Page 15 of Crystal Iris
My parents wanted more for me than they had. They knew we had to move to America; it had been their plan since, well, forever. They spent all their extra money hiring me an English tutor. It wasn’t cheap for a low-income family in Japan to hire tutors, especially for a foreign language. Sadly, they only had enough money for one child; they picked me over my sister. I was younger; and they believed I hada better chance of assimilating than her. I had to make sure I absorbed enough for both of us. I would try to teach her everything I was learning, but she hated it all. It affected her, not being chosen. She rebelled against studying; she was always out, hanging with friends my parents didn’t like. They worked too hard, long days, and couldn’t restrain her. I had after-school classes every day for years. They said I needed to be prepared; we were moving soon. Yet, it took them years to save enough. I was fluent by the time we finally left. I don’t know if I would’ve made it to college if it hadn’t been for those classes. Mrs. Turner was strict, but she drilled her lectures into me. I was learning way more than the kids my age. I was studying advanced geometry, calculus, and even physics—all in English. Before the end of each lesson, Mrs. Turner would quiz me with a few interesting questions, some of them for fun, like riddles. And the last question of the quiz was always a color. “You must learn to notice all the hues if you want to learn to really see,” she would often say. So I learned the names, and I still see them this way—each color hue for what they are, unique.
“Let me help you bring those bags down,” I offer.
“There’s an elevator here.”
“You still only have two hands.” We haul all the suitcases down, and I give her a kiss goodbye.
“Try not to burn anything down while I’m gone,” she says, half-joking.
I smile at her. “I’ll do my best.”
I’ve promised not to do any experiments again—at least, not alone. I leave holding Akira’s gift, a rare first edition of an art history book I love. Unlike me, she gives great gifts.
One last chore, I tell myself as I put on my lipstick. Aaron’s already waiting for me by the front door.
“It’s freezing,” I tell him as I pull my coat tighter.
“The driver should be here any minute.” There are lots of positives to having the kind of money Aaron has; never having to drive, find parking, or catch a cab is one of my favorites. The black car pulls up in front of us moments later.
The entrance to the party is nothing short of elegant, with the expected red carpet and valets opening doors. The lights reflect in all the shiny shoes and sparkling diamonds. I’m still shivering when I hand my coat over to be stored away.
“You look beautiful,” Aaron says as he touches my open back, moving us along the hall.
“Thank you.”
I never quite feel like myself in dresses and heels, but despite that, I like how I look in his eyes. I’m wearing my new diamond earrings—the ones he surprised me with hours earlier. “Another gift?” I had asked. “This one is more for me than for you,” he replied. I smiled as I put them on. “Thank you anyway.”
He looks impeccable in a tuxedo. He belongs in those clothes.
“Try to have some fun,” he says as we enter the main room.
I look for a familiar face when we reach our table, but Lara is nowhere to be seen. Aaron is already doing his rounds when a waiter passes by with champagne flutes. I take a glass.Just one sip, I promise myself, breaking my “party-sober” vow. Enduring the conversations is extra painful without a drink in hand. Even when I pretend to be busy with my phone, people know Aaron, and I’m an easy target for anyone trying to impress him. It’s hard to be left alone in a sea of sharks.
As soon as the alcohol touches my lips, I know I won’t stop at one sip.Just one glass, I change the promise to myself.
McKenzie’s wife looks like she needs a drink even more than I do as we both listen to her husband talk.
“I hear you teach at Harvard,” he says, sipping his whiskey. I want to trade glasses with him.
“Yes, I’m an art history professor.”
“You like art? Miranda here likes to spend a good chunk of my salary on those things. Don’t you, hun?” He’s a large man with a solid mustache. She gives me a thin, embarrassed smile.
“No better way to invest your money, in my opinion.” I give her my condolences look.
The champagne helps as I talk to three other couples. Jack and Cindy are like two hungry dogs, biting anything that comes their way. New money, I make a mental note. Then there’s the power couple, Camilla and Paola. They mean business; I could close deals myself if I wanted to. And finally, Omar and Christy—both too drunk or high to make much sense, but I listen to them anyway. None of them can hide their true intentions: They’re only interested in getting access to my fiancé.
I move on to playing arm candy, standing next to Aaron while he talks to his business partners.
An hour later, I excuse myself and make my way to the balcony.
I don’t care how cold it is; I need space from those people. The champagne is starting to get to my head, and I have to concentrate to keep my senses from becoming overwhelmed. I beg the prism to stay hidden, feeling it pulse under my bra. Only a few people occupy the balcony, and I let the crisp air cool my nerves. Through the windows, I can see people enjoying themselves, even if it’s all a mask. They’re dancing, smiling, all in their beautiful fancy attire.
I’m so distracted by people-watching that I don’t notice the man standing next to me until he says, “They can be a little… suffocating.” I hold my breath at the surprise of the stranger so close to me.I know those green eyes. He’s staring at me with such intensity that I wonder if he’s recognized me too.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asks, his voice cutting through me.
I shake my head no. I’m still searching for words.
