The Chandelier City
There's traffic on the bridge, but the skylight shined with a certain light. It sparkled on the sea; red-orange waters.
"Hope you're not in a hurry,"
The girl turned her head, the ruddy light kindling the gold in her hair. She shrugged and gazed back out towards the Atlantic horizon.
New York was cold these days. The warm colors of the setting sun were something of a comfort. Being one of Manhattan's hottest new chefs was not so glamorous outside the chrome kitchens of the hot-shot millionaires hoping to create a sensation with some Michelin stars in their pockets. Nakiri Erina, her delicate fingers burned and blistered, let her mind float over the sea.
She reflected on the need to prove herself. To escape Japan and Totsuki for a while.
She had grown tired of waiting for him in that dinky little diner; waiting for him to come home like some pet waiting for their owner to feed them affection whenever it so pleased them. Why couldn't she leave too?
"But why New York?" He had cringed as though displeased—as though he had the right to be upset.
Erina had shrugged, her green eyes staring vacantly into a bowl of squid-eye soup (one of his better creations, surprisingly enough). "I like the thought of America."
The boy had said nothing for some time, gazing at her with his amber eyes from across the diner's rough, wooden counter. "Why not Paris?"
He worked in Paris. Erina looked up at him then, her green eyes as vulnerable as she could make them. "Would you want me in Paris?"
The boy had looked away, blushing. He pretended to wipe the counter. "I don't care. It's your life."
A car honked on the bridge. Her driver cursed.
Erina turned away to wipe away a tear that had fallen from her shining eyes without seemingly a provocation. What was happening to her these days? She let out a shuddering sigh. Brooklyn loomed before her with its dark, brick apartments. The shadows, the quiet. She liked the feeling of floating in the darkness behind the chandelier city. Lately, she was afraid of bright things. Light was exposing. Brightness blinding and painfully raw. She could not afford to strip herself naked and name her disappointments and hopes. Such a thing would leave her paralyzed—or worse, desperate.
Her phone hummed. It was Alice. Erina picked it up just to hear a familiar voice. This and the sunset made her feel better, like something full was refilling this hole she felt in her chest. Erina let Alice talk the rest of the ride home. She said maybe a word or two; asked about Ryo and Totsuki.
When her cab pulled up to her old brick apartment, Erina paid the fare with the little cash she kept on her and then made her way up the trash littered steps. She could afford better...but no one would expect her here. No press, no friends. Only the quiet awaited her; the occasional sirens in the background, which she also liked; they brought her out of her thoughts. Thinking too deeply was also dangerous. Erina knew she needed to stay floating above the bright clouds of thought settling at the bottom of her mind, waiting for her.
Maybe not dealing them was more unhealthy. Erina pauses before her door, finally grabbing the bronze key that would let her through. The air was spiced with a frosty chill. Her breath came out before her like cloudbursts, catching the last of the pink sky.
Part of her felt like turning around, heading back to the restaurant. She couldn't be alone tonight. But she was so tired. She would just sleep. She would go in and go directly to sleep. To sleep.
—
The boy looked at the traffic and leaned forward towards the cab driver.
"How much longer, man?"
The cabby gave him a dry look. "Welcome to New York," he muttered before lighting a cigarette, smoking to a Billy Holiday song as the raspy voice came through from the radio.
"I've been here before," the boy muttered sourly, running a hand through his red hair before turning back to look at the sunset. The auric light scintillated like stars upon the greenish waters. The colors reminded him of the girl. He couldn't believe she'd actually gone until he'd come, as he always had, to the diner.
And she hadn't been there.
Yukihira Soma leaned back into his seat. Two years without her, and he'd been fine; then she leaves Japan, and he's a mess. Restless, unsatisfied; unable to hold a job—he couldn't account for it. For a long time, had done a good job of not looking her up.
"Brooklyn, of all places," he muttered, taking out a cigarette himself, lighting it as he watched the mass of huddled shadows rising above the darkening waters.
She had finally been photographed on the arm of some bougie entrepreneur who probably knew nothing about a restaurant, expecting Erina to do all the work while he got all the credit. He thought for sure Erina'd be living with the guy in some brownstone on the Upper East Side. But Brooklyn? Christ.
Soma exhaled into the open window. The smoke mingled with the crisp air, floating beyond the fraying wires of the bridge.
He'd been relieved to hear she was in Brooklyn. No arrogant dough boy would live there.
Soma had comforted himself with the reassurance that she was probably living alone.
The cab arrived at the address. A stained, dilapidated building, tucked beside two larger edifices. The entire street seemed to mingle and crumble into the inchoate darkness of the growing shadows. For a moment, Soma didn't move.
"Well?"
Prompted by the cabby, Soma snapped awake and tossed his cigarette outside before pulling out his wallet. He got out of the car; nothing on him but his phone and wallet tucked inside his leather jacket. He turned to fix his hair in the reflection of the car's window just before it drove away. Satisfied, he walked straight up to the iron door and hit the bell for Erina Nakiri's apartment.
—
Erina knew it was him. In the bathroom, washing the grease off her face, she had seen a flash of red on the street and her stomach had sunk into her feet and her lips had become livid and dry. And her mind floated again, lost in winter dreams of expectations and hopes and unspoken desires. Was it snowing?
She watched him through glazed eyes, as though seeing him from a memory's distance. Suddenly, she remembered happier days with the boy, back when it was warm and the scent of cherry blossoms was in her hair and on her skin. They were at the diner, alone. He had shown her around and had spoken about his mother. Then music from the strings of a koto floated inside from the streets where an old woman played for yen. Playfully, he had taken her hand and spun her to the stringed notes melting into the summer heat like rain. She had pushed him away with irritation. But she was smiling too because his hand had caught her waist and he'd pressed her against him. She thought that would be it. But he pulled away. Then, very slowly, he spun her again—watching her carefully now, gazing at her up and down as though she were some untouchable, marble statue on display and off-limits at a museum. She moved so slowly. Painfully slowly. She remembered feeling like a fairytale and blushed because the thought was girlish and embarrassing. She remembered the feeling of the empty air when he let go.
The buzzer rang harsh and cold and Erina jumped. She gazed in horror at her reflection. She was still in her chef's jacket; her hair up and messy. She made the decision to slip into a sweater and leggings, tripping over piles of clothes on the floor of her bedroom. God, she was a mess. She internally scolded herself for being such a slob.
She buzzed him in and waited.
—
Soma did not go in. Not right away, at least. As soon as he heard the door unlock he turned and headed down the street to walk the block as the last of the sunlight faded. A cold wind picked up and blustered across his fiery hair. He had forgotten he wanted to cook for her—he had to. There was a new recipe he was working on; something to do with spaghetti and bean paste. He didn't really know. But he needed groceries.
There'd been one nearby. Soma ran in and grabbed flour, eggs...surely she would have bean paste. He grabbed a bottle of cheap wine and placed it in the rusty, wire basket.
Just because.
Maybe he would take her dancing. This became suddenly the strangest urge. Soma nearly balked at himself. Nakiri Erina in a club? Ha! She would hate it—the synthetic music, the boozy bars, the neon lights that smothered faces in shadows. No, she didn't belong in a place like that. In Soma's mind, she danced only to pure, stringed notes—slowly turning in the sun without the manipulation of the light to make her look beautiful and untouchable. It was the never ending struggle of wanting to keep this image as pristine as a star. If he were to reach out, it might just disappear.
Soma picked up his bags and left the store. The bell rang on his way out, the note reminded him of the beginning of a funeral procession. He walked into the growing cold. The sky became dark and empty. Soma arrived again at Erina's place, this time feeling more like himself. He had his excuse now. He would cook for her and she would eat and it would all go back to normal.
—
Erina really thought he had been a figment of her imagination by the time the buzzer rang again. She had slipped into her night dress and was preparing a pot of dashi for her miso. Her hair fell in waves down her back. The TV was on but no sound came from the speakers. She was tired, stirring in bonito flakes like a robotic skeleton. She gazed into the broth and wondered if she dreamed him all up when the buzzer rang a second time.
Finally, she gazed at her door and walked over to buzz her visitor in. She resigned herself to the fact it might be Mimi or someone from the restaurant.
A knock came directly. In the doorway, Erina found Yukihira Soma wearing that stupid grin as he stood before her with two brown paper bags in his arms.
"Y-You won't believe the dish I got planned for you now," he grinned, waltzing into her apartment as though he'd been there a thousand times before. "You do have anko, yea?"
Erina looked at him, unblinking. It took her some time to close the door and follow him into the kitchen. She watched him begin to unpack the contents of his groceries. "I don't have a pasta maker."
He was already cracking the eggs into concave bed of flour. "I can roll it out myself."
"Soma," she said his name in almost a sigh, and the softness of her own voice caught he by surprise. She hardened it at once. "What are you doing here?"
"Visiting," he shrugged, kneading the already formed dough. He took a moment to look around. He grinned. "So why this dump?"
Erina folded her arms across her chest. "Because I knew I wouldn't be bothered."
Soma chuckled at the irony of her statement. "You, ah," he looked around some more, peering over the living room and into the bedroom, whose door was cracked open slightly. "Anyone else here?"
Nakiri Erina just looked at him with one of her hard, violet gazes. "How's Paris?"
"Fine," Soma shrugged again and started rummaging through her pantry. He pulled out some bean paste, a can of squid, some bonito flakes, tamarind paste…"You know Megumi just opened up a restaurant in République, a couple blocks away. Japanese comfort food and stuff. A big hit. And she works normal hours."
Erina leaned against the counter and began playing with a strand of her hair. "I'm sure that makes you happy," she whispered, turning away suddenly to look out at the New York skyline through her window.
"I mean, she's my friend, and it's nice to have friends around," Soma looked at her and paused. The apartment was dimly lit, and the lights of the city collided against one another on Erina's skin, and she shone like some untouchable specter before him. "Do, uh, you have people around. I-I mean, that you hang out with an stuff? Alice says—,"
"I'm fine," Erina turned around and gave him a warning look. She was fine. Really. She was busy, successful, and fine. What right does Alice have to go on saying anything else. "I'm very busy these days."
"You're the hottest thing in New York, but that's no surprise…" Realizing what he'd said, Soma bit his lip and looked back down at what he was doing. He'd found her rolling pin and was hammering out the pasta. "And, you know, I meant 'hottest' as in, like, most popular and all that."
How frustrating, he thought to himself. She makes things so frustrating just by being. Why wasn't it easy with her? Like with Megumi and Takumi and literally everyone else he knew.
"Why are you here, Yukihira?" Erina asked again, trying not to sound hopeful.
"For the New York Times Food Festival," he muttered quickly, cutting the pasta dough now with carefully precise motions, "I've been invited as a guest."
Erina felt her eyes burn. How stupid she was. How stupid. "I'm working that festival," she murmured, and suddenly felt exhausted. "Look, Soma, I really need to get to bed."
"Yea, yea, no problem. Hey, listen, can I crash here? I didn't book a hotel or anything since I figured I'd just stay with you," he said it as casually as he possibly could. And he was lying. He had a hotel.
Erina's slender fingers played with her bottom lip. She felt unsteady. "I don't have a guest room."
"I'll take the couch, no problem," he said, taking a bite of some squid from the can.
"Soma, you could go to any hotel and be way more comfortable."
"But it's already close to eleven," he moaned childishly, "and I really don't feel like finding something."
Erina splayed her hands in resignation. "Fine. Stay. Extra blankets are in the linen closet."
Soma grinned. He pointed down to the beginnings of his dish. "For breakfast, yea?"