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December rain beat contusions into the Hong Kong asphalt. Behind a shell of restaurant glass and dirty laminate, Buena stared at the steel vats of broths and noodles and meats and vegetables, and Point stared at her.
“Do you know what you want?” Point asked.
“No,” Buena said.
“Well, we’re the only tourists outside in this weather. No rush.”
“Mm.”
Point had already written her order down on her phone. No notepad—it was drying out in the hotel.
“Point, do you think…”
“Yeah?”
“Never mind.”
“It’s just food. You can ask the vendor if you have questions.”
“But I don’t speak—”
“This one speaks English. I got a recommendation from a travel forum.”
Buena tightened her lips, then asked for a recommendation.
The vendor said through their cloth mask that everything was good except the mala broth.
Point said, “I should’ve looked into it more.”
“It’s fine.”
“Is it?”
After another minute, Buena decided on an herbal broth and instant noodles and radish and a few inoffensive accoutrements. Point got her planned bowl with laksa broth. The bowls were assembled in front of them and then placed on trays that they carried to their seats.
They sniffed the warm broth before sipping gingerly. Point poked her lip out. “I knew it would have coconut milk, but this is still different from what I expected.”
“Bad different?”
“I don’t know. How about yours?”
“It’s bitter.”
“Really?”
“Only a little.”
“You don’t have to eat it.”
“It probably tastes fine with the toppings.”
“Buena, you don’t—”
“I want to eat it, Point.”
“Okay.”
Point’s laksa was good, but not good enough to want more. Meanwhile, Buena stirred her noodles with her chopsticks and pecked at her tofu puffs.
“It’s all gone bitter, hasn’t it?”
“I still like the braised beef.”
“Then just eat that and leave the rest.”
“I can’t just—”
“They don’t care that much, Buena.”
“But they work hard to make the food.”
“They also know it’s not for everyone. They don’t care unless you’re rude.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
Point slurped her noodles and chewed on her wontons while Buena ate her beef and one more tofu puff. Neither of them emptied their bowls. Point paid, and then they donned their raincoats and umbrellas and walked back into the beating rain.
Sheets of rain blurred strung Christmas lights into radio static. Warblers sheltered under the precipice of an abandoned building. Residents shot past the pair on rusting bikes, sending waves dripping into their socks.
Under their umbrella, Point reached for Buena’s hand. Buena wove their fingers together after a moment.
Point said, “This weather wasn’t supposed to happen. And it’s expected to continue until we leave.”
“I know.”
“I know you know. But I’m still upset.”
“Because you couldn’t plan for it?”
“Because I shouldn’t have had to.”
“It’s true. The weather was very cruel to us.”
“Are you teasing me?”
“Maybe.”
Buena squeezed Point’s hand. She said, “I’m still glad to be here with you, Point. Us newly retired racers deserve a rest.”
Point knew all of this. But Point didn’t know why Buena was so glad to be gone from Japan. Traveling away from family during Christmastime as the plus one for Point at a Hong Kong Racing Club awards banquet, and missing the junior G1s and the Arima Kinen… Point was still unsure why her girlfriend had agreed.
Point said, “The rain is supposed to let up a bit tonight. Temple Street will be open after sundown. Until then…”
“Maybe we could find an indoor mall?”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.”
It was one of those malls that felt too big to be real.
“Why would someone put a skating rink into a mall?” Point said as they walked on tile past the plexiglass separating them from the sound of shredding ice.
Buena said, “Because it’s fun.”
“I guess it’s fun. But it just seems so… exorbitant.”
“Aren’t you a Mejiro?”
“We aren’t trying to sell people something when they visit the estate. We just want them to be comfortable and know the history.”
“That’s true.”
Buena would probably enjoy ice skating. She’d probably lose her balance on purpose so that Point would have to grab her by the waist to keep her steady. Then Buena would blink at her cutely and Point would blush, and they’d both have to keep themselves from kissing in public.
Instead of suggesting it, Point looked down at her legs. Still recovering from a career-ending injury. Still not cleared for vigorous activity.
Buena grabbed Point’s hand. “I think I saw a pastry shop around the corner.”
“Still hungry after lunch?”
“Just a bit.”
“It should be more than a bit.”
“I’m not a heavy eater.”
“Special Week says you used to eat more than her.”
“Well, I wanted to be more like her back then.”
“...Well, I guess I was the same.”
Point let Buena lead her away to the patisserie, which promised new and exciting flavors with bright logographs and tinsel. They took a single tray and two tongs, and Buena grabbed sponge cakes and baked buns as Point dug up a flat hot dog roll speckled with green onion.
“It’s shaped like a clover,” Buena said while inspecting it. “Four leaves.”
“Yeah. Reminded me of us finding one on that hike in Nakayama.”
“I still have it pressed in a bookmark.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
They paid and took a seat at a bakery table. Point tore a leaf off of the bun and bit inside, and was surprised to find a thin mayonnaise filling. Buena ate one sponge cake without issue, then bit into a round, flaky pastry—and frowned.
“What is it?”
“The filling is made from dates.”
“Shit. Did it not say it had them?”
“It was a daily special. I think the employee didn’t write up all the ingredients.”
“Damn.”
“It’s okay. I’ll finish it still.”
“Even though you don’t like them?”
“I mean, I don’t hate them.”
Point knew Buena didn’t hate dates. Point also knew that they reminded her of Dubai, where she’d lost two major international races in consecutive years.
Point said, “Okay.”
They both ate slowly, but Point finished first. She watched Buena eat the rest of her pastries while leaving the date bun uneaten. Eventually the girl gave up and grabbed a plastic to-go bag for it.
They wandered through the mall after that. Rain slammed into the skylights from above as they wandered around the spire of a plastic Christmas tree from two floors above. Point followed Buena through the polished aisles of designer boutiques and knick-knack stores, before the two of them stopped at an outlet for Swiss watches.
“How do you buy a watch for somebody?” Buena asked as they looked through the display cases at the spinning mechanical hands.
“Well, you want to think about the use case. Athletic watches, comfort watches, fancy ones to impress people… Once that’s narrowed down and you know what features you want, you look for something that suits their features or preferred outfits.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot.”
“I bought one for Teio’s birthday this year. You know how picky she is.”
A flash of a smile. “I do.”
The watches ticked forward incessantly.
Buena said, “I wanted to get one for Rose Kingdom. As an apology for not racing with her this year.”
“I don’t think you need to apologize for that.”
“I want to. I bumped her two years ago during the Japan Cup, and last year’s wasn’t the rematch she wanted. Skipping out on this year… It feels unfair to her.”
“I don’t think it is. Last year was a perfect Japan Cup for you. And we can only run for so long, you know?”
“But you already have future plans. You want to be a trainer like Teio.”
“I have the start of a plan. I have no clue if it’ll actually play out well.”
“It’s still something. I have no clue what I want to do at all.”
“Palmer would say that’s what being in your early twenties is all about.”
“Sure, but…”
She didn’t continue.
“Are you alright?” Point asked.
Buena drew her fingers across the display case, refusing to touch the glass.
“I am,” she said.
“If you’re not, we can—”
Point’s leg twinged. She winced and took three shuddering steps towards a chair in the outlet.
Buena rushed to her side as she sat, kneeling down to feel her ankle. “No swelling.”
“The rehab doctor said this might happen. I just need to rest it for a while.”
“No more roaming around for a bit, then.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s a theater on the top floor. We could go in there?”
“Sure.”
They ascended and found the cinema. Point picked an independent Chinese film with English subtitles, about two men who discovered a talking corpse in the woods. It was one of the worst movies she had ever seen, bad enough that even the easily-affected Buena didn’t cry at the end. But at least the seat was warm and Buena’s hand was warmer, and the milk tea they’d bought at the concessions stand was light and sweet.
When Point stood from the chair, her leg quivered again.
“It’s still acting up?” Buena asked.
“Yeah.”
Orchestral credits music swelled in the dark room.
“We should probably just go back to the hotel then.”
“But the night market—”
“It’s open during the day, isn’t it? We can go before that painting class.”
“You don’t want to go alone?”
“I’d rather be with you.”
“Alright.”
Point had roomed in better hotels than the one that the Hong Kong Racing Club had provided them, although that was an unfair standard, as she was a Mejiro. The queen bed they’d been offered was acceptably firm, and the comforters her and Buena were nestled under were toasty.
Presently they were sharing an earbud each, listening to a metalcore album of Point’s choice, staring out through the rain at the long Ting Kau Bridge.
Goodbye
All the doves have flown away
I must've lost myself, lost mysеlf, lost myself
Fly high
'Cause the ravеns are here to stay
I must've lost myself, lost myself, lost myself
Buena said, “It’s a bit dark, isn’t it?”
“Most of the music I listen to is dark.’”
“I guess that’s true. But you’re not a dark person.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re not always gloomy.”
“Try telling that to Helios.”
“She’s just teasing you, Point.”
“I know that.”
“I know you know that.”
Buena kissed the back of Point’s head, and Point could feel her smile.
Water continued to slam against the window.
Point said, “When they built the Ting Kau bridge, it had the longest supportive cables in the world. And it was the first four-span cable-stayed bridge, so they had to use an extra set of cables to support the central tower.”
“How long were you researching this?”
“About half an hour.”
“And not even in the airport. You just did it in your free time.”
“You always want to play Puyo Puyo Tetris on the train. I figured it’d be the same for flying.”
“You’re too smart.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do.”
The bridge reached up above the boundary of the window. From their limited vantage, they could only see one tower.
Point said, “I just think seeing everything they have to do to support such a big construction is interesting. And it makes me think about how much work we do to hold our own lives together. Like I was doing two years ago.”
“It’d be bad if the cables snapped, huh?”
“For a bridge, yeah. For people… I think it depends.”
For the briefest moment, Buena shivered.
In the morning, they went to the market. Layers of storefronts and carts folded over one another down the avenue, pressing Buena and Point together between the other bodies.
“At least it’s only drizzling today,” Buena said. “No umbrella.”
“Yeah,” Point said. “Although I never like keeping my ears beneath the hood.”
“Me neither. It’s nice to just run in the rain without a care in the world sometimes.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve done that.”
“Me too.”
Often the crowd was too packed to allow Point to use her cane. In those moments Buena would support her by the waist as Point put an arm around their shoulder, and they would walk forward awkwardly, more than one person but less than two.
Most of the street was toys and bags and belts small enough to fit in a luggage. Everything was garish and plasticky enough to be suitable only for Helios’s wardrobe, although Point did buy a pack of postcards to give to Spe and Suzuka and Nature. Buena was more enamored by the selection and purchased several jangly charms and an off-brand Lego set for Dancer.
She was reaching for another charm when her hands touched another person’s, a younger umamusume with rich black hair and a small mouth. She exclaimed something we couldn’t make out in Cantonese.
“I’m sorry,” Buena said in English. “I’ll…”
She trailed off as the girl’s eyes widened and her lips quivered. Right as Point worried that they’d offended her, she exclaimed in accented English, “Buena Vista! Tokai Point!”
Point’s tail dove between her legs, although she’d dealt with this enough in the last year to not lose her cool entirely.
Buena put on a smile. “Are you a fan?”
“A huge fan! I watch the big Twinkle Series races. Your Tiara run was amazing. Point, I loved your Mile Championship.”
“Thanks,” Point mumbled.
“And Buena, your Japan Cup! It was stunning! Breaking out in the final spurt, seizing the victory…”
“It was the best race I’ve ever run,” Buena said.
“It was so amazing! It’s almost a shame that you retired. But you were so happy at the ceremony. You found the scenery you wanted, didn’t you?”
Buena’s cheeks tightened. “I did.”
“I’m so glad! You’ll do wonderfully at whatever you do next.”
The girl got Buena and Point to sign a spare grocery receipt with a thick marker, and then she left them alone.
Point said, “Maybe we should’ve worn face masks after all.”
Buena shrugged. “I like talking with my fans.”
“You seemed tense.”
“I was surprised, that’s all.”
She was lying.
Their painting class that afternoon took place in a glass-roofed art complex under a thin drizzle and a sunless sky. Buena frowned as they entered it.
“What is it?” Point asked.
Buena said, “I just don’t like the building. The windows and levels are so square. It feels… restricted.”
“It was repurposed from apartments set up for police officers in the fifties. They weren’t exactly trying to make a statement.”
“And yet all these artists and designers work here now. Don’t they feel trapped?”
“I saw someone say they liked the history of it.”
“I guess.”
They walked slowly past knick-knack stores under balconies of whitewash and teal. After taking the elevator up and traversing a small gallery of messy pastel landscapes, they arrived at the class. Here the walls had been paneled over with treated paintings to obscure the bleak white. Point and Buena sat in the circle of easels and unwrapped their oil pastels.
Point shook off the condensation from inside the package. “I’m excited for my painting to look worse than yours.”
“I don’t think that’ll happen. Your notebook sketches are really detailed.”
“Yeah, but you paint with Suzuka all the time.”
“Paint is much different from pastels.”
“Yeah, but there’s fundamentals. Sprints and medium races both have running.”
Buena’s lips tightened. “Yeah.”
The artist was a prim Cantonese man with fine hair. He arrived into the room slightly late with three twisting wooden shapes that shouldn’t have been able to stand freely on the table they were set on, as well as three massive color swatches with instructions on how to use the oils to make them. The goal of the class was to paint a landscape incorporating those colors and objects. Crucially, no suggestions as to what kind of landscape to draw were provided.
Point was the first person to ask to examine the objects up close. She knelt down to not obstruct the other students’ view and looked at the angles and materials and how the light glared off the surface, then returned to her seat when she was satisfied.
Buena asked, “Do you know what you’re going to draw?”
“Maybe. I know what I won’t draw, at least.”
She decided on jagged mountains with thin shifts of pine and blinding snow. The purple swatch became the shadows of clouds; the red and teal were mixed into the foliage and mountain peak. The instructor praised her careful use of the shapes as he walked by, but asked her to further accentuate the chosen colors in the composition. Searching for ideas on how, Point looked to see what Buena had sketched so far.
Her canvas was unfinished. Lumpy grass with flat purple flowers sank below an unflattering blue sky as a single deer grazed. If Point hadn’t known better, she would’ve assumed that Buena was a beginner.
Buena saw her watching and lowered her blue pastel. “It’s not very good, is it?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You can be honest with me.”
“Okay. It’s not very good. But it’s only one painting.”
“The Christmas painting me and Suzuka made last week was like this too.”
“It’s only two paintings.”
“I know. I just…”
Buena sighed.
Point didn’t say anything.
Buena said, “I guess I’m just uninspired recently.”
“I hope the vacation helps with that.”
“Me too.”
Buena’s painting remained incomplete by the end of the class. She left the canvas behind for the instructor to throw away.
That night, they curled up under the covers again, and Buena picked a romantic drama on the hotel streaming service for them to watch. It was melodramatic and sappy and somehow better than the movie Point had picked yesterday. One particular scene featured the leads standing under a forest of falling burgundy leaves and declaring that their love would last through all the seasons, with their faces framed so well against the mountains that Point audibly gasped.
It was the exact kind of movie that should’ve made Buena emotional. But her eyes stayed dry and turbid.
They were taken to the awards ceremony in a private car with curtains drawn over the windows. Someone had scented the back seat with pine and cedar and warm fire. But neither of them could get comfortable on the soft leather.
The banquet was lavish even by Point’s standards. Point’s designer tuxedo was only average in the sea of black bowties; the rhinestones on Buena’s soft-toned brown dress were dull beneath the golden lights and oak. For food they were presented with artistically reimagined plates of shrimp, eggplant, steak, and arugula. Point was able to consume it all despite her distaste for half of it. Buena couldn’t finish the salad.
They had been seated at a table with the French winner of this year’s Hong Kong Classic and her trainer, as well as a couple that owned a sports manufacturing brand. Point asked the umamusume and trainer what she could about her training regimen, and she made stiff and polite conversation with the manufacturers.
Point and Buena were holding each other’s hands beneath the table. Their fingers were cold.
Ten minutes before the ceremony proper was set to begin, Point turned to her. “You haven’t spoken unless spoken to. Do you want to leave?”
“I’m alright.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Okay.”
Soon the lights dimmed and the guests began their first of many rounds of applause. The director of the Racing Club stood and gave his usual speech about the honor he felt in serving the umamusume of the world. Then the honored racers were called up to the stage.
Point squeezed Buena’s hand before letting go. Buena smiled and waved as she walked away.
They lined up in a long row on the stage. A woman in a brilliant red gown presented each of them with embossed golden medals that hung around Point’s neck heavily. Then the foremost of them, the winner of this year’s Hong Kong Cup, stepped to the podium and pulled a notecard from their pocket.
“The joys of racing are known to all of us. We discover its first joys as children on roads or playgrounds, and we awaken to our potential as we develop our muscles and habits. And when we reach our physical peak and compete—oh, we excel!”
The stage lights were bright enough that Point couldn’t make out Vista’s face.
“But it is all impermanent. Each race can only be run once, and each victory lasts only a moment. What we discover remains with us only as a fleeting memory. But is it all not more beautiful for its impermanence?”
Point had heard this idea enough in the past two years that it didn’t wow her, but she still appreciated the sentiment. Beside her, a younger racer nodded through tears.
“We must cherish these memories and hold them close to your heart. Only we find the beauty at the finish line, and only you can show that beauty to the world. I’m proud to stand with other racers who have embodied that noble pursuit today, and I know…”
Buena stood up and excused herself from the room.
The rest of the speech became a drabble. Point had to stop herself from pulling on her collar. When it ended and the runners were dismissed, Point walked as fast as was polite towards the door Buena had left through.
Intuition took her to the nearest women's restroom. Inside, Buena Vista stood in front of a brilliantly polished mirror, hands clawed on the edge of the marble sink, mouth open and trembling. Outside, the rain hammered into the roof.
Buena tried to smile when she noticed Point. “Were you holding your bladder on the stage?”
“Was it something I did, Buena?”
The smile dropped. Her ears fell. “Of course not, Point. You're wonderful.”
“Then why won't you cry around me?”
“I don't need to cry.”
“You cry like a garden hose. I love that about you. It makes me feel better when I’m the one feeling things. So why do you look more dead than that art complex?”
“I…”
Point walked forward and gently kneaded Buena’s fingers to loosen her grip.
Her girlfriend's eyes creased shut. “I didn't want to complain. You have it so much worse than me with your injury. I decided to retire on my own terms, and…”
“You can still regret things.”
“But I didn’t regret it at first.”
“So what?”
She was so blunt that Buena chuckled. “So what, huh?”
She frowned. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, you’re right. So what if I peaked at that final Japan Cup? So what if I thought I was okay with never seeing that scenery again? I’m not the same person I was when I was happy to retire, am I?”
“You’re not.”
“I’m not. And I…”
Tears dripped from the eyes of Buena’s reflection. Her mascara smudged onto her arm as she wiped at her tears. “I want to see that view again, Point. I want it so badly. But I’ll never get it again. My career’s over, and I was the one who ended it.”
Point wrapped her arms around Buena’s midriff as the girl began to shake like a sick bird.
“Isn’t seeing it once enough?” she pleaded. “Why am I so selfish? What’s wrong with me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Then why does it hurt so much?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know you don’t. I just… Oh, Point…”
Time stopped. Buena shoved her hands into her face and sobbed, and Point stood there with her, stiff and awkward and terribly inadequate.
Flashes of lighting burst under the curtained windows of the car that drove them back to their hotel. Point held Buena’s hand as she cried off and on in the back seat like a rusted faucet.
When they got back to the room, Point let Buena hide under the comforter as she made them tea with the first bags she found in the cupboard.
Buena was able to smile as Point brought her a cup that smelled of chrysanthemum. Her hands trembled as she took it. “Thank you, dear.”
“Of course.”
Point wove into the bed next to her with her own cup. The window was wine-dark with cracks of white, and the wind howled.
Point said, “I would offer to buy us tickets home in the morning, but I think you came with me to avoid this year’s Arima Kinen, so…”
Buena nodded. “It’s Rulership’s last race, and there’s so many girls retiring at the end of the year. All the ceremonies…”
“You didn’t want to see them.”
Buena shook her head. “I get so affected when other people cry around me. I didn’t want to feel all of that again. It’s a little selfish.”
“I think you’re allowed to be a little selfish.”
“Maybe I am. But that doesn’t mean it feels good.”
“Sounds like something Nature would say.”
Buena smiled. “It really does.”
They sipped their tea quietly, with Buena occasionally sniffling.
“We can stay in all day tomorrow if you want,” Point said. “Can’t really go out and clear our heads in this rain, and the room service is pretty good. Or…”
“Yes?”
“If you think doing something would be better, we could go to an aquarium? I know it’s not quite a nature hike, but at least there’s animals.”
“That does sound nice.”
“It’s a plan, then. And for now let’s find a good romance movie.”
“To make me cry even more?”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
Buena giggled, and Point realized she was being played. “You’re terrible.”
“I am. But you like me anyway.”
“I do.”
The aquarium lived in the heart of an amusement park that had been emptied out by the weather. They bought their ticket and walked through silent playgrounds as the rain tapped on their umbrella like an unwelcome friend.
The aquarium’s exterior was shaped like roots coiled around a cracking egg. Here Point had enough space to use her cane properly, and there was no one to recognize them as they entered the building.
They walked through humidified air past terrariums of frogs and snakes. Point spent a long while looking for a tarantula beneath a nest of branches and musty webbing, and pulled Buena over to look when she finally found it.
“I didn’t know you liked tarantulas,” Buena said as they pressed together by the viewing glass.
“I mean, I’m not a fanatic. But I like them. They’re misunderstood because of how they look, but they try not to care about it.”
“Kinda like you?”
“...Maybe.”
They ascended through exhibits of striped zebrafish and swaying anemones, bright corals and glimmering dartfish. Buena made faces at the pufferfish in the cage and laughed when it threw gravel up at her. Point tried not to shiver when she touched a metal nub simulating the sting of an electric eel. She failed spectacularly.
The aquarium led them down a staircase that wound around a long chute of water containing a whirl of wide-eyed fish numbering in the hundreds. Once they reached the ground floor, they walked through a narrow path walled with basalt beneath a rainbow of tuna and trout and stingray.
Then they stepped into a new room that presented them the same tank they’d just walked under, except viewed from the side through massive panes of aquarium glass that stretched across thirteen meters. For a few minutes they inspected it up close, taking in the sheer mass of life in front of them. Then they moved to a bench at the back of the room and sat down, resting their heads on each other.
“What do you think those fish would think if they could see themselves swimming?” Buena asked.
“They’d probably think they look dumb,” Point said.
“Really?”
“I mean, that’s how I felt watching my own racing videos.”
Buena giggled. “I guess so. Maybe we all look dumb and do dumb things.”
“I guess so. Because I can’t be the only one.”
“I don’t think you are.”
This close, Point could hear Buena’s gentle breathing, the tension in her shoulders, the thump of her heart as it propelled her body forward, two beats at a time.
“But dumb or not…” Buena smiled. “I’m glad it’s you here. I’m not sure I could’ve told anyone else.”
“Not even your moms?”
“They’re always so earnest, you know. Spe always wants to make me feel better as soon as possible.”
“And sometimes you just want someone to be there.”
“Someone like you.”
Buena turned her head and kissed Point on the cheek.
Immediately Point’s face heated up.
“Embarrassed?”
“Very,” she mumbled.
But Point reached for Buena’s hand anyway, and Buena wrapped their fingers together. And they waited out the December rain together.