Tokyo Disneyland smelled like curry popcorn.
I stepped off the train, saw the Mickey-ear headbands, the crowds, the castle, and something inside me sagged.
Dani looked over.
“You look miserable.”
I kept walking.
“No I don’t.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Whatever.”
Then she took the boys’ hands and headed toward the gates, while I hurried after.
A few rides later we stood in line for Winnie-the-Pooh.
The queue barely moved.
Dani turned her phone toward me.
“We should go to the Queen of Hearts Banquet Hall after this.”
The menu filled the screen.
Heart-shaped cakes.
Mickey desserts.
Tiny teapots.
“They’re so cute.”
I looked at the time instead.
“I think we should get lunch.”
She lowered the phone.
“Fine.”
Neither of us said anything else.
The line crept forward.
Then our ride arrived.
We climbed aboard, and for four minutes neither of us had to finish the conversation.
We got lunch.
The boys ate ramen decorated with Hidden Mickeys.
After, we rode Jungle Cruise without understanding a word the skipper said.
Everyone else laughed.
We laughed too.
Dani bought white chocolate-flavored popcorn.
Corbin took one handful.
“It tastes like curry.”
Avery tried it.
“Yeah.”
Neither of them wanted another piece.
Dani shrugged.
“More for me.”
Then back to the rides.
We’d tried carousel earlier, standing in line while the sky alternated sun and showers.
The ride operator clapping his hands as loud as possible through every song, his face a comical smile.
When we made it to the horses, the ride had broken.
It had been down ever since.
Now, lunch had passed, and we had a few more rides under our belts.
Dani pointed the skull-and-bones sign as it passed over our heads.
“Look. Pirates. Spooky.”
Corbin froze, then turned around, and tried to leave.
“I want to ride the merry-go-round.”
I bent down.
“I know you wanted that one, but it’s still broken.”
Then Dani appeared with a box of caramel corn.
Two hours later, that same operator was now at Pirates, still clapping his hands as loud as ever.
We were standing in line for it, the walls transitioning from daylight to the perpetual underground of the ride. The air smelled wet and sounds began to echo—clapping mixed with crowds and voices:
“Dead men tell no tales …”
Corbin wanted none of it.
“It’s too dark.”
“It’s too fast.”
“It has a waterfall.”
“I don’t like … Pirates of the Caribbean!”
Dani handed him some popcorn.
“But you like pirates. You like spooky. You’ve ridden it before. Remember?”
She showed him a video of the ride to on her phone.
“The waterfall is small. See? You can sit between Daddy and me. We’ll hold you tight and protect you from the spray.”
“Please.”
When he accepted, his voice sounded more dutiful than willing.
Just a single word.
“Okay.”
Then he climbed on board.
During the ride, his body stayed tight.
At the waterfall, he buried his face against me.
When the cannons fired, he ducked and shouted.
“They’re trying to hurt us!”
I kept one arm around him until we reached daylight again.
This all passed the moment we stepped into the gift shop and Corbin spotted a pirate-skeleton Christmas ornament.
Instantly, he slipped back into his spooky self—grinning, plotting, and imagining stories none could see but him.
By evening, Avery was asleep in the stroller, and Dani looked as tired as I felt.
“It’s two hours home. Do you—”
“We stay for the kids. I’ll carry them home if I have to.”
Then Corbin tugged my sleeve.
“I want to do Dumbo.”
“Okay.”
And we walked over together.
After the ride slowed to a stop, he climbed back into the stroller.
“I want to go home.”
“Are you sure? What about the fireworks?”
He shook his head.
~
Dani leaned against me as the train pulled away.
Through the window, the castle slipped behind the buildings.
The smell of popcorn still clung to our jackets.