Chapter Twenty-Nine

Arthur texted me as he promised. He complained about how long the queue at the airport was, he texted me from the lounge, and scoured the stores in the airport in search of a book I suggested he read on the flight. It was about the stars.

He said that the stewardess hit on him and, when I said he was delirious, he sent me a voice recording of her serving him his dinner. She was definitely hitting on him.

I giggled into my phone when he sent me a detailed review of various weird Japanese foods. And when he video chatted with me later that day, he said his hotel room smelled of pickled cabbage and it was my fault that I told him to buy that weird jello in the first place and try it back in the hotel.

But then he disappeared for hours on end, always saying that it was time to go back to reality and work.

It was a transition period in my work, we moved offices, said goodbyes to colleagues, and braced for a new environment as a team. It was difficult to leave the place that made me. But I knew that our new place was far more structured while allowing more freedom. Lots of employees worked from home or all over the world.

Arthur found it hilarious when I called him when I got back from one of the farewell parties. I stumbled home, drunk, and tripped on my kitchen rug. But I managed to brew myself tea under careful instructions from him. Then I sat there and demanded that he tell me all his secrets.

"I could tell you, but what's the point, you won't remember anything in the morning anyway. And I would want you to remember at least some of them," he said, sitting somewhere on top of a skyscraper on the terrace, smoking. "How about you tell me some of your secrets instead," he said.

I watched on my screen as he exhaled the smoke to the side and took another drag. It was a bad, bad habit. But Arthur smoked so gracefully, and it looked so old-fashioned, that I couldn't look away.

"I don't have any secrets," I said, shrugging.

"I don't believe you," he said, and took another drag.

The bleak gray sky of Tokyo was behind him, while a light wind caressed the hem of his shirt. Light eyebrows framed his big eyes and a scatter of freckles on his cheeks looked strangely youthful on a man's face. He had high cheekbones, of course he did.

Arthur smiled, and looked to the side, as if embarrassed.

"You're staring," he said.

"I'm not. Are you Irish?"

"No, British. I grew up in Worcester but managed to get into Yale."

He looked at his watch and back at me. I tried to stifle a yawn.

"You need to sleep, go to bed, Emily."

I listened to him and stood up. Suddenly a wave came at me and I swayed.

"Wow, careful there. I'm kind of looking forward to going with you on that drive, so please don't smack your head on the bathtub, or anything," Arthur said.

I said goodnight and stumbled to my bed. He was right, I didn't have any strength, and the coordination of my brain with my limbs to go to the bathroom was lacking.

My head hit the pillow and I thought about how my eyes would sting in the morning because I hadn't taken off my makeup. But I didn't care. I was smiling.

* * *

"So, I'm driving, getting tea and I have two folding chairs in my trunk already. You bring food and blankets," I said when he called me on the day he landed. "And please, don't starve me again with salads."

He laughed. "You're lucky, I know a perfect place for sandwiches."

"I don't really believe your perfect when it concerns food."

"And yet, I am in charge of it, again."

"I just hope you'll get better at it," I said. "Okay, so what time do you think we should start? If you want to see the stars, it would be better later in the night. But there are breathtaking sunsets. So, if we want to see the sunset and the best stars, we would have a few hours in between to wait."

"We'll play Monopoly."

I laughed. "Okay."

He sent me a text with the location of his house, and we agreed to meet at five the next day.

But it was Friday that day. So a couple of hours later when I was grocery shopping, I texted him.

Are you resting from the flight?

A photo of a TV and Netflix logo turned up as a reply.

Do you want to go out? There's a local band playing tonight at the rooftop bar. I typed back.

You and your music, which I still might question, or a night of binge-watching …

A soft smile warmed my face as I wrote back. And my dancing, you"d probably see my awkward robot dance tonight. And I'm sure that you're not ready for that. So stay home and watch the series.

The three dots appeared as he typed.

Where and when should I be?

I laughed.

His next message said: The thing is …

There was a dramatic pause, and I didn't notice how my pulse picked up.

I am an excellent dancer myself, he ended.

The person standing next in line at the shop looked back at me as I sniggered.

* * *

We met in a few hours at the base of the office building. A neon sign pointed to the elevator which took people directly up to the bar. I was wearing a white top and black jeans, and a checkered jacket was tied around my waist. Arthur was in jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Both of us wore sneakers.

"No more than one cocktail tonight," he said. "I need you to be sober tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. As long as it has an umbrella."

The band didn't start for another half an hour, so we ordered drinks and stood by the railing, looking out on the darkening city.

"I loved the expression of the barman when you asked if he had an umbrella for the glass," I said.

Arthur looked at my plastic cup, a blue umbrella was bobbing between the ice cubes.

"Yeah, I will now always ask for an umbrella," he replied. "Why do you like them? I remember Mario put one into the Aperol."

"They just make everything look a bit more festive."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Do you need more festivity in your life?" he asked.

"Sometimes, yes. Once I had a really bad day at work, and I drove straight to Mario's.

He made me promise that I wouldn't drive back home but call a taxi. I promised. We sat there "til the night hours on the plastic chairs, sipping limoncello with umbrellas in it, while he told stories about Sicily and his younger years. Later his wife came, and we sat there "til the morning hours, the three of us. She died a few months later."

I stopped talking and looked to the horizon. The city shimmered for as far as I could see.

"I'm sorry."

I nodded. "So yes, I need more festivities in my life."

The crowd started cheering and clapping, and a few moments later a band spilled out onto the stage. They were a beautifully diverse mix, from young to old, of different races. The band had seven members.

"What do they play?" Arthur asked.

"Covers," I said, and smiled widely as the familiar notes of It's My Life blew up the crowd. That evening there was no slow shy dancing to start off the night, everyone started jumping immediately.

And to my astonishment, Arthur took my hand and went into the boiling center, where people were packed tightly. He lifted his hands and started singing along with the crowd. I watched him for a moment, and he lightly squeezed my hand, before releasing it.

I never danced as much as I did that night.