Perfect.
A different flight attendant brought a warm towel and a small ramekin of nuts, which could only mean one thing—no passengers with peanut allergies on the plane—even better. I was cocooned in what felt like a luxury sports car; it even had electronic controls so I could shift from lounge to bed mode withease—fancy.
The amenity kit was a fine point. The soft black pyjamas looked even comfier than my casual business attire. I lay them to one side for a quick change in the bathroom at a later point. The small toiletry bag had all the necessities for a night away: moisturiser, toothpaste, deodorant, and numerous other travel sized products I would never use again. I rarely flew first class, so before the plane escaped to the skies I had already twisted the cap on the hand cream and lathered my fingers in the lavender infused lotion.
The inflight entertainment was a minefield. The screen brightly indicated it had over one thousand hours of blockbuster movies; within the first two minutes I’d seen five I wanted to watch. The noise-reducing headphones were a nice touch. By the time the plane was in the air I’d been offered my second drink, and the mood-lighting had kicked in. I was ready to hunker down and watch one too many Will Ferrell comedies, but first—I had somework to do.
I couldn’t get over the fact that planes had Wi-Fi. As a child, I was under the illusion that if you so much as switched your electronic device on, the whole plane would combust and go down in a smoking ball of flames. Now, I could use my laptop, listen to music on my phone, or I could WhatsApp Paula a picture of my new pyjamas to make her jealous, all whilst watching a film I would only ever have the patience to watchon a plane.
I spent about ten minutes scrolling through social media with no real purpose. My laptop was open, poised, and ready for me to make valuable use of the time I had. Instead, I started searching for Brooke’s name.
Is it something I did most days? Yes.
Was I proudof that? No.
For a moment my body froze. I held my breath. Maybe this time she would appear, but once again, I was left with crushing disappointment. No profile emerged. It had been that way since she left. It was a mutual agreement to block each other’s access to socials. The truth was, I wanted to know what she was doing, where she was, who she was with; I wanted to have access to her life, but I understood why it was best I didn’t.
Was she happy?
Did she have a careershe enjoyed?
New friends?
A boyfriend?
The jealousy I felt at the possibility of her being with someone new caused severe nausea every single time I thought about her. I wasn’t naive enough to believe she hadn’t found someone else, but it didn’t make the hurt any less severe. The question that kept me awake at night was—
Did she lookfor me too?
Paula kept telling me it was not knowing that made it difficult. I only wanted to know because I didn’t know. If I had access to her, or if I still spoke with her, I would have moved on by now. Did I believe that? I’m not sure. I saw her point. It was the age old,you always want what you can’t have, but it didn’t mean I would want her less if I knew more about her life. The fear that consumed me was based on one overriding concern. What if I alwayswanted her?
I could see her brother’s profile.TomMJacobswas his handle, and in his very modest description it said,Too hot to handle! Just an English boy living in a Japanese world,followed by a Japanese flag and a sushi emoji. It made me cringe.
His socials weren’t of much interest to me. His feed consisted of pictures of him playing football, partying, and playing golf on a rooftop, which looked spectacular, but that was beside the point.
In the months after they left, Brooke appeared regularly on his feed. I felt like he was goading me. There was a photo of her trying authentic cuisine, another of her posing with her father, and one with her arm casually slung around the shoulders of a young Japanese man. He was head to toe in football gear, so I assumed he was one of Tom’s friends. It was the second photo in a photo dump entitled,Mad weekend, followed by a tongueface emoji.
A month or so later he dedicated a post to Brooke for her birthday. It showcased pictures from their childhood up to a recent one of them lounging by a pool; again, there was a third man in the photo. He sat close enough to Brooke to make me take a second and a third look. I analysed the photo like it was a key piece of evidence in a murder trial. Eventually, it drove me insane, and I blocked her brother too—at least for a short period of time. Curiosity got the better of meeventually.
Brooke lived approximately an hour away from Beth in a place called Yokohama. I knew that because we’d had a brief conversation the week after she arrived. Trying to keep a conversationbriefwith the potential love of your life was more difficult than I’d anticipated. I used the wordpotentialin the hope maybe there was still someone out there for me, and I hadn’t lost my one and only chance of happiness, because, well, that thought was soul-destroying.
Beth lived in a neighbourhood called Hatagaya, just outside of Tokyo. It was a relaxed area with coffee shops, small bars, friendly faces, and a lot of Japanese language I couldn’t read. The two-bedroom apartment she shared with her boyfriend Ren was situated in a quiet block of apartments not far from the train line, so access was easy when we wantedto explore.
My phone pinged, and a message from Beth dropped down at the top of my screen.
It read:
Beth
I CANNOT wait to see you!! Hurry up and get here. I got all your favourite things ready. Love you xoxo
Three photos followed: Alfort biscuits in white chocolate, Calbee potato chips, and Puccho soft candy chews in grape flavour—my favourite. The,xoxo, had stuck since our obsessiveGossip Girldays back at university—we shipped Blake and Penn an unhealthy amount until their demise in 2010.
I have experimented with many different sweet snacks during my visits to Japan, but the process of narrowing down to my ultimate favourite happened over numerous visits and food filled packages sent through the post.
The last time I saw Beth in person was eleven months ago. She came to England for a stint during the summer, and with it brought three weeks of childlike behaviour, more coffee trips than a human should take, and many drunken nights. I’d introduced her to Francesca.
Francesca was an Italian exchange student studying for her MA at the University of London. We dated for just over two months. She was beautiful, endearing, and quite sweet. Her accent was the most velvety inviting accent I’d ever heard. It was seductive and calm. I will never deny I enjoyed her company. She was easy to talk to, she listened, and she understood my need for casualencounters.
