I tell Kristal that I would prefer to have breakfast downstairs when we are both done with our showers. This is a lie. But I’d rather tolerate the noisy dining room than answer any of the questions burning in Kristal’s eyes.
Declan’s mother waves us over to the table where she’s sitting with her son as soon as we walk through the open doorway of the freezing cold dining space. As we file through tables filled with guests wearing a mix of formal morning dresses, summer wear, pajamas, and bathing suits, I studiously ignore all the exclamations of “Here’s the oriental again!” and “I wonder where he’s from? His English isn’t bad at all!”
We find a table filled with toast, bacon, eggs, scones, and several other baked goods when we sit down.
“Instead of setting up the buffet, I made you a special breakfast as a thank you for agreeing to fill in for my stubborn son,” Maeve says, glimpsing our confused looks.
Declan merely glowers at the special spread, and I notice his plate remains empty.
“This looks delicious,” Kristal says, taking the seat beside Maeve. “But you didn’t have to do all of this.”
“I wanted to!” Maeve insists, either not seeing or not caring how angry her son appears to be over her interference in his love life. “Did you have a chance to memorize the poem? I know it’s a tad long, but I think it will sound better if it’s delivered from the heart.”
“It’s all up here,” Kristal assures her, tapping the side of her head. “I did a rotation in the Santa Mail department before I got assigned to Painting, so I’m great at memorizing things. And this was even easier because Gaelic is one of the old fae languages.”
Maeve claps her hands together. “I still can’t believe it. A fairy, a real fairy, reciting a poem to my son’s True Love on his behalf.”
I was having trouble believing it myself. What had started out as a practical offer to convey a message to this Siobhan person in Declan’s stead, had quickly leveled up to ridiculous when Kristal stepped in with an offer to recite a Gaelic love poem on her front step.
I’d merely been attempting to end the standoff between Declan and his mother so that the goal of this trip would be met. My offer had been nothing more than a point of business. Kristal, on the other hand, seemed determined to play into Maeve’s delusions of True Love between Declan and the high school sweetheart he refused to text, much less recite a Gaelic love poem.
“Seriously, it’s no problem,” Kristal says, beaming. “Delivering love poems is so much nicer than what I usually do—speaking of which…”
She winces and pulls out her sketchbook. “Sorry, I won’t be able to eat if I don’t do this first for Hayato…”
As Kristal draws today’s picture of the old man I don’t know, one of the guests seated at the table closest to us turns all the way around in his seat, craning his neck to see what she’s doing.
“The negro’s drawing something now,” he tells the young woman sitting with him. “It looks like a picture of another Oriental. But this one’s much older…”
I grit my teeth when Kristal hands me the quick sketch. If not for being raised to always be polite no matter what was said or done to me, I would have balled up the drawing and tossed it over my shoulder.
Instead, I place it face down on the table as I ask Declan, “Any word on getting to the airport?” Purposefully changing the subject from ex-girlfriends and soon-to-be-dead people.
Declan shakes his head. “The roads are still covered in snow, last I heard. Luckily, Dr. Foss works out of the downstairs of his house, Rodge had to do a special clear and salt just so I could drive us a few blocks over.
“Who is this Rodge?” I ask, even though I can barely hear him over the other guests’ noisy chatter. “Perhaps we could arrange for him to do the same for us, but to the airport?”
“Not a chance!” a voice says behind us.
I turn to see a large, craggy-faced, older man approaching the table. He’s dressed in snow boots, a thick red and black checkered jacket, and one of those hats with flaps. The entire outfit might have been considered a fashion choice in Tokyo. But seeing the snow-flecked all over it, I quickly discern that the old man only had practical reasons in mind when he bought it.
“This is Rodraig Walsh, but all his friends and family call him Rodge,” Maeve says. “The owner of the inn and the third generation of Walshes to run it. He’s the one who used the old snowplow from out back to clear the road for us to both the doctor’s office and Siobhan’s house.”
Maeve gives him a grateful smile, but Rodge glares back at her. “Nor’easter’s done, but the snow’s still coming down. It was a miserable morning getting that patch of road cleared and salted for you. Believe me, I won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”
I open my mouth to offer a dollar amount that might make him reconsider his decision, but before I can, he squints at Kristal and asks, “Speaking of miserable, what’s wrong with you, young woman?”
Kristal visibly jolts at his question. “What’s wrong with me?” she asks, sounding confused.
“Yeah, why are you so glum?”
We all look toward Kristal, who doesn’t look miserable or glum, just perplexed.
“Rodge has a way of reading people, just like his father and his father before him,” Maeve explains. “It’s what makes him such a good innkeeper.”
“Yeah, it means I can spot the over-demanding idiots from the door and tell them, ‘Sorry, Bub, no room left at the inn,” Rodge amends with an annoyed huff.
“The man is a saint, I tell you,” Maeve continues with an insisting tone. “Why I was a single mother with no work history, dragging along a son behind me because I didn’t even have enough friends or money to get him a babysitter for my interview. He took one look at me holding Declan’s hand and said, ‘You’re responsible and loyal. You’re hired.’ And I’ve been working here ever since.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Rodge says, waving away her sentimental story. He turns what I’m beginning to suspect might be a semi-permanent scowl back to Kristal. “So what’s going on with you? Spit it out.”
“Rodge doesn’t like when his guests are upset,” Maeve explains. She seems determined to give the man’s cranky and demanding tone a saintly overlay.
“I’m not…” Kristal breaks off with a chagrinned grimace.
And I have a sudden recollection of her responding with the same pained look when I asked her why she couldn’t touch the real world on our first unexpected date.
“Oh, you know…because I’m an elf, and I only get to live in this dimension for twelve days a year.”
This time she carefully answers, “I’ve done something I shouldn’t have. And now, I’m trying to figure out how to live with the consequences.”
I stare at Kristal, wanting to ask and afraid to ask at the same time. I recall her words from yesterday…
“You don’t want me to care. You’re upset that I came to find you. That’s not how an escort is supposed to act.”
At the time, I had assumed she was genuinely upset about being perceived as someone who wasn’t doing her job well. But her carefully worded answer makes me wonder. These feelings I’m fighting…is she fighting them, too?
“Well, that’s vague,” Rodge grouses. “Could you be more specific, young lady?”
“Ma, if it’s coming down like Rodge is saying, we should get going,” Declan says before Kristal can answer.
Kristal appears visibly relieved, as she all but shouts, “Us too! We should get going, too! Don’t want to miss out on getting the chance to talk to Siobhan.”
Proving we’ve moved far beyond our usual professional relationship, Declan actually sends me an aggravated look when Kristal says this. Most likely because I had assured him in private yesterday that the offer was only to get his mother on board with a doctor’s visit and that we most definitely would not be showing up at his ex-girlfriend’s front door to recite a Gaelic love poem.
* * *
“Why would you have told him that when we promised his mom we’d do this for her?” Kristal asks thirty minutes later when we turn down the street where Siobhan lives.
We’re walking on the actual street since the sidewalks are covered in nearly knee-high embankments of snow. Frozen flakes continue to flutter down from overhead as we follow the cleared path toward this Siobhan’s house. Kristal is dressed perfectly for this unexpected morning trek in a red parka, green fleece leggings and the snow boots she somehow knew to wear to the airport.
I, however, am dressed the opposite of her perfect. My wingtips, scarf, and navy overcoat are fine for Tokyo, where it rarely snows more than ten days a year, and even then, fairly lightly. But here, my well-tailored clothes only offer me the thinnest layer of protection against the biting cold. No doubt my designer wingtips will be ruined by the time this silly and unexpected side trip is done.
Perhaps that’s why I don’t bother to disguise my irritation when I answer Kristal. “I didn’t promise. I said, ‘we could.’ There’s a difference. And, one of these options doesn’t necessitate a kilometer-long walk in the bitter cold.”
She glances sideways at me. “Do you do that a lot? Make offers you have no intention of fulfilling?”
A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold. I have a feeling we are no longer talking about Declan and his mother. “If I’m dealing with unreasonable people like Maeve, then yes, I tend to do whatever it takes to achieve the objective. And I think we’d all agree that the most important objective here is to get Declan’s mother the medical help she needs.”
She turns to look up at me with sharp eyes. And I brace, mentally preparing for her to ask me the next obvious question: was my offer to meet this Jae-Hyun person as fake as my offer to talk to Declan’s ex-girlfriend?
But her next query has nothing to do with the old Korean man she wants me to meet. “Wait…you believe me? About Declan’s mother being sick?”
I shake my head. “Of course, I believe you. I provided my private jet, didn’t I?”
“No, it’s not ‘of course.’ It’s never ‘of course’—at least not for me.” She grabs onto my arm and stops us from walking. “And if you believe me about Declan’s mother, does that mean you believe the rest of it? About me being an elf who draws soon-to-be-dead people?”
My stomach constricts. I think about lying. It would be easier for both of us if I pretended that this relationship was exactly what I wanted it to be. Kristal making crazy assertions about her history and me indulging them, purely for the benefit of escort sex. It would be even easier if that was true.
But Kristal is staring up at me, her eyes wide and brimming with hope. Women never look at me like that. Most simper and smile coyly, trying to attract me with a childish version of flirting stolen straight from the J-Drama heroines they grew up watching. The wiser ones approach me boldly, matching my cool tone as if a relationship is a point of business to be negotiated.
Kristal, however, looks at me like I’m a man, not a goal. A normal man who she very much wants to believe her.
I am not a normal man, yet I find myself answering her questions…with one stiff nod of my head.
It is a mere nod, but Kristal lets out an audible cry and places a hand over her heart as if I’ve shouted a declaration from the rooftops.
“Kristal-san…” I start to say, only to trail off, not knowing how to finish this sentence. There is so much I want to tell her. But shouldn’t. In the end, I insist to both her and myself, “It is as the American say in a text. NBD—no big deal.”
Proving just how far away she is from achieving true escort status, she once again contradicts me. “But it is a big deal—a huge deal. No other guy I’ve dated has ever believed me. That’s why none of my relationships have even lasted this long. And, I figured the private jet was because of the…”
She turns her head away from me, and I have a feeling her face would be red if not for her dark skin. “…other deal,” she finishes.
“It was mostly for that,” I answer, glad to be on the slightly safer subject ground. “But also for Declan. He’s a good employee who has served me well over the years.”
My words are stiff, but her face softens as if I’ve said something incredibly romantic. “You really believe me?” she asks. “You’re not just saying that?”
I struggle with my answer. I’ve been lying about myself for so long, saying the truth out loud feels more intimate than anything else we’ve done. But in the end, I squeeze out, “Yes, I believe you.”
Kristal covers her mouth and tears well in her eyes. “I had no idea how nice this would feel. To be believed. To be seen. For the very first time.”
She wipes at her eyes with the back of her mittened hands. “I’m just trying to understand why a serious business guy like you would believe a weird elf like me?”
The answer rises, then sticks in my throat.
The ghost of Satomi floats into my mind’s eye, her mouth covered in the blood she coughed up after drinking tea with my father. Death by poisoning had been her reward for both telling him my secret and daring to know anything that could shame our family name.
My father is just as dead as my ex-girlfriend now, but the fear and my mother’s dire warning continues to haunt me.
“Hey, what are you two nutjobs doing standing in the middle of the street?” a voice demands in the distance.
We both turn to see a woman with a shovel in one hand, coming toward us. She is nearly as tall as me and even paler. She has dark circles under light blue eyes and wild red hair that trails in the wind behind her. If one replaced the shovel with a broomstick and gave her a black pointed hat, she’d look exactly like the American version of a witch.
“Siobhan, is that you?” Kristal asks beside me.
“Yes, I’m Siobhan,” the shovel witch answers.
I inwardly jerk at the shovel witch’s answer. From the picture Maeve had painted yesterday, I had imagined a frail waif, pining away at her bay window after the desertion of her husband.
However, there is nothing frail or weak about this woman. Tall and broad, I immediately think of Brienne of Tarth, the Game of Thrones character who despite being a woman, fought as a warrior and wished to become a knight.
This is Declan’s ex-girlfriend, the one who was supposedly waiting by the phone for him to call? Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised about the discrepancy after the saintly picture Maeve tried to paint of her ill-tempered boss this morning.
“And who are you?” Then before we can reply, she rolls her eyes and says, “Oh, Christ. You’re the black elf and the Japanese businessman. I thought that was one of her stories, like Declan calling me any day now. I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up here.”
Kristal winces as if bracing to get hit, then blinks when nothing happens.
“Wait…” she says. “Do you love Maeve? I mean, truly love her, or were you just pretending to be her friend?”
Siobhan shrugs. “Well, Maeve’s got an idiot problem for sure, and now I have to put up with all this matchmaking and fairy talk because she’s too Irish-Irish.”
Kristal shakes her head, “So you don’t love her, you’re just putting up with her…?”
Siobhan screws up her face. “What the hell are you talking about? That woman’s the best friend I’ve ever had. You think I’d put up with all her nonsense if I didn’t love her more than my own mother?”
“No…no, I don’t think you would…” Kristal says as if realizing the words at the same time she’s uttering them. “And that means…”
She looks up at Siobhan with a wonder-filled expression. “Oh, my Santa! I don’t have a drawing for you! That must mean Maeve’s going to be okay!”
Kristal throws her arms around Siobhan and hugs her.
“Wow, you’re strong for such a small woman,” Siobhan says, standing angry and stiff inside Kristal’s enthusiastic hug. “And warm. I almost believe you are an elf and not just some story Declan made up to get his mom to the doctor.”
“Ooh, speaking of Declan…” Kristal launches into her Gaelic love poem, right there in the middle of the street….
“Más fuath leat anois mé mar a deir tú,
An féidir leat dearmad a dhéanamh chomh luath
Conas tusa agus mise, an domhan ar shiúl,
Chomh luath agus a leagan agus féachaint ar an ngealach?”
Despite my abject embarrassment, I find myself recalling the translation Maeve gave us earlier….
If now you hate me as you say,
Can you forget so soon
How you and I, the world away,
Once lay and watched the moon?
“Stop that! Stop that now!” Siobhan waves the shovel threateningly at Kristal. “I’m the only childless divorcee currently living on this street. They’re probably all looking out their windows at us as we speak. So please make my life way easier and just go.”
Kristal lowers her shoulders, looking a little dejected. “Okay, we’ll go now.”
“Hey, look, I’m not trying to be mean,” Siobhan says, her expression softening with guilt. She lowers the shovel. “It’s just me and Dec were a really long time ago. Old news. And sure, I loved him once. Really loved him…”
Her voice trails off for a moment, only to become hard again, “But I mean, look at me. I’m a mess. There’s no way he’d…” She breaks off, her face resetting to hard and bitter. “Yes, you should go. I have to finish shoveling my sidewalk since apparently I like Sisyphean tasks. Like trying to get my marriage to work for years, just to get left by the guy who was supposed to be the safe choice.”
“Yes, I kind of understand.” Kristal takes a step closer to the much taller woman. “My cousin Krista says that for some people it’s too scary to believe in True Love after their heart’s been broken.”
“I’d edit scary to stupid,” Siobhan says, her hand tightening on the shovel handle. “It’s too stupid to believe in stuff like that after your heart’s been run over with a tow truck.”
It’s as if she’s translating my own thoughts on the subject of love. And I look to Kristal to see how she’ll respond. Will she give me—I mean Siobhan a reason to believe in this True Love her cousin Krista insists really exists?
But Kristal merely says, “Hmm.” She then gives Siobhan a bright smile and says, “Well, see ya.”
And with that, she turns and walks away. Leaving me to throw Siobhan a quick bow before following her.
Uwa, I think, as we begin to make our way back down the street. I really didn’t expect for Kristal to give up that eas—
Without warning, Kristal falls to the ground beside me.
“Are you okay?” I ask, bending to help her up.
“No, don’t touch me!” she exclaims, grabbing hold of her ankle and rolling back and forth as if she’s in excruciating pain.
Real concern rises inside of me, until she suddenly stops flailing, her eyes darting in Siobhan’s direction. She grabs my arm when she sees the taller woman running toward us and gives me the same chagrinned grimace I recalled from our first meeting.
“Elves can’t lie,” she whispers to me, her voice desperate.
I narrow my eyes, not understanding.
But then Siobhan asks behind me, “Oh, hell, did she break something?”
And suddenly, I understand exactly what Kristal is asking me to do.