The last thing I remember is partying with the Isoyas. How long ago was that? What did I drink to give me a hangover like this? I’ve drunk some pretty hinky Japanese shit before, but I’ve never been out like this. Is it my age? Kathryn is always going on about how she can’t drink like she used to now. Maybe that’s finally catching up with me too.
Fuck! Kathryn! I’m supposed to meet her for lunch. Where is she? Fuck it, where the hell am I?
People are speaking in Japanese. At first I think it’s a TV.
I no longer think it’s a TV.
A man and a woman. The woman is deferential to the man, who grunts here and there while making more of those beeping noises appear. Slowly, slowly my ears begin to focus. Bright lights everywhere. My toes struggle to wiggle. Something I do rouses the attention of the man and the woman, who begin to talk excitedly with every movement I make.
It’s not until I start passing out again that I realize I am in a hospital. Fuck my life.
Chapter 6
KATHRYN
Even though I’m told that I’m welcome to knock on Junri’s hotel room door, I still feel apprehensive as my hand hovers.
It’s simply not polite to interrupt relative strangers on their nights off, you know? Especially in Japan, where everyone and their kids have packed schedules and barely any moments to themselves and their families.
Fuck it. I need to find out where my future husband is.
It takes a few knocks before I hear rustling on the other side of the door. The person who opens it is not one I expected.
Certainly, it is not Junri. Not even close. The only things this woman and Junri have in common are that they’re both Japanese and women.
This young woman is noticeably younger. Perhaps my age, but younger than Junri. She’s shorter and wearing cutoff shorts alongside a baggy blue sweater. One hand on her hip tells me she has no idea what to make of me. I have no idea what to make of her either, considering.
“Uh, hi…” Did I knock on the wrong door? I recheck the number. This is what the lady downstairs wrote. “I’m looking for Junri.”
The mystery woman leans against the doorframe. Her casual stance implies she’s comfortable being in a suite in one of the nicest hotels in Tokyo. Big, brown eyes look me up and down. Is that the hint of a grin tugging on her mouth? I’m sure a tall blond American doesn’t show up every night.
“Not here,” this woman says with the thickest accent I have yet to hear. I barely make it out. Just in case I really am that stupid, however, she makes an X with her arms and says, “Inai.”
Anything that ends with “nai” is a negative in Japanese, I’m pretty sure, so I’m guessing that means Junri is definitely not in her suite tonight. “Do you know when she will be back?”
That look is so blank I can’t feel anything other than stupid. Clearly, this woman does not speak English. Since I don’t speak Japanese, we’re going to have a real good time.
“Never mind,” I say, turning.
“Matte.” I have no idea what that means at face value, but I’m guessing she wants me to stop. So I do, turning once again to meet those brown eyes that are so damn critical of me.
The woman briefly disappears back into her room. The murmur of the TV attempts to lure me in, but I stay out in the hallway, staring at my phone in the hopes Ian will tell me what’s going on with him. I’ll even take “Sorry, hon, sleeping with some hot Japanese woman to mix things up!” so I will at least stop being worried. (Then I’ll be angry, and he better hope I never, ever find out where he is!)
See what my imagination does when left to its own devices? I need to find him. Now.
Junri’s friend returns with a piece of paper. It’s in Japanese, with a few numbers thrown in. “You take.” A finger flicks the paper now in my hands. “Go to taxi. Find Jun.”
“This is where she’s at?”
Even though she probably didn’t understand me, the woman nods. “Is fine.”
I’ll have to take her word on it. “Thank you. Sorry for interrupting your evening.”
Once I’m back downstairs, I find the English-speaking employee and ask her what she thinks. She confirms that what I have in my hands is an address for neighboring Shinjuku – because I totally want to be reminded of that place right now. She offers to hail me a taxi and do all the talking for me. Why not? The fuck do I have to lose right now?
The driver takes a look at my address and, with the level of professionalism I’ve come to expect from this country, opens up the rear door and nods in affirmation.
Although Shinjuku is only a few blocks away, it takes us nearly fifteen minutes to get there due to traffic. During that time I continue to text Ian, berating him for not bothering to get back to me even though I’m losing my fucking mind. I also text my best friend Eva back home. I have no idea what time it is on the east coast or what she’s even doing today, but I can’t keep this to myself any longer.