by Cynthia Dane
“You think I don’t know that?” he scoffs. The more this guy talks, the less I like him. “That’s why I took him to the hospital when he got sick.”
“What?”
“Nan desutte?”
Both of us lord over him with our feminine powers that are sure to make him shake in his boxer shorts. Kunihiro does an admirable job of looking unfazed, however. “Relax! A little food poisoning from the club. I took him to the hospital. He’ll be fine. Surprised they didn’t let him out today and he didn’t come back.”
“Oh my fucking God, which hospital?”
Junri puts an arm in front of me before I can grab this ass by the collar and shake him until he gives me an answer. “What are you talking about? He’s in the hospital? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why hasn’t Uncle said anything?”
“Because Uncle doesn’t know. Ian got sick after he left. You are not going to tell him that our important business associate got sick on my watch, Jun.”
“Shinjirarenai!” I hear he say for the second time tonight. She berates her cousin in their native language for a good couple of minutes. I glance over at his date, who is currently filing her nails on the bed. She couldn’t care less about us. “You’re really something else, jackass,” Junri finally says in English. “Kathryn’s been so worried about him all day, and this whole time he was in the hospital? You didn’t even tell me or Aunt?”
“Well, you know now, don’t you? Hey, don’t tell Uncle. He’s mad enough at me about other things.” Gee, can’t imagine what. “He doesn’t need to know about this. Tell Aunt if you want. She likes me.”
Can I slap this guy? Seriously?
“Which hospital?”
Kunihiro rattles a name off in Japanese. All I get out of it is Ginza.
“Come on.” Junri motions for me to follow her out of the hotel room. “I can take you there.”
“Don’t tell Uncle. Promise!”
Junri makes no promises as we march out of the room and back toward the elevator. My mind is full of so many worst-case scenarios. My Ian? In the hospital? Food poisoning? On one hand, I’m glad he wasn’t hiding from me. On the other? I’m about to barrel my way toward a Japanese hospital where I don’t know the local customs at all, and I don’t know how many candy-stripers will go down in the process.
***
If I were in a better state of mind, I’d remark on the subtle differences between American and Japanese hospitals. But I’m nowhere in the right state of mind to be making those kinds of calls, so I’ll say this:
Where the fuck is Ian?
The information desk on the first floor is helpful enough. Junri makes the inquiry, and the woman behind the counter points us up to the second floor. Some wing named after a politician who passed some laws in Minato or wherever the fuck we are that made it easier for this hospital to take on expansion projects. I don’t care. I’m more pissed off at the nurse behind the main desk of the wing we now find ourselves in.
“Do you speak English?” I ask. “I’m looking for Ian Mathers. He’s my boyfriend. They told me had food poisoning and…”
Junri firmly steps between the desk and me. “Sumimasen,” she says with her super polite tone. “Ian Mathers wa koko ni imasu ka?”
The nurse glances between us before checking something on her computer. “Amerika-jin desu ka?”
“Hai. Amerika-jin desu.”
More careful studying of charts and tables that look straight out of 1994. Aren’t computers supposed to be super advanced here in Japan? What’s with this? Does this hospital suck? Should I immediately arrange to have him transferred to a different hospital? Shit! If we were in America, I would know what to do!
The nurse points between us and asks something. Junri responds, pointing to herself, but turning to me. “She wants to know your relation to him.”
Really? We have to do this? “He’s my boyfriend,” I say. “Do you understand that? Boy. Friend.”
Junri dresses it up in her translation. I hear partner instead of boyfriend.
The nurse studies me as if I’m some hussy off the street. Her eyes dart to my left hand, where I’ve been wearing my promise ring all day. Yes, it looks like a wedding ring. I’m very aware of this, and now, more than ever, I’m grateful to have accidentally thought ahead.
“She wants to know if you are his wife.”
The tone implies everything I need to know. This woman stands between Ian and me, and what? I’m supposed to lie? In the face of one of my least favorite questions? “No,” I answer in too much haste. “Not his wife. Not his sister. Definitely not his daughter or his mother.” God, I wish Caroline were here now! “His partner.”
The woman furrows her brows as if she’s about to stick a stake in my heart. “Sorry,” she says with a heavy accent. “No. Family. Only family.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
I’ve faced similar shit to this in America. One time my best friend Eva came down with a bad enough flu for her family to put her in the hospital. This was during a big charity project of mine, so the only time I had to go see her was late in the evening or so early in the morning it was outside of the usual visitors’ hours. They dared to tell me family only. You bet your ass after I dropped my name a hundred times and offered a considerable donation to that hospital they let me visit Eva as much as I wanted. There’s a lot that makes me cringe about how much privilege I have, but using it to see the people I love in the hospital is not one of those things. I’ll call Caroline my own mother if it gets me in to see her hip-broken ass in the hospital. What’s it to me?
This apparently does not work in Japan. They don’t know me from the prime minister’s wife. The name Kathryn Alison means nothing when I haven’t done .01% of the charity work here compared to back home. All they care about is some stupid piece of paper that’s supposed to make me more important in Ian’s life than, oh, the person he loves most in the world. At this point I probably know more about his medical history than his own parents.
Junri puts a hand on my shaking arm. “I will ask when visiting hours open tomorrow.” No, that’s not enough. I need to see him now.
It’s fruitless, anyway. I can tell from the look on her face that the nurse’s answer is most unsatisfying. “Well?” I ask.
“She says that his condition is bad enough that they won’t allow general visitors at any hour. Family only.”
They. Are. Kidding. Me!
So she’s saying I have to fly Caroline’s ass out here to get an update on his condition? Because they won’t even tell me how he’s doing or what happened! They think I’m going to walk away as if I don’t care that much? That I’ll waste my life away in some hotel, waiting for word that he’s well enough to “generally” visit? Wait for him to be discharged? Wait for him to call me? I have to get my future mother-in-law out here for that bullshit? His father? Should I bring Valerie in here and pass her off as his wife? What the fuck do I do?
Junri guides me over to a rest area and sits me down on an uncomfortable chair. “I’m sorry, Kathryn,” she says. “Japan is very strict about patient privacy.”
So is America, but that hasn’t stopped me before!
“It’s difficult to work around it. I’m afraid you have to be married to him if you’re not related by blood.” You know, if Ian were her, he’d make a stupid incest joke. I’d reprimand him for it, he’d laugh at how sensitive I am, and we’d get on with our lives. Yet he’s not here, is he? He’s rotting away from food poisoning behind these doors over here, and there’s no way I can see him? Pretty sure that goes against the Geneva Convention. “Maybe we can come back tomorrow and his condition will be good enough that you can visit him during general hours. Until then, I suggest you call someone in his family to make arrangements. They should have an English liaison on the line. This hospital services many foreigners.”
They’re servicing my partner right now.
Eventually, the nurse shoos us away to the main waiting room, with the reminder that we
’re not going to see him tonight, anyway. Also, there’s no one of enough importance on duty for us to speak with. We might as well leave, don’t we know?
I can’t leave. I’m not leaving until I see Ian.
Chapter 9
KATHRYN
I’m practically passed out in the waiting room, alone.
Junri has left to find us some food and drinks. I couldn’t bring myself to go with her, in case a nurse comes out saying, “Sorry, our mistake. You can see the most important person in your universe. By the way, I’m an idiot and you should punch me for lying to you earlier.”
Oh, and the dumbest thing? I finally got a call from this hospital stating that Ian wanted me to know that he’s here and not to worry. First of all, what do you mean I’m not supposed to worry? Second, does this mean he’s conscious? If he’s conscious, then he can see me!
I want… no, I need… to be in there. I don’t care if he’s awake or not. I want to be by his bedside, kissing his face and holding his hand until he’s all better. That’s my job, isn’t it? To cover him in affection during his worst times? Food poisoning! How the fuck did he get food poisoning at one of the classiest joints in Tokyo? What kind of seedy place did the Isoyas take him to, anyway?
No, no, I shouldn’t put this on their shoulders. Kunihiro fucked up, and I’m sure someone will make sure he’s punished for it, but I can’t blame the family. This was a freak thing. I don’t expect apologies from them, especially since Junri has been so helpful, taking the time away from her personal life to make sure I’m okay and that we found Ian. God, I’m such a loser who doesn’t deserve this much help. I wish I knew Japanese. I wish everyone here knew English. At least let them understand my ranting and raving that comes from a crazy amount of privilege I’ve been carrying my whole life!
I put my phone down after listening to the message. I finally have a response from Eva.
“Hey girl, sorry, I was at a party and am only now home. Are you okay?”
No. No, I am not okay. I’m so not okay that I immediately hit the call button and hope she’s not in the middle of a date with her girlfriend, because I am not above interrupting a lesbian fuckfest right now.
“What’s happened?” Eva sounds tired as hell when she answers her phone. “Also, you do realize that it’s like five in the morning here, right?”
I attempt to bring her up to speed regarding my search for the love of my life. I say attempt because I keep crying. God. I’m such a mess right now! Pull it together, Kathryn, what good is this going to do you?
But I want to cry. I need to cry. I’ve been worried sick all day, and now that I finally have someone I trust on the phone, I have to let the tears come out. So much stress and anger burning inside my tired body. For about five minutes today I seriously worried that I wouldn’t see my boyfriend again. The thought that two nights ago would be our last night together makes me want to explode in more tears.
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Eva lets me cry it out some more before continuing. “Yeah, Japan doesn’t fuck around with that shit. You can’t buy your way in like you can here.”
“Why the hell not!”
“Well, for one, they don’t even know who you are there.”
“They don’t know who I am in California, either, but it never stopped me before.”
“Kathryn.” Now I know Eva is not giving me the Mom tone. Not only is she younger than me, but I’m the logical one! Most of the time. Half? “It’s going to be fine. He had an allergic reaction but will get better soon. They’ll let you see him before you know it. Go back to your hotel room and try to relax. Leave him a message if you have to so he knows you stopped by. Hell, girl, go out and get some donuts, but don’t hang out at that hospital when he’s not even dying. You’re only going to make it worse.”
“You don’t get it. What if it was Nadia?”
“First of all, I’m used to being fucked in that department because everyone hates the gays visiting each other. I’d have to pay double than what you usually do to make that magic happen.”
Usually I’d apologize for not thinking that through, but tonight I’m such a mess that I don’t care if I offend her or not. You know, the woman who totally gets me and knows where I’m coming from in this matter. “Then you pay it! At least it’s an option!”
“Seriously, Kathryn, you’re not doing yourself any favors hanging out in a place where nobody understands you. Go back to your room, get some sleep, and go back tomorrow. That’s all you really can do right now.”
She can suck my non-existent dick. You can’t tell me for five minutes that Eva Warren wouldn’t tear this place inside out if her girlfriend were stuck in a hospital bed with no one to watch over her. Eva is as protective as I am – maybe more so! It’s that domineering side of our personalities. Besides, wouldn’t Ian do the same thing for me? Hell, he’d find a way to buy this hospital and bypass every national law in order to get to my bedside. If I were him right now, I’d want me. As soon as possible.
What kind of girlfriend am I if I go home when he needs me? At least I can say I’m as close to him as I can get. Who knows, maybe he can sign some kind of privacy waver so I can see him. Our lawyers would kick our asses for the second time this year, but it would be…
Wait.
I hang up on Eva after she grumbles about wanting to go to bed. My thumb smashes every button it can find as I dive deep into the documents of my phone.
It’s almost heartbreaking that half of these photos are either selfies with Ian or pictures I took of him when he wasn’t looking. For a while, my wallpaper was a shot of him looking out the window of a panoramic-view restaurant as we ate lunch and talked about absolutely nothing that mattered. That’s one of the last pictures I see before I find the one I want.
Regret is going to get me sooner rather than later. Right now, however, I can’t bother to feel an ounce of regret in my body. This is too important. My brain is on fire. My heart is alit with worry. I’ve spent this whole God forsaken day convinced that I was never going to see Ian again. That he had left me. That he was robbed and left for dead. Things I knew couldn’t possibly be true, but those goblins have a habit of eating away all reason in your mind, you know? Fuck that. I’m Kathryn Margaret Alison. If I can’t use my money and my social training to get what I want, then what good is everything I’ve ever worked for?
These people are going to let me see Ian. Right now. Even if I have to lie to their faces.
The thing that scares me the most isn’t that I’m lying and breaking the local laws. It’s that I’m not even lying to myself.
Growing up a privileged bitch teaches you a lot of things. Some of those things you actually learn in the classroom – assuming you go to the best private and boarding schools in your country, which I did. You don’t learn how to be the best liar at the country club from going to school, however. You learn it from your cutthroat mother who honestly believes the lies she spews. That’s the real trick, isn’t it? You have to believe the crap you’re spewing. Otherwise, why would you expect anyone else to?
So I fill my determination with the knowledge that what I’m saying is true. The fact I don’t even doubt it is something I’ll have to face later when this bullshit finally passes.
“Excuse me,” I say to the nurse still on duty at the station. There are two other Japanese nurses with her. They had been going over a stack of files when I stepped up. All those files close so efficiently that I have a brief moment of admiration. That’s quashed when they give me their best the fuck are you doing here? faces. “Do you speak English?”
The woman on the left, who appears to have just started her shift, stands up straight with understanding in her dark brown eyes. “A little,” she says. “Can we help you?”
The nurse from earlier says something to her colleague. Everyone looks at me again.
“I think there was a misunderstanding.” I make sure to speak slowly and enunciate, so there will be no misunderstandings this
time. “I want to see Ian Mathers.”
They don’t roll their eyes in Japan. Or at least I’ve never witnessed it on the few occasions I’ve graced the country’s soil. So when the one woman who speaks some English hears me say this, I can tell she’s using every trick in her little book of nursing protocol to not broadcast how irked she is with my foreigner ass.
“You are not family,” she says so flatly that I’ve been reduced to a 2-D mess.
“Actually,” I say with all my fake, mustered confidence. “I’m his wife.”
The nurses consult this affirmation. Meanwhile, my head is running with the idea that I am Mrs. Mathers, the wife to a billionaire heir and future real estate and hospitality mogul. Never mind all of my own accomplishments. Never mind he only has about fifty million more than me sitting in some bank account he doesn’t get to touch until he’s “retired.” Never mind he and I argue over whose family is actually wealthier. (Because what else do rich kids argue about at one in the morning… when they’re not fucking, anyway?) His family is actively making money and investments, but mine has been sitting on some crazy investments since the name Alison first touched American shores. There’s a reason my father hasn’t had to do jack shit his whole life except get married and procreate to keep the riches going. I don’t even know how we made all of our money. Although with money as old as ours, I’m assuming it was pretty disgusting stuff, and explains one of the reasons I spend so much of my youth helping those far less fortunate than I am.
That stupid guilt I’ve been carrying my whole life. I drank, snorted, and fucked it out of my peripheral vision for most of my adolescence. Nowadays I confront it head on.
Nevertheless, I don’t feel guilty right now. Every once in a while I let myself indulge in so much of my accumulated privilege that I am incapable of feeling an ounce of guilt. I become the Kathryn adolescent me probably would have gone on to become if I didn’t have a wake-up call my senior year of undergrad. Granted, the Kathryn I was on track to becoming would probably be perpetually drunk and high on coke (and its favorite typo cock) so let’s consider the version of me standing at this nurses’ station as the happy marriage of Decent Human Being Kathryn and Fucking Out Of Her Mind Privileged Cunt Kathryn. Either way, my mother is bound to approve.