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The restaurant was packed. No wonder. It was December 24, Christmas Day, and therefore the perfect day for a date. Even Mitsuo had brought himself to do it, although he regretted his choice of restaurant as he looked out of the window.
The Metropolitan Government Building stood directly across the canyon between the skyscrapers. They were level with the tops of the two towers.
Of course, Reika had noticed it too. A smile played on her lips as she followed his gaze out the window. “You really can't let go of work, can you?”
Mitsuo looked at her. He suppressed a sigh. “I didn't think about it when I made the reservation.” He really hadn't. Tao had recommended the restaurant to him. Not that it needed a recommendation. Girandole was known throughout Japan. It had already appeared in various films, series, talk shows, anime, and manga. It was one of those places that was almost synonymous with a romantic evening for two—at least in such fictional works.
It was a cliché, and it annoyed Mitsuo a little, but then again, he could afford it. And he believed—hoped—that Reika would appreciate it.
When movies were filmed here, the tables were much further apart than they were in reality. When a movie was set here, the couple, who were almost always the focus, were practically alone. In reality, especially on December 24, this was not the case. Instead, the tables were just far enough apart not to seem crowded, and every single one of them was occupied. Mitsuo had made a reservation over a month ago.
“You're tense again,” Reika observed. As so often, she said “you” in that affectionate but also slightly teasing way. Her hand reached across the table to take his, holding it briefly before withdrawing. She gave him an encouraging smile.
Mitsuo remained silent. He never knew what to say to something like that.
Of course, Reika understood exactly. She rolled her eyes slightly and was about to say something when a waiter approached them.
“I apologize for the wait,” he said. “As you can see, we are very busy.”
Mitsuo forced a stiff smile. “Sure. No problem.”
The waiter was a man in his thirties whose features did not appear entirely Japanese. He wore the same uniform as all the other waiters here. A white cloth hung over his arm, in which he also held two leather-bound menus. “Here, the menu.” He handed them the menus. “Would you like ordering something to drink?”
“A bottle of red wine, please,” replied Mitsuo. “Two glasses.”
“Just one glass,” Reika interjected. “Please bring me some lemon water.”
The waiter's gaze shifted briefly from Mitsuo to Reika. Then he nodded. “Very well.” He bowed slightly and then made his way out of the dining area.
Mitsuo glanced at Reika. “No wine?” She usually always drank red wine with good food.
“No, not today,” she replied and smiled. She leaned back in her chair, her hands resting on the table.
Mitsuo noticed that she kept tapping her right finger. Was she nervous? He wasn't good at reading people. Not even her. “Everything's okay, right?” he asked cautiously.
“Yes, it is.” She smiled again.
He nodded. What else could he do? He looked at his wife. As always when they went out, she was wearing a dark dress. She had left the jacket she had worn with it in the cloakroom.
“Well, what do you think?” she finally asked. “Do you think we'll be interrupted again?” Her gaze drifted to the window and out to the Metropolitan.
“I hope not,” he muttered. She was referring to the incident last year when a Wild One, which may or may not have existed, had caused some confusion and interrupted their date. He had almost regretted leaving the Digimon behind in the real world.
Reika giggled softly. “Oh, if there are no problems, they won't call us.”
“I'm not sure about Yagata.” The young man on the night shift was new and relatively inexperienced. He would have much preferred to have someone like Megumi at headquarters. Someone with experience.
“Oh, he knows more than you give him credit for,” Reika replied. She reached for his hand again. “Relax.”
He looked at her. Now he couldn't help but sigh. “You’re probably right.” His gaze slid back to the table. The ring on her finger made him smile, at least for a moment.
He felt inadequate when he saw how Tao treated his wife and children. Warmly. It was unusual for a Japanese man, but Tao was Chinese. A Chinese man who had lived in the US for a long time. No, Mitsuo didn't want to be like that. But sometimes he wished it were easier for him to talk to Reika.
How did she manage not to be annoyed with him?
Then again, she admonished him often enough. Mostly because of his mood, though, and when too many cigarette butts and empty coffee cups accumulated on the living room table.
“What are you thinking about?” Reika asked. The same question she asked so often when she wanted to start a conversation.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nothing, just...” He gathered himself. “I was thinking about Tao. He's in China with his family, isn't he?”
“Hongkong, right?”
“Yes, I think so,” he replied.
Reika looked out the window. “I'd like to go on vacation again sometime. We could go skiing again. Somewhere where it snows.”
Mitsuo remembered the last such vacation all too well. He had made a fool of himself. He wasn't generally good at “going on vacation.” His mind kept wandering back to Hypnos and the SIGINT operation. But if he had to choose, he preferred a vacation where he didn't have to do any sports. He had two left feet, as his father always said. “I would prefer a vacation in Hongkong.”
A knowing smile spread across Reika's face. “Yes, probably.” She sighed. “Well, a skiing vacation is probably out of the question for me anytime soon.”
Mitsuo looked at her in surprise, as it was a complete contradiction to what she had just said. “Oh, really?”
Reika cleared her throat. “Yes.” She smiled at him, but then let her gaze drift back to the window.
The waiter came with a tray, including an empty wine glass, the bottle of red wine, and the narrow glass of lemon water with a slice of lemon hanging from the rim. “Here you are.” He placed the two glasses on the table with a flourish. “For the lady,” he said, placing the lemon water. “For the gentleman.” He set down the wine glass. Then he opened the bottle and poured Mitsuo a glass. “Have you decided what you'd like to eat?”
“No,” replied Mitsuo, who hadn't opened his menu yet. Not that there was much to see in it. He opened it and found a selection of four menus. Two with meat, one with fish, and one vegetarian. All with a hefty price tag.
But what did he expect? It was similar in most of these luxurious restaurants.
Reika also opened her menu and scanned the four options. “Menu 3 for me, please.”
“Certainly.” The waiter didn't write it down. He probably just memorized it. Then he turned to Mitsuo.
He didn't really care. “I'll have menu 1.”
The waiter nodded. “Of course. The main course may take a while, but I'll bring you the soup right away.”
“No problem,” said Reika. She smiled and nodded to him.
With that, the waiter left.
Mitsuo nodded at the wine. It was a dry Merlot.
“How's the wine?” Reika looked at him over her lemon water.
“Good.” His voice was perhaps a little too subdued. “Are you sure you don't want any? I can hardly finish the bottle myself.”
Reika smiled. “Yes. No alcohol for me for now.”
Mitsuo looked at her. “Is everything really okay?”
She nodded. She reached for his hand again and held it. “Yes, everything's fine.” She sighed. She briefly licked her lips, then sighed again. “Darling.” She stopped. “Mitsuo.” Her gaze sought his.
What was going on? Even he could tell that it was something serious she wanted to talk about. He frowned. Had he made a mistake? “Yes?” he asked cautiously.
Another sigh. She didn't usually sigh so often. Then she looked at him. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” She hesitated briefly. “The thing is...” She shook her head. “Oh, I should have talked to you about this earlier.” She looked him in the eyes. “I'm pregnant, Mitsuo.”
For a moment, he couldn't help but stare at her. He couldn't put into words the many thoughts that were running through his head. His mouth may have hung open for a moment. He stared. Only slowly did his thoughts begin to take shape. One of the first clear thoughts that came to him was the question of whether he had understood her correctly.
He needed time to form words. “Pregnant?” He remembered to close his mouth again.
Reika nodded. “Yes. I...” She sighed. “I found out two weeks ago.”
It wasn't as if they hadn't talked about it. They were married. Of course they had talked about it. But they had also agreed that they were in no hurry. Well, yes, it had always been an option, but they hadn't planned it. Mitsuo tried to imagine being a father and he couldn't. It wasn't that the thought frightened or deterred him. He just couldn't really imagine it.
He would be such a bad father.
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you before,” Reika said. She raised her glass and took a sip. “Are you angry?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he opened it again. He should say something. “Angry?” There was no point in repeating her words. “No.” What else could he say? “I'm not angry.” At least that was a complete sentence. “Just surprised.”
“I thought so.” A faint, nervous smile spread across her features.
“Yes.” Oh, what could he say? After all, there was no way around it. “When?” That was probably the only reasonable question.
“Probably in early July,” Reika replied.
Mitsuo nodded. He was still plagued by the thought he now quietly voiced: “I’ll be a terrible father.”
Reika squeezed his hand. “We'll see, won't we?”
He looked at her. He understood the question implied in that “won't we?” He looked at his wife and then nodded faintly. “We need a bigger apartment,” he finally muttered, forcing a nervous smile.
“And you can't smoke anymore when I'm in the room,” she replied.
Mitsuo nodded. “Yes.” He took a deep breath and looked at her. He hadn't expected that, at least not now.
Footsteps approached, then the waiter stood next to them with a tray and soup plates. “The starters.” He set the plates down. “Is everything all right with you?”
Mitsuo struggled to collect his thoughts. He looked at the waiter and nodded. “Yes, everything's fine.” His smile was stiff, dull, tired. He nodded and waited for the waiter to leave.
“The main course will take a little longer,” said the waiter.
“Yes.” Mitsuo nodded. “Of course.”
“Enjoy your meal.”
Another nod. Then the waiter left.
Then he looked at Reika. “I'm going to be a terrible father,” he repeated, as it was the only thought on his mind.
His wife, however, smiled. She squeezed his hand again. “I don't think so.”
