People in my ward, Ku 9, have been prepping for New Year’s Eve for the past week. Walking by the local Japanese restaurant the last two mornings on my way to work, I could hear the old men and women chattering away while pounding and making mochi. My aunts buy mochi from them and eat it on New Year’s Day after going to the temple for hatsumōde, our first temple visit of the year.
The streets are cleaner than they have been in months. In fact, I’m sure every apartment in the ward is completely clean. I know I wasn’t the only one on my hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor this morning. At home, we divided up the work. Aunt Kimie cleaned the bedrooms, and Aunt Lomo got the bathroom. After I was finished, I ran into several neighbors in the alley outside while taking out the trash, and they were all sweaty and dirty, sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Some traditions just never die.
I take a shower, trying my best not to mess up the bathroom, and pick out my new favorite kimono to wear tonight. I bought this one a month ago with some extra money I had set aside. For having been passed down through so many consignment shops, the kimono is in excellent shape. I only had to repair a few ripped seams under the arms, and I consider that a blessing. The silk fabric is a lovely, bright amber with a darker burnt orange hashmark design that makes the freckles on my nose stand out.
I have to admit I’m quite attached to those freckles. They remind me of my mother. My mother was Japanese. From her I got my most favorite features including my straight black hair and the freckles. She also gave me her thin figure which I was fine with until two years ago. My Aunt Kimie says I look just like her. My father gave me his wit that always makes Aunt Lomo laugh, his English pale skin, rounder eyes, and the temper I have to keep in check at all times.
Once I’ve twisted my hair back in a knot, put on a little makeup from Aunt Lomo’s beauty stash, and pulled on the white tabi socks, Aunt Kimie comes into my room through the rice paper screen and helps me into my kimono.
“Ah, Sanaa-chan. Twenty. Where does the time go? You’re so grown-up now.”
She sniffs and, oh boy, she’s stopping herself from crying again. I give her a quick hug.
“Don’t cry, Aunt Kimie. You do this every year.”
“Don’t make fun of your aunt’s New Year’s Eve tradition, Sanaa-chan,” Aunt Lomo calls from the other room, and we both laugh.
Aunt Kimie turns to my wall drawers and opens the top one she knows contains the obis. “Which one, Sanaa? The cream?”
“Hai.” Yes, I love the cream colored obi with the fan design. This was also my mother’s, one of the many things I inherited from my parents when they died. Aunt Kimie wraps the long, heavy silk around me and ties a drum bow in back before wrapping an obijime around my waist. She hands me a fan I tuck in to the front, in case the evening gets hot.
Aunt Kimie smiles at me and sighs, giving my face a soft pat. “Have fun tonight. Be a good girl. Eat a lot of food and don’t drink too much.”
“Auntie,” I say with a groan. “Aren’t I always responsible?”
“Mochiron. Still. You know I always say it.”
I purposely leave my everyday bag with my tablet in my room, grab my small red silk purse, slip into my geta at the door, and wave as I head out for the night.
“Don’t wait up!”
The streets of Ku 9 are filled with people. This may be the Science and Engineering Ward but the local council always sponsors gatherings here for those who don’t want to travel on New Year’s Eve. The sidewalks are a colorful, moving wall of people in kimonos and other citizens in normal Nishikyō wear, the double-breasted gray tunic shirts over loose pants of the same material break up the assault of bright colors swirling around me. I edge past a young couple carrying a small boy who is dressed up in his own little kimono and hakama pants (he is adorable) and head directly down into the transitway before I get sucked into people watching.
Ku 7, the Entertainment Ward where Miko’s family izakaya is located, is two wards away. It’s not a long ride on the train, but so many people are heading to Ku 6, the Japanese Ward, that the cars are filled to the brim. I have to wait for two trains to go by and hope I can get on the next one.
Ugh, I’m going to be late. I hate being late.
I check the tunnel over and over until a train finally comes. Nishikyō Transitway Authority runs more trains this time of year but it’s never enough. With the possibility of having to shuttle around over six million people on the biggest holiday of the year, you’d think they’d run the trains non-stop. Have they learned nothing in the past three hundred years? Apparently not because these big holiday delays happen again and again.
When I finally get on a train, it makes every stop between Ku 9, Ku 8 (the Extinction Ward where people in normal work clothes get off the train to work), and then Ku 7 where I exit at the second stop and head straight for the izakaya.
Most days Izakaya Tanaka does normal business from 10:00am to 3:00am. It’s a long day but izakaya staff and Nishikyō workers on multiple shifts enter and leave at all hours. Night and day have no meaning when the city needs regular maintenance. Even though the lights brighten and dim to maintain normal circadian rhythms, your night is someone else’s day and vice versa. It’s not like anyone sees regular sunlight anyway. The domes that protect us from the elements block out all light and most radiation.
Stepping up to the large picture window at the front of Izakaya Tanaka, I tap on the glass and wave my fingers at Helena who is standing right inside. She jumps up and down with a girlish scream, sake sloshing out of the cup in her hand.
“Irrashiamase!” All the staff shout welcoming me as I walk through the door.
“Konbanwa.” I say back as Helena jumps at me with a forceful hug.
“Happy birthday, Sanaa-chan!” Helena’s face is bright and gleeful. She’s probably been laughing and chatting up these people standing right by the door for some time. She’s so outgoing and, gods, so tall! My neck hurts looking up at her sometimes, but I’m a measly 160 centimeters tall and she’s at least 180 centimeters. Tonight she’s twisted her long, blond, curly hair up and is wearing a bright pink kimono which suits her pale complexion nicely. Her cheeks are a little flushed, but that could be the sake too.
“Thanks, sweetie. You look gorgeous, as usual. Where’s Miko?”
“Behind the bar with Sono. Where else? Anyway, you’re late. I thought you’d be here by 7:30? I was ready to call in a search team.” Helena knows how much I hate being late.
“Trains were packed, and Aunt Kimie was giving me the sad eyes as I was on my way out.”
“She helped you get dressed? Your new kimono is lovely. Utsukushii desu ne!”
“Thanks,” I say while smoothing out the front. The hurried walk from the train loosened up the obi a little. I hope the bow holds up all night. “Let’s go talk to Miko. Maybe if we’re loud enough the men sitting at the bar will leave.”
The place is packed, and it’s only 8:00pm, a long way to midnight. I think the staff is going to have to start queuing people up outside soon because they will overflow capacity at any moment. Looking over at the string of private rooms along the side wall, I can tell by the shadows on the rice paper screens they are all occupied. Usually Miko’s parents open them up on New Year’s Eve to accommodate more people, so the rooms won’t be occupied for much longer.
We push our way through the crowd saying “sumimasen” and smiling over and over again. Miko is barely visible over the top of the bar. She must be back there unloading multiple boxes of sake. They will need it tonight. Standing between two men, I lean as far over the bar as possible without letting my feet leave the ground.
“Miko-chan!” I yell while I reach out and tap her on the head.
She pops up with a big smile, her chin length straight black hair getting caught across her face in the movement.
“Sanaa-chan, Otanjōbi omedetō!”
“Arigatō. Hey, where are your parents?”
Miko crouches back down and unloads the
last of the sake from the boxes. She always works New Year’s Eve until her mother relieves her at around 11:00, but Miko never tends bar. The legal drinking age, and age of adulthood, is twenty in Nishikyō, and she is more than able to tend since she turned twenty-one two months ago, but she has a heavy hand and has declared herself “terrible at it.” They leave the bar to Sono.
“Mother is at home. She was cleaning today, of course, and she knocked into something under the sink and water went everywhere. You can only imagine how that made her feel on New Year’s Eve.”
Yes, indeed. Miko’s mother is a real worrywart. Miko rolls her eyes at me, and I smile. We’re all pretty immune to Mrs. Tanaka’s constant nagging at Miko — first, when she was in school, to get good grades, and, now, to find a nice boy before she dies an old maid. Miko recently had her hair cut to a short chin bob with a fierce line of bangs across her face, and the change from long hair to short nearly sent her mother into a fit. That’s probably why Miko did it, though.
“Anyway,” Miko continues after she hands off bottles to Sono, “so she’s back at the apartment with maintenance and will be here later to relieve me of my hostess duties. My father is in there…” She points to the nearest private room. “With two men I’ve never seen before and two cute brothers around our age.” Her face lightens up, a twinkle in her eye. Miko is a serial dater. I think she’s had at least twelve boyfriends already. Twelve boyfriends she never introduced to her parents hence her mother’s “old maid” worries. Amazingly enough, she is unattached right now. (Those boyfriends don’t last long.) “It’s New Year’s Eve, Sanaa. Let’s get ourselves some boys.”
I can almost imagine Miko rubbing her hands together and plotting ways to interfere on this meeting, and I’m inclined to let her. I haven’t had a steady boyfriend in two years and little opportunity to date since I started working full-time. My work friend, Chad, and I meet up at a love hotel once a month or so for drinking and just sex, but it’s not the same as really dating. Watching Miko go out and have a good time makes me realize what I’m missing out on. A New Year’s Eve boy would be fun and exciting. Fun and exciting is what I want this year.
“Miko, you’re ruthless! What about me?” Helena pouts and drops her head.
“We’ll find someone for you, too. It’s a magical night. Anything can happen.” She wipes her hands off on a bar towel and smooths out her kimono. She’s wearing her favorite jade green kimono tonight, but her purple and gray obi is new, a birthday gift from her father. Mr. Tanaka spoils her, and she takes full advantage of it. They’re a tight family. Miko’s taking over Izakaya Tanaka before her family leaves for Yūsei, our colonization planet, and will hopefully open a similar place on our new home world if they can get the permit. They’ve been working on the negotiations for years.
“Let me come around the bar and get a good look at you, Sanaa-chan. You’re wearing your new kimono.” She scans me from top to toes before giving me a hug. “I love it. Orange is the perfect color for you.” Even Miko towers over me though she’s only about 10 centimeters taller. I feel small when I’m not sitting down next to them. “Helena’s already been here an hour, and, as soon as these two men clear out from the end of the bar, those seats are yours.” Miko turns and eyes the men sitting right behind us, and they laugh at her.
“Okay, okay, Miko-chan. We have a party to go to anyway.” They get up to leave, smiling sweetly at her. Bet they were thinking they would try to make Miko their New Year’s Eve date.
As Helena and I take our seats with Miko at our back, the private room behind us opens up, and we turn to look. Mr. Tanaka emerges in his traditional gray kimono and black hakama pants with two men in their mid-forties right behind him. Both are wearing black kimono with family crests on them and black hakama pants but one has longer, graying hair tied back in a ponytail, and the other’s hair is short, cropped and gray, and he has a distinct scar on his chin.
Mr. Tanaka bows to them, and they bow back. Behind these two men are the brothers our age Miko referred to earlier. The older one is around twenty-four or twenty-five and his brother a few years younger. Yes, Miko, they are definitely cute but the younger one is more my type. He is seriously handsome with longer, floppier hair than his older brother, a strong chin, and what looks like a white streak in his hair just over his ear. He reaches up and tucks his hair back before turning and spying the three girls staring from the bar.
“What did I tell you, Sanaa-chan?” Miko whispers. “The older one’s mine.” A slow, seductive smile comes over her face, and I do my very best not to roll my eyes. Miko has her sights set on him. He’s done for.
But I’m watching the younger brother. Yes, just my type, I can tell already. Strong and confident in the way he holds himself. I love longer hair on men, and that black kimono. Sigh. I love men in kimono. His eyes are on me and now that we’re staring at each other, my breath is slowing, slowing, slowing down until I’m holding it and not breathing at all. I don’t blink. I don’t move. I am completely entranced.
“It’s a good thing neither of these two are my type,” Helena whispers at me, but I barely hear her. The younger one has turned from me at the behest of one of the other men, the two brothers bow to Miko’s father, and turn to exit the izakaya through the back door. No! Wait!
No, wait. He’s looking at me again before he goes. Did I say that out loud? I don’t know. Smile, Sanaa.
I smile, trying not to be too eager nor too subtle. I’m usually at one end of the spectrum or the other and know nothing of moderation. Moderation? What’s that? No clue.
A smile brightens his face for a moment, but he’s gone. They’re all gone.
“Whaaaa… Who are they?” I ask Miko. I must know. Those few moments made me unable to speak properly.
Miko shakes her head. “I have no idea but I’m going to find out.”
• • • •
I stare after Miko as she follows her father to the back office. She won’t be gone long. The place is too packed with people to neglect the staff on a busy night like this.
“Sanaa-chan?” Helena snaps her fingers in front of me. “Wow, look at the spell that came over you.”
Heat rises to my face, and I wish the izakaya was a little cooler. Reaching into my obi, I pull out the fan I placed in the folds after Aunt Kimie wrapped me up, open it, and fan myself until I feel calmer. His face is now permanently burned into my memory.
“Sake and food would be good about now,” I say as I motion to Sono. Sono’s been working at the izakaya for the past eight years. He’s a sweet man, close to sixty years old, who refuses to stop working. And why would he when he has the best memory for faces and what they like to drink?
“Sanaa-chan, happy birthday,” he says as he leans forward and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Tofu teriyaki, rice, and daiginjo sake?” Sono always suggests I drink the highest grade sake on my birthday, and I have for the past two years. I shouldn’t have been drinking illegally, but I love sake. Aunt Kimie and Mrs. Tanaka came to an agreement that I could drink at the izakaya as long as I never got sick drunk. I kept a strict eye on how much I consumed so I wouldn’t have the privilege taken away. Now I’m an adult.
“Mochiron.” I tap on the bar and indicate to Sono the food should be hastened. I need a distraction from the handsome one I had a mental affair with in the span of ten seconds.
“Same for me, Sono,” Helena says and then lowers her voice to whisper, “bring the sake first. I think Sanaa may need it.”
Without moving left or right, he reaches down into the bar back and puts two small cups on the counter and a whole chilled bottle of sake between them. That man is always prepared. “Kanpai, ladies.”
Helena pours sake for us both and lifts her glass. I match mine to hers. “Happy Birthday and Happy New Year, Sanaa.”
“You, too, Helena.”
“Kanpai!” We clink glasses and drink. Delicious.
“Sanaa-chan, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so distracted by a guy befo
re. Not even Chad.”
I blink and try to pull myself out of my head. “Well, Chad’s just my work friend. We’re not dating.” Helena raises her eyebrows at me, and I burst into a laugh before taking another sip. “I don’t consider sex once a month dating, especially since I have no feelings for him… at all. And I could never date someone I worked with again. Remember Joshua? Tonde mo nai! What a mess that was. Anyway, Chad and I are not even remotely compatible.”
I have only ever been seriously interested in one guy before tonight (Chad doesn’t count). Joshua, another guy I was head-over-heels in love with when I first started working, was a six month trial of patience. He had two distinct personalities: eager to get into my kimono or barely knew I existed. He’d take me out to the movies, to the love hotel where he’d be so eager for sex he wouldn’t even take my clothes off, and then the next day, wouldn’t acknowledge my presence. It was maddening. I would think I was being used for sex then he would declare he loved me in front of our friends. Two days later, he’d blow me off. Finally, I told Joshua to go to hell, and he started dating someone new the very next day. What an asshole.
I tap my foot, nervous energy bubbling over down my arms and legs, straight to my hands and feet. When is Miko coming back?
Helena is eyeing me, and, as she’s about to needle me more, Miko returns to us.
“It’s as I suspected,” she says, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes. “A few weeks ago, my parents were talking about getting an omiai involved in my love life.”
“What?” Helena and I both say at the same time. Why would Miko need a matchmaker?
“Yeah. You know mother and her crazy idea I’m going to die an old maid. Well, I said, ‘Fine, yes, hire the damned omiai and we’ll see where it gets us.’ That,” she points to the empty room, “is where it gets us.”
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