Yoko lost her breath. “Oh, Akira. No.” This was nothing that she’d wanted for him.
Akira fluttered his fingers on the tablecloth. “It was a tragedy. But it was a long time ago. We have a daughter. She’s twenty-eight and living in Tokyo. She comes back sometimes, but not as often as I’d like.” He laughed. “She’s studying film, though. That’s something.”
“At least she didn’t pursue tennis,” Yoko offered, then regretted it. Tennis had changed her life. It had given her everything—and taken so much away.
That night, Yoko and Akira talked till the restaurant closed and kicked them out. Yoko realized she’d forgotten to eat much of anything and had let her food cool and dry out. She’d been too focused on Akira, on his stories, on the way he still spoke with his hands. They asked one another questions, talking over one another, so eager to dig into the other. They couldn’t stop.
Out on the street corner, lit up with the orange streetlamps and the bright advertisements, Yoko considered their teenage years, when she’d panged with desire to kiss him and to be kissed. It was remarkable that she still felt this way now, that her teenage self was so easily accessible. And as she rose on hertiptoes and pressed her kiss onto Akira’s lips, she felt waves of time crash in on themselves. She couldn’t believe she’d finally made it home.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was the first day of spring on Nantucket Island. Lily Vance was on her mother’s porch, chatting on the phone with a Manhattan-based client about her short-term and long-term goals and how those goals might relate to her desire to have a partner, a marriage, and maybe children down the road. “The thing is,” Lily said, drumming her thigh with her pen, “I think as women, we’re hyper-focused on getting married at the right time, on having children at the right time, and on performing the rituals of being in love for everyone we know. I can speak for myself when I say I tried to rush into marriage. I almost put down the deposit on the venue. I almost bought a dress. But suddenly, I realized that I didn’t know myself. I didn’t know what I wanted. And it was unfair to my partner to try to make marriage work when I wasn’t done working on myself yet.”
Her client—a twenty-seven-year-old woman—had reached out to Lily after a bad breakup last December. She’d read about Lily’s “combined matchmaking and life-coaching sessions” and been intrigued enough to give her a call. Lily had sent her a number of exercises—essays to write that would explore her client’s inner life—and after Lily had reviewed them, she decided that, yes, tentatively, her client could begin dating soon. She waslearning about herself and figuring out her own needs. “But the minute things get out of hand,” Lily said now, “we can pump the brakes and step back.”
Her client breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said. “I was getting dizzy on the apps. Every time I had a bad date, I figured I’d done something wrong, or I just needed to keep pushing myself to meet new people. But I think dating is just as much a mental game as it is a social one.”
Lily snapped her fingers. Already, it felt as though her clients were learning her language. This wasn’t such a surprise, given that Lily had started her own podcast about dating, relationships, and finding your inner voice.
The podcast had already been named “one to watch” by various streaming services and featured by three magazines.
After her call, Lily padded back into the house to find Chad and her mother eating sandwiches in the kitchen light. Chad was sweaty, presumably after one practice or another, and her mother was peppering him for details about his day at school.
“How did it go?” Rebecca asked, turning to Lily. Chad breathed a sigh of relief, no longer the topic. He hurried to the sofa and dropped onto the cushions.
“That’s my twentieth client in a month!” Lily cried, high-fiving her mother.
Rebecca was exuberant. “This new pivot was exactly what you needed,” she said. “Proud of you, honey. Really.”
That evening, Lily went downtown to meet her new friend Rachel for drinks. Sitting in the fifty-five-degree darkness, lit up by twinkling lights on the wine bar veranda, Lily and Rachel talked about girly things that made Lily feel more like a person than she had since her engagement fell through. Rachel was dating frequently—sometimes with Lily’s help and sometimes not—and had numerous stories about men she liked and menshe didn’t. Eventually, she said, “Oh, and I met someone I think you would like, actually.”
Lily snorted. “Are you trying to matchmake the matchmaker?”
“Are you suggesting that you’re unmatchable?” Rachel teased.
Lily rolled her eyes. “I think I know every single guy on this island.”
“Maybe you don’t,” Rachel said. “This one is kind of different.”
“Different how?”
Rachel shrugged. “He’s a loner. I don’t think he left his house all winter.”
Bells rang in Lily’s ear. Slowly, she put her glass of wine back down and gave her friend a curious look. She couldn’t be referring to Mick Hamilton. It was impossible. Wasn’t it?
“How did you meet this loner guy?” Lily asked delicately.
“He was at the grocery store,” Rachel said. “It was a perfect meet-cute moment. I accidentally hit one of those big candy displays with my cart, and everything fell over. He came to my rescue, and we helped the staff set everything back up again. I was so embarrassed but also pleased. I mean, he’s handsome. And I thought he was going to ask me out.”
Lily could hardly speak. “Did he?”
“He asked me for coffee after,” Rachel said. “I agreed. We walked out to our cars, packed our stuff, and went to the coffee shop down the road. By the time we got our coffees, I was over him.”
Lily erupted with laughter. “What! Why?”
Rachel shrugged. “Girl, he’s not my type of guy. I wish he was. But I thought of you.” She tapped her fingernail on the edge of the table. “Why do I get the sense that you’re freaking out right now?”
Lily poured wine into her mouth and told herself to act normally. She didn’t want Rachel to know she’d already courted a mini crush on the guy (if it really was Mick, that was).
