Chapter 25 Fuko dances by herself. That’s why she only plays sad electronic music #2
‘What a reckless thing to do. What if there is some permanent record on him or a blacklist—?’
‘Or like a plague mark that will tell everyone to stay away. Please, Fuko, I beg, the man is going to be fine. He should’ve known better.’
The anger is not simmering down. Why does he get to be a martyr?
‘See you on Monday,’ I say, legging it to the lift.
Fuko: Sorry Leon, can’t do today. I need to do something.
Leon: Wooooow, I see how it is. I deserve this after how I bailed on you, ig.
Fuko: It’s not you, I promise. I just need to have words with someone.
Leon: Meow. Tell me everything later. Tomorrow works?
Fuko: Tomorrow it is.
There is not a moment to think this through.
In twenty minutes, I reach the pub by Toby’s apartment and scan through it.
He is not here. He is not at work. He is not at the pub.
I don’t have his number. I walk to his apartment complex, hoping to see Rufus at his usual spot.
It would be very hard to explain to anyone else what I am doing and why I can’t contact the resident.
Luckily, I do not have to explain anything, as I see a familiar head of blond hair walking out of the building in his running clothes.
‘Oi!’ I shout, but he already has his headphones in. ‘For fuck’s sake, Toby!’
I jog after him: poor form, poor stamina. His casual run is my sprinting. What a painful realisation that I am not in the prime shape of my life. I could just go back and wait for his return, but he is still within reach.
Lucky I may not be, but I was a bloody excellent pitcher at rounders. Inherited that from Dad. I take my trainer off and chuck it at him. I was aiming at his shoulder but hit him in the head instead.
‘What the fuck?’ he screams and turns around, pulling out a headphone. ‘Fuko? What on earth are you playing at?’
His anger diffuses into mild amusement and confusion as I trot to him, completely out of breath.
‘Is your pace’—I take deep breaths between each syllable—‘four minutes a mile?’
‘It really isn’t.’ He stares at me with whimsy and wonder and joy. The way you look at a cat when it does something quite pathetic.
‘Please, pretend.’
‘Oh yeah, I am actually on my way to set a world record, three minutes thirty seconds.’ He plays along, kneeling to place my shoe back on my foot.
‘That’s... so... impressive.’ I give him a thumbs up, as I recover bent over my knees.
‘Right, Grandma, let’s sit down.’
He leads me to a bench and pops into a co-op. When he returns, there’s an orange-flavoured sports drink in a squeezy bottle in his hand.
‘Thanks.’ I accept it, ignoring his pity as I drink.
‘Um. So... why are you here?’ He scratches his neck and smiles awkwardly.
‘I was going to apologise. And thank you for talking to Sashka.’
‘Oh that’s really—’
‘But then’—I put my hand up—‘SIMPO asked me to come in. I have my job back because they think you sexually harassed me.’
‘Ha ha,’ he chuckles.
My death glare startles him enough to tense his shoulders.
‘What the fuck do you mean ha ha? What a reckless thing to do, Toby. You might get into so much trouble.’
‘I know.’ He nods.
‘No, I don’t think you do. It might result in you getting fired.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why did you do it?’
‘I don’t really care what happens to me,’ he says with a smile, but something is off.
‘What do you mean?’
He is surprised for a second, finding the right words, which again feel like nedopravda. Well, you said that I might have good luck.’
‘Small good luck.’
‘And I thought it might be worth it if it means... that your problems are fixed.’
He bites into his lip. His face scrunches from embarrassment.
‘That’s so risky. And reckless. Why would you do something so risky and so reckless after...’
After I was such a bitch to you.
‘Because I thought you would feel so bad about being mean to me that I could ask for anything and you would have to say yes.’ He slips back into his playful persona.
‘Toby.’
‘Fine. In truth... I felt awful. It was selfish of me to expect you to go out with me. I wasn’t thinking what it would mean for you in the long run. So I thought maybe if I fix all the things that are major thorns in your side, you... you would agree to go on a date with me.’
My heart could burst out of my chest. A wave of delicate softness washes over me, making me want to reach out to his face and stroke his cheek, but instead, I squeeze, ‘What a silly thing to do,’ out of me, and it affects him in the same way.
A smirk shatters into a bright smile. An air of ease settles, pushing the uncomfortable tension away. If it were socially acceptable, he would probably be jumping up and down right now.
‘Do you want to come up?’ He points at his apartment complex.
‘Who do you think I am? I do not sleep with gentlemen before a third date.’
‘Wow, shot myself in the foot there, didn’t I?’
I playfully push my fist into his shoulder. It should have been awkward, but Toby’s smile made it into quite a sweet moment.
‘I meant more for tea or to talk,’ he says, a light blush breaking through.
‘No, I think we need to save all the talking for the designated date time. And I can’t today. I was going to meet Leon for a quick drink, but I can’t stay late because I’m grounded for being fired, and it’s my turn to cook food.’
‘Grounded? What are you, 12?’
‘For your sake, I bloody hope not, nonce.’
‘So... will you? Go on a date with me?’ he asks, so full of the light of blinding hope.
‘Only if your suspension clears.’
‘Damn, that might be weeks.’ The light dims just as fast as it appeared.
‘Put all that extra time into planning.’
‘You are not making it easy to date you, Fuko Brewer.’
‘Difficult is my middle name.’
‘Yeah? Is that in kanji or katakana?’ He asks about the Japanese writing systems.
We talk for a minute, ignoring the fact that I need to leave.
He asks for my actual middle name. I have none.
He asks why; I tell him that it would have been a foolish thing to do in Japan, as some forms accept limited characters.
He tells me that his middle name is Dean.
I make fun of his triple-name name. He asks what I mean.
I say that Toby Dean Lewis is three first names.
He is weirdly put off by that fact, and I can see the thought of his nomenclature lingering on his mind for the rest of the conversation.
He asks to see my phone and taps his number into it.
He calls himself and rejects the call on his watch, promising to text me only if it’s something important and to not spam me with messages.
I think that maybe I wouldn’t have minded even if he did, but instead I thank him for showing some restraint.
When I get home, I receive a message from him for the first time.
Toby: You have opened my eyes. I think I have to change my middle name. It needs to be something glorious. Dean is just…
I laugh at the content—I guess this was something important to him.
Fuko: it rhymes with bean. You could be Toby Bean Lewis.
Toby: I feel like you’re not taking this as seriously as I need you to. This is a mission for you, then. Come up with a new middle name for me for our first date.
The word date makes my heart flutter. If this was achieved with my small misfortune, I wonder how good the lucky people have it.