going to regret.â
Judy let out a burst of bitter laughter. Was this some kind of a joke? âYou made me wait for almost two hours, and now youâre telling me how I should behave? Wow, Roger, this is like the best first date ever. You really know how to get to a girl. Now I understand why all you have in your cubicle is that shitty little photo of a cat, because that animal is probably the only thing that can stand you.â
As Judyâs heart pounded, Rogerâs very long, very Japanese face revealed nothing. His expression remained as still as a lake of Botox injections, and watching him, Judy realized how different they were. To most people, they looked alike, a pair of Asians sitting down for dinner, but Korea and Japan, the Land of the Morning Calm and the Land of the Rising Sun, were opposites in temperament. Koreans tended to be angrier, brasher people while the Japanese were famous for their infinite composure; it was the difference between red-hot kimchi and serene sushi, hard-hitting soju versus the elegant sake . Even the kamikaze , the Japanese suicide pilots who crashed their planes into enemies, possessed at their very core a steadiness that enabled them to keep their eyes open as they flew into their targets. This was the face Judy was staring into now, a bedrock of solidity, not smiling, not frowning, just being.
The waitress returned with their drinks and asked if theyâd made up their minds. Roger surprised her by ordering linguini and clams; after her outburst, she thought for sure their dinner was over. She fumbled through the menu and asked for spinach lasagna. The silence that had descended upon their table continued to spread, and Judy wondered why she didnât just get up and leave. It was what she should do, what mature, grown-up people did in situations like this. Except she couldnât just leave because sheâd drank all that water waiting for Roger.
âExcuse me,â she said, and she left for the bathroom. She walked past the waiting station and pushed open the door with a silhouette of a Victorian-era woman sitting in front of a vanity, the word ladies prominently displayed in cursive underneath the art.
There was no one else in the dimly lit bathroom with its black tiles and stainless steel sinks that sat on top of the counter like woks. Judy hurried to the toilet and hiked up her skirt and rolled down herstockings and pulled down her lacy panties, silently cursing the fate of women who had to go through so much more shit than men to look decent. Even after she was done, she remained sitting in the blackness of everything: the toilet itself, the toilet paper holder, the metal walls of the stall. She wanted to stay longer, but she made herself get up and head over to the sink to wash her hands and touch up her face.
Sheâd never considered herself pretty even when she was young, but compared to now? Compared to these pouches under her eyes, the crowâs feet threatening to become eagleâs talons, sheâd been beauty-pageant worthy. She reapplied her lipstick; she brushed her hair. As she walked out the door of the bathroom and back to their table, she chose the words sheâd say to him: Thanks for trying, but itâll be best if we go our separate ways. That sounded good, that sounded calm and adult, except she wouldnât be saying anything because he wasnât in his seat. In fact, it was as if their entire table had been replaced, because where theyâd been sitting, the napkins and the utensils were reset to their default setting. She was sure it was their table, but now it wasnât their table because he was gone and sheâd be getting her coat. It was a relief, actually. She could now go home, released from the constriction of her clothes, climb into bed, pull the covers over her head, and slip into darkness.
âOver here, Judy,â Roger said. Heâd sneaked up behind her. He took her hand and led her to the
Judy let out a burst of bitter laughter. Was this some kind of a joke? âYou made me wait for almost two hours, and now youâre telling me how I should behave? Wow, Roger, this is like the best first date ever. You really know how to get to a girl. Now I understand why all you have in your cubicle is that shitty little photo of a cat, because that animal is probably the only thing that can stand you.â
As Judyâs heart pounded, Rogerâs very long, very Japanese face revealed nothing. His expression remained as still as a lake of Botox injections, and watching him, Judy realized how different they were. To most people, they looked alike, a pair of Asians sitting down for dinner, but Korea and Japan, the Land of the Morning Calm and the Land of the Rising Sun, were opposites in temperament. Koreans tended to be angrier, brasher people while the Japanese were famous for their infinite composure; it was the difference between red-hot kimchi and serene sushi, hard-hitting soju versus the elegant sake . Even the kamikaze , the Japanese suicide pilots who crashed their planes into enemies, possessed at their very core a steadiness that enabled them to keep their eyes open as they flew into their targets. This was the face Judy was staring into now, a bedrock of solidity, not smiling, not frowning, just being.
The waitress returned with their drinks and asked if theyâd made up their minds. Roger surprised her by ordering linguini and clams; after her outburst, she thought for sure their dinner was over. She fumbled through the menu and asked for spinach lasagna. The silence that had descended upon their table continued to spread, and Judy wondered why she didnât just get up and leave. It was what she should do, what mature, grown-up people did in situations like this. Except she couldnât just leave because sheâd drank all that water waiting for Roger.
âExcuse me,â she said, and she left for the bathroom. She walked past the waiting station and pushed open the door with a silhouette of a Victorian-era woman sitting in front of a vanity, the word ladies prominently displayed in cursive underneath the art.
There was no one else in the dimly lit bathroom with its black tiles and stainless steel sinks that sat on top of the counter like woks. Judy hurried to the toilet and hiked up her skirt and rolled down herstockings and pulled down her lacy panties, silently cursing the fate of women who had to go through so much more shit than men to look decent. Even after she was done, she remained sitting in the blackness of everything: the toilet itself, the toilet paper holder, the metal walls of the stall. She wanted to stay longer, but she made herself get up and head over to the sink to wash her hands and touch up her face.
Sheâd never considered herself pretty even when she was young, but compared to now? Compared to these pouches under her eyes, the crowâs feet threatening to become eagleâs talons, sheâd been beauty-pageant worthy. She reapplied her lipstick; she brushed her hair. As she walked out the door of the bathroom and back to their table, she chose the words sheâd say to him: Thanks for trying, but itâll be best if we go our separate ways. That sounded good, that sounded calm and adult, except she wouldnât be saying anything because he wasnât in his seat. In fact, it was as if their entire table had been replaced, because where theyâd been sitting, the napkins and the utensils were reset to their default setting. She was sure it was their table, but now it wasnât their table because he was gone and sheâd be getting her coat. It was a relief, actually. She could now go home, released from the constriction of her clothes, climb into bed, pull the covers over her head, and slip into darkness.
âOver here, Judy,â Roger said. Heâd sneaked up behind her. He took her hand and led her to the
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