Chapter 8
It isn’t my first time flying first class, but Kai is wide-eyed, as if he’s boarded an alien craft instead of a luxury airline.
He plops down on our plush, spacious seats and slides the partition on either side, shielding us from view before kicking off his shoes and stretching his legs, as if making sure he has enough space.
He’s over six feet, so coach seats must be terrible for him.
“Wanna have some caviar?” He peruses the menu after we take off. A flight attendant has shown us how to turn our seats into beds, and soft lighting casts a cozy atmosphere in the cubicle, elegant wood panes contrasting against the giant screen in front of us.
“I wouldn’t recommend it. Marissa got diarrhea from that once just before we had to go through customs,” I say. “She almost caused an international incident.”
Marissa thinks I should fly private, but that middle school paper I had to do about celebrities and carbon emissions still haunts me.
Kai and I bicker for a while before deciding to watch a random movie.
He falls asleep five minutes into it, but I’d rather avoid jet lag, so I pull out my Japanese book to work on my homework.
I took it in high school because we were supposed to learn a second language and I already knew Spanish, and I practiced Portuguese a lot thanks to Kai, his grandpa, and the Brazilian employees at their shop.
At first they would speak to me in Portuguese and I would answer in Spanish or Portunhol, but eventually I learned to string a few sentences together.
After I graduated, I continued working with my Japanese teacher, since she offers private tutoring.
Sometimes I wonder what I would have studied if I’d actually gone to college.
I wanted to be a music major, but I love learning languages, too.
I’m not sure I could have survived four more years of classes, though.
I was already struggling with attendance in high school—graduating felt like a huge relief, letting go of a breath I had been holding for years.
“I didn’t know you were still learning Japanese.
” Kai’s voice rumbles with grogginess, pulling me from my thoughts.
I spin to look at him, startled for a second.
The turbulence must have woken him up. His hair sticks out, his bangs pasted across his forehead as he rubs his eyes and pushes himself to his elbows.
He looks like a baby bear waking up from hibernation—disoriented but sort of adorable.
He stares at my notebook and points at a word. “What does it say?”
Hitori. One person. Alone.
“Hmm. It depends. 一人 means alone, but if you write it like this, 独り, it evokes a sense of loneliness, I think? I’m not sure,” I say. Loneliness. Something tightens in my chest. I’m not lonely, but sometimes I feel alone. I have my family, my friends. They’re all just somewhere else.
Mia’s words come back to me. Don’t forget to come home.
I feel like my home is scattering.
The rest of the flight goes by fast, and by the time the pilot announces we’re landing, I can’t help but nervously tap my finger against the window.
My hands shake, but I chalk it up to the overpowering force of the AC above us and not the sudden anxiety that seizes me.
This is my first acting job. I wonder if I’m going to do well, or if I’ll be able to get along with everyone. I’ve barely had time to prepare.
Normally I do my due diligence before meeting new people.
I look them up on social media, Wikipedia—anything that will give me a glimpse of their personality.
I file away information for future use to mold myself into a shape they’ll like.
In a way, people are like words whose meaning I need to learn in order to understand them.
But I’m going in blank this time.
I’m getting that feeling again, like I’m an untethered balloon, floating helplessly into the sky.
“Shit. I hate this part,” Kai mutters. He scrunches his face in discomfort as the plane descends. I don’t know if he senses my nerves or if he’s wrestling his own, but it uncoils some of the tension in my stomach.
“I didn’t know you were afraid of flying,” I say.
“It’s just the landing that scares me.”
“But you’ve flown before, no? To visit your cousins in Brazil,” I say. He used to tell me about the summers he spent there when he was a kid, before his parents got divorced, and how his cousins pretty much bullied him into speaking fluent Portuguese.
“Yeah, but it’s been a while since I’ve been on a plane.
” He rakes his fingers through his hair.
“V? and I only visit during Christmas now, and we’ve skipped the last few, ever since he injured his back.
He’s okay, though. It’s just a long flight, and I don’t want to leave him alone to handle the shop. ”
“Oh. I didn’t know.” I shift in my seat. There’s still so much about him I don’t know. Or no longer know. “But you love roller coasters, right? Just imagine the plane is one.” I remember the time we went to Six Flags. Not even the fall tower could muster a scream out of him.
“Yeah, because I’m not worried about crashing?
Planes are different.” He squeezes my hand when we hit turbulence and bounce in our seats.
“I don’t know. I get all these images of us crashing and how sad my family would be at my funeral.
I can’t shake them until the plane lands, and we’re back in control. ”
I sort of get it. The need for control. The need for the ground beneath your feet. A warm feeling spreads through my chest. If I’m a balloon, Kai will tie me around his wrist so I don’t fly away.
“Kai?”
“Um?”
“Thank you for coming with me,” I say. “And, I mean, if we die, at least we won’t have to cry at each other’s funeral—”
“Sasha!!!”
The car jolts and rattles against the uneven cobblestone roads, each bump reverberating through our plush seats.
Kai presses his hand against the windowpane, his breath fogging up the glass as he takes in the view outside.
We pass Covent Garden, the square washed in the glow of the streetlights.
Despite the late hour, there is still a subtle energy that hangs over the place like a veil, as if every alleyway holds a secret story.
I roll down my window to stare at the empty market stalls, their awnings folded up for the night.
As our driver glides through the narrow streets, weathered buildings give way to glass-fronted skyscrapers, and we emerge into a different part of the city. Live music spills into the streets from a row of pubs, the sound of laughter mingling with conversations in different languages.
I lean back in my seat, my gaze fixed on the passing shadows that dance along the edges of the winding streets.
Technically it’s my second time in London.
Over the summer I was invited to be an opener for a festival here, but I was only in town for two days and didn’t get to see anything except my hotel room.
So far I’ve mostly played concerts in intimate venues, mainly in the States, but I haven’t toured yet.
My label thinks it makes more sense to do a world tour once my second album is out and I have more material.
Touring sounds exhausting. Honestly, it scares me, but I hope I get to do it sometime.
Something about the way the energy of the audience converges into a single point, thousands of souls becoming one with the music, makes all the rehearsing and tiredness worth it.
By the time we reach our hotel, Kai has entered a zombie state and is at serious risk of falling asleep on his feet.
He runs a hand through his hair as he gets out of the car and goes to retrieve his luggage.
As we walk side by side, I soak in the sight of the lobby, chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling, the marble floor opening out onto a foyer.
It’s midnight, so there are only a few people scattered about, mainly the staff in dark blue uniforms. A father and a child sit on a sprawling sofa, dwarfed by the pillars on either side of the walls.
“Here’s the key to your suite.” The receptionist hands me our room card with a warm smile.
I take it, my fingers wrapping around the cool metal.
Marissa’s assistant already checked us in online, so we don’t have to do much other than show her our passports.
“Someone will be right here to assist you with your luggage.”
“Wait, suite?” Kai perks up at that. His eyes cut to me, fast, a hint of distress crossing his face.
“As in, a singular room? We’re sharing a single?
” His mouth opens as if to say something else before he sweeps his gaze across the lobby.
The father and his kid are watching us, and for a moment I wonder if they’ve recognized me. “Ah, sure, babe…”
Kai scratches the back of his neck and looks away.
I cock an eyebrow. What’s going on with him? Does he think we’re about to walk into a one-bed AU situation?
Oh.
I forgot to tell him our suite has two independent rooms. If the way he fidgets with the hair tie around his wrist is any indication, he’s confused and freaking out.
The soft glow of the chandeliers casts a warm light over the lobby as we are ushered to the elevator. I should clarify things, but he’ll see it for himself once we get to the room, and I don’t want people to overhear us. Or maybe it’s the jet lag that drives me to mess with him a little.
“I’m so tired. I can’t wait to go to bed.” I stretch my arms over my head and yawn loudly as we reach the double doors to our suite.
“Um, okay, I’ll sleep on the floor then,” he murmurs. We’re alone on this floor, the valet having left after delivering our suitcases.
“What are you talking about? Sleep on the bed?”
“What?” He shoots me a puzzled look.
“Relax.” I give his arm a gentle squeeze and push the doors open. “I’m just kidding.”