Another hour passes, pruning my fingers. As I’m dryingthe silverware, Mr. Antonio reappears in the kitchen, shouting again. “Stop standing around and get out here!” He’s the owner of the catering company I’ve been working for over the summer. It’s honestly not the worst job in the world. I wasn’t exactly picky when I was looking for work. I just needed something to get me out of the house, help save up a little extra money.
I grab a tray of food as I make my way out. When things pick up in the evening, Mr. Antonio occasionally has me serving tables. It’s nice being out of the kitchen. It makes me feel more social, even if I’m just refilling people’s glasses. Like I’m still part of a storyline, even if I’m just there in the background. It’s all I can do when everyone else I know moved away to start new chapters of their lives in college. Meanwhile, I’m stuck living in the same boring episode. I adjust my collar before stepping through the curtain that separates us from the grand ballroom.
The lights blind me for a few seconds. Then everything comes into focus. Draped walls, low-hanging chandeliers, a sea of cocktail dresses. The sound of the jazz band fills the air as I move through the crowd, a tray on one shoulder, careful not to bump into anyone. I’m staffing the dessert table, which means making sure trays are stocked and everything looks presentable. I stand beside the table, hands behind my back, watching the tiramisu go fast.
It’s a bit of an older crowd tonight, with men in suits at every corner of the room, drinking casually. But there are some around my age, too. There’s a table of college guys tomy right, blazers hanging over their chairs. I noticed one of them earlier, dark blond hair with a pinstripe shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, a silver watch shining on his wrist. As I’m admiring him, Mr. Antonio appears again.
“Stop standing around.”
“But you said to—”
“Waters.”
“Yes, sir.”
I move between tables, refilling glasses from a pitcher. The guy with blond hair is still sitting with his friends. I take my time as I slowly make my way to his table. He looks a couple years older than me, maybe a senior in college. His friends are chatting away, drinking Stella Artois. As I reach for his glass, he turns his head and says something I don’t expect.
“Nihonjin desu ka?”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Your bracelet,” he says, pointing. “I can tell it’s from Japan.”
I glance at my wrist. The red bracelet from last summer. The one Haru and I gave each other during the Star Festival. It always reminds me of that day we spent together, giving me a spark of joy from the memory I still keep with me. Sometimes I forget I’m even wearing it. “A friend gave this to me. When I visited last summer.”
“Ah. Which prefecture?”
“Tokyo.”
He leans back in his chair, nodding. “I studied abroad there. The University of Tokyo, I mean.”
“Oh, I heard that’s a good school.”
“They say it’s the Harvard of Japan,” he adds, shrugging casually. He looks at me again. “What about you?”
Normally I like to make up a story at these events. Like my dad owns the hotel and I just want to live a normal teenage life before heading back to Paris. But I decide to give an honest answer tonight. “I’m actually not in school right now,” I tell him. “Taking some time to figure things out first.”
“Like what?”
I’m about to answer this when I notice Mr. Antonio watching me like a hawk from the other side of the room.
“Sorry, I have to go.”
I offer a smile before walking off. I wish I could linger a bit longer, maybe get his name or something. But I have to refill the pitcher and get to the other tables.
The evening continues.Lights swirl along the ceiling and more champagne bottles are opened. I’m standing at the dessert table again. As I’m watching people on the dance floor, the music changes to something slow. Then the lights dim, swallowing the room in a dark blue ocean. Somehow, almost naturally, the crowd tunes itself to the piano, separating into couples, cheeks pressed against each other, slow dancing. Almost like a scene from a movie.
When it comes to music, ballads are usually my favorite. But as I stand against the wall, watching the scene unfold, a wave of loneliness falls over me. It’s a feeling that comes and goes, reminding me that even in a crowded room, I’m still alone. That no one even knows I’m here. It’s like there’s awall between me and the rest of the world. I’m always on the outside, staring through a screen.
Suddenly I don’t feel like standing out here anymore. There’s probably some dishes to clean in the kitchen. As I turn to leave, someone bumps into me, nearly spilling his drink. “I’m sorry,” he says, touching my arm. It’s the cute blond I spoke with earlier.
“It’s alright.” I laugh awkwardly.
He smiles at me. “I was actually hoping to bump into you.”
I look at him. “Oh… really?”
He takes a sip of his drink, grinning. Then he leans forward and whispers, “I noticed you standing alone all night. I’ve been building up the courage to ask you for a dance.”
