When You Were Here

Sundays during the spring and summer, Holland would go with my mom to the farmers’ market. They brought their canvas bags and bought up cranberry-walnut breads, honey-kissed peaches, sun-ripened cherries, and flowers, gobs of flowers. They bought huge bouquets and little bouquets of whatever was in season. Holland would put her flowers in vases around her house; my mom would do the same at our house.
    “It’s like living in Amsterdam,” my mom declared as she returned with orange tulips. It was just a few days after Holland and I had our first kiss. We weren’t out yet; we weren’t officially a couple.
    “Tulips! Tulips everywhere. We’re living in Holland,” the girl named after the country added.
    “We are turning this place into our own Netherlands,” my mom quipped.
    “We’re like the Dutch!”
    It was Kate’s turn to chime in. “Clearly you two have been practicing your nicknames.”
    “And look, we picked up some zinnias to plant. They’ll bloom in time for Labor Day,” my mom said. “They’ll be gorgeous.”
    My mom and Holland went to the backyard and began working in my mom’s garden, digging and planting and getting their hands dirty. At one point I stood by the sliding-glass door and watched them. Holland was kneeling in the dirt, her hands in the soil. She looked up, noticed me, gave me a nod, and then a wink. I tipped my forehead back to her, a slight grin in return, then went back inside.
    Later that day when Holland had returned to her home, my mom flopped down on the couch and said to me, “You are so busted, Danny. How long did you think it would take for me to figure out you’re involved with Holland?”
    She was the cat that had caught the mouse, and she was satisfied with the hunt.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Denial will get you nowhere,” she teased. “Now fess up.”
    “Mom, don’t be gross. I’m not going to tell you anything.”
    “Ah-ha! So there is something to tell! I knew it, I knew it.”
    I just shrugged and smiled—an admission. “What doyou want for dinner? Want me to make some sandwiches or something?”
    “Sure,” she said, and I brought her a plate with a turkey sandwich on wheat. “You couldn’t have made a better choice.”
    “You like turkey that much, Mom?”
    “You know what I’m talking about.”
    “I do. I do know what you’re talking about.”
    I’m glad my mom approved of Holland. And right now I kind of want Kana to approve of Holland too. We’re at an old-fashioned noodle shop in Shibuya having lunch. We sit at slatted wood tables and are surrounded by solo businessmen and businesswomen loudly slurping their noodles in approval.
    Holland covers her mouth with her hand and tries to stifle a yawn.
    “Did Danny tell you I have secret Asian cure for jet lag?” Kana says as the waiter brings our bowls of noodles. She says it in a thick Japanese accent, clearly making fun of herself.
    “It’s not jet lag,” I say proudly.
    Holland laughs, then points to me. “American boys. What can you do?”
    “It’s a good thing I knew he”—Kana points her thumb at me—“was head over heels in love with you from the start. Made it so much easier to keep my hands off him.”
    Holland smiles. “I’m sure he was terribly hard to resist.”
    “ The worst! Every day it was like pulling arrows out of my heart,” Kana says dramatically, then mimics the process of removing these arrows.
    “Oh, ha-ha,” I say, but I’m glad they like each other, because you never know with girls. You never know if one thinks the other is stepping on her territory. The thought of me being territory for either of them is laughable, but I like that each of these girls can stake a claim on me, a different one but still a claim.
    When we finish the noodles, Kana asks if Holland has had the sponge cake yet. Holland says no.
    “That is a sin. And it must be rectified. But there are other sins that must be righted first, beginning with those flip-flops you are wearing, Miss Holland.” Kana turns to me and says, “Danny, we will meet you at the sponge-cake place in thirty minutes.” Kana hooks her arm through Holland’s and escorts her out of the restaurant.
    I’m alone again, and there’s something I need to do. Something I should have done long ago. I hoof it back to my apartment— my apartment, my home , it’s easy to say now because this is where I live—and open my mom’s medicine cabinet for the first time since the