ownkigathering in my chest, a soft ball of light. A friend of mine had dragged me to areikiclass forever ago, and although at first I’d been skeptical, I’d quickly found I had a natural aptitude for it. Thereikimaster had agreed, and had taken me on as his student for a little while. Usingreikito heal was what had inspired me to go to medical school in the first place—I enjoyed healing people, but evenreikihad its limitations on what it could do. Proper medical care was stillimportant.
Gently, I sent a stream of healing energy flowing into my mother’s body. She sighed, her body relaxing beneath my hands, and I smiled. I might not be able to cure my mother’s leukemia, but the healings augmented her treatment and had helped beat back the cancer before. I kept it up for a minute longer, flowing more energy into her, until I felt her painease.
“Thank you,” my mother said as I opened my eyes. “I didn’t realize how much I neededthat.”
“You’re welcome.” I leaned in and kissed her cheek, then reluctantly stepped back. “Please take it easy today, Mom. If you need help with anything, just call. I’m not that faraway.”
“Don’t you worry about me,” she said, shooing me away impatiently. “I’m a grown woman, and you’ve your own life to live. I’ll befine.”
I grabbed her hand again, and her chin stiffened in the same way mine did whenever I was about to dig my heels in. The healing I’d just done had obviously given her a boost if she was already being thisobstinate.
“Promise me you’ll call if you need anything,” I pleaded. “Please.”
The desperate note in my voice worked—she softened, her shoulders relaxing again. “I promise,” she agreed, “if only so that you’ll get out of here. Now shoo! You’re late already. And tell Sanji I saidhello.”
She didn’t have to tell metwice.
Shabu Shabu House,the hot pot restaurant my mom owned, was only a twenty-minute bike ride across town, but as I pumped the pedals as hard as I could, it was the longest twenty minutes of my life. The Presidio golf course flashed by as I zipped down Lake Street, and the late morning sun glittered off the San Francisco Bay beyond the stretch of green. The briny breeze beckoned, practically daring me to change direction and go lounge on thebeach.
