Free Swimming to Tokyo by Brenda St John Brown Page A

pachinko parlors, and there’s a lot of bowing and staggering going on as groups say goodbye on the sidewalk.
    We walk back in silence. It’s less than ten minutes but feels like an hour. I try out a million questions in my head, but everything feels forced. Because I feel dumb. Like I got taken in by Finn’s song and made it into something it’s not and is never going to be. Granted, that doesn’t explain the way he looked at me, but maybe I’m reading that wrong, too.
    We’re outside my building before either of us speak, although I don’t actually know it’s my building until he says, “Here you are.”
    “Oh. Wow. Okay, thanks.” I look off beyond his shoulder like I’m checking out the street so I won’t have to make eye contact. “Thanks for the night out.”
    “Thanks for coming.”
    He does that uncomfortable foot-shuffle thing he was doing on the train, so I turn toward the door. I fumble with my key ring and have to try two different keys before I get the right one. I twist the lock and then drop the keys as I grab the handle.
    I bend to get the key ring at the same time as Finn. My bag flies over my shoulder, and as I try to grab it before everything spills all over the sidewalk, I catch the skirt of my dress on the latch of the door. I stretch to reach for my bag, and my dress twists up past my ass. Which is bare because I tossed my underwear a lifetime ago in the ladies room at the restaurant.
    It takes the expression on Finn’s face to remind me. “Um, your dress…”
    I look down. “Oh. My. God.”
    I try to yank the material, which isn’t coming loose, so I move my foot holding the door open and it slams.
    On my dress.
    The only good thing is Finn has the keys in his hand.
    “Can you unlock the door, please?” I say this with as much dignity as I can, given the circumstances, but the only way I can even ask is not to look at him.
    To my surprise, he laughs. “Okay. Why aren’t you wearing underwear?”
    If I could drop through the floor right now, I would. “I lost them. Open the door.”
    He’s grinning. “You lost them? You’re lying.”
    My God. I’m going to die. “Okay, I’m lying. Open the door.”
    “Why won’t you tell me?” He leans against the doorframe, his smile still wide.
    “Because whatever you’re making up in your head is a lot more interesting than the truth.” Anything is more interesting than the truth. “Open the door.”
    Finn reaches toward the lock, although he’s definitely taking his time about it. I could grab the keys out of his hand and I’m about to when he says, “And here I thought you might be starting to trust me.”
    I force myself to meet his gaze then. “I peed on them trying to negotiate the hole in the ground doubling as a toilet at the restaurant so I chucked them.”
    He laughs really loud. “That’s kind of priceless.”
    I try not to smile. “It’s rude to laugh. Now unlock the damn door.”
    He does it, turning the key in the lock and dropping them in my hand. I twist around to try to unhook my dress from the lock, but my angle is all wrong and the more I yank at it, the higher it rides up on my hips.
    I’m not sure what kind of expression is on my face when I look up at Finn, but it’s mortified enough that he reaches over to give my dress two firm tugs and, although it rips, at least it covers my bottom half again. I wedge my foot back in the door and cross my arms over my chest. “Thanks.”
    “Any time.” He’s still smiling, and it’s a really good smile. Not laughing or mocking. Just nice.
    “I think you need to tell me another embarrassing story so I don’t feel so dumb.” I don’t mean it as a challenge, just a fact.
    His mouth twists a little. “I’m not sure I can top that.”
    “Oh, and here I thought you were starting to trust me.” I splay my hand on my chest for effect, but my tone doesn’t match my words or my dramatics. I sound almost sad, which may be because of the umeshu or the roller