Chapter 1
Simon Novak and Nadine Shirakami are on the brink of divorce. After falling in love in their twenties under the glittery lights of modern Hong Kong, they’ve entered their thirties navigating a marriage fraught with the same transience and uncertainty the city’s expat community is known for. When Nadine, a wedding calligrapher, goes to her mountain cabin in Niseko, Simon fills his time with the new girl in town, Nora Yu, a 23-year-old English tutor who’s never been in a relationship. The longer she’s with Simon, the more her curiosity about who his wife is grows. When Nora commissions Nadine to write a love letter for Simon, they develop a virtual friendship. Nadine, alone in Japan, becomes invested in Nora’s whirlwind romance unknowingly with her own husband. Nora seeks answers about her own worth through learning about Nadine. Meanwhile Simon, caught between two women, struggles to be alone.
***
2016 - Nadine
On the 29th floor of Hong Kong’s Soho House balcony, Nadine ashes her cigarette and peers out at the array of gray and beige buildings shrouded in clouds. She arrived to this party too early, an unsurprising fault of her tendency to be extremely punctual to everything. Another art party celebrating the opening exhibition of some cutting-edge painter-slash-digital artist she was invited to by a loose acquaintance, a friend of a friend of friend. Having graduated art school herself six months prior, she was still jobless (though blessed with a modest but comfortable trust fund) and needed to network. She came to Hong Kong for this exact reason. Make connections in the art world here. At least, that’s what her dad suggested to her when she called him after another fight with her then-boyfriend back in Aspen. Ski season was over and as a ski instructor, she was getting tired of teaching little kids how to form a pizza. She wasn’t much of a “kids” person anyway. Animals were much more her speed. Luckily, she had both a dog (a shiba inu) and a British blue cat waiting for her homecoming in Hong Kong, so naturally she ended things with the boyfriend and hopped on a plane within a few days of her decision.
Fast-forward three months, Nadine was still living at home with her dad in Discovery Bay and had a total of zero real friends, much less any art world connections. Everything that mattered in this city centered on Hong Kong Island, particularly Central, which was a thirty-minute ferry ride from the condo on the isolated but utopian DB. Meaning every time she had to go to the dentist, attend a pilates class, or go to any party or gallery opening, she had to cross the harbour and make it back home before 2am or she was stuck overnight.
It’s not that she didn’t know how to start over and make a new life for herself wherever she went. Before and after her stint in New York as an art student, she was a digital nomad and Third Culture Kid first. Born in Tokyo to a Japanese father and Scottish mother, Nadine grew up attending a picturesque international boarding school in Wales, seen for its lush green rolling hills and 15th century castle and known for the teenage debauchery of sneaking wine and stealing kisses during quiet hours. She spent her summers painting blue vistas in the Amalfi Coast and winters soaking in hot onsens in Niseko, where her family owned a mountain cabin.
Her older brother Michael sensibly went to Yale to study politics and eventually joined their father at his property development firm. Nadine received her acceptance letter to Pratt Institute of Design and embarked on a four-year journey filled with late-night fire escape talks, basement concerts, sun-streaked studio hours, paint-stained jeans, and MDMA-fueled warehouse parties.
But her techniques improved tenfold. She learned to conceal and eventually forget the initial embarrassment that came with having her work stripped and torn apart by her professors and classmates during critiques. She came out the other side with one semi-prestigious award and a final art show that moved a few people to tears. She painted golds, lavender, and opals in sky murals inspired by the Sistine Chapel. Rococo-style flowers, Asian women braiding hair, pianos, and white cats. A light projector casted changing sunset colors that danced across her art. Four king-sized beds draped in pink satin were pushed together in the center to form one giant square for visitors to lie down on and absorb the art above. Ancient Chinese music could be heard from an early 2000s silver stereo she’d thrifted. A mandolin, a zither. The songs sounded like a woman’s heart breaking. The CD was a gift from a friend who passed.
“I don’t know what it is I’m feeling but I know it’s something that I for some reason recognize intuitively and haven’t felt in myself for years,” one student remarked to her. It was her favorite compliment she received that day. Nadine found beauty in vagueness. Nostalgia rooted in mystery. The beautifully sad and sadly beautiful. She certainly wasn’t the best in her graduating class, she was surrounded by so many talented peers, but she could confidently confirm she explored her fullest potential. Nothing more disappointing than wasted potential.
Except that’s how she felt right now, watching the skies darken from behind the railing and calculating how much more time she could spend out here before returning to the sparsely populated party. Her inspiration had dwindled since graduation, the spontaneous move to Aspen, the road trip to California and back, and finally, the breakup. She couldn’t remember the last time she painted or drew. The few art books she brought with her to Hong Kong were still unread, waiting to be gotten around to later like she kept promising herself. The opportunity to live here wouldn’t have presented itself if her dad didn’t open up a second branch of operations for his firm here two years ago. She should take advantage of it. Otherwise, what could she do? Move in with her mother and stepfather in their beachside Okinawa villa? Or her dad’s other high-rise in Tokyo, where brother currently resides? She spent enough time away from her family to know that even with the means, she didn’t want to live anywhere in the world where it meant she was entirely on her own. Or having to rely on a man. Been there, done that.
She lets the early evening wind rustle through her hair for one more minute then goes back inside to ascend the stairs that lead her into the party. More people have arrived, thankfully. The pool glistens below the disco ball. The DJ plays something a little more upbeat. Girls in black silk and glitter heels march past her. Other girls topple into hugs with each other. The Nadine in New York would have finessed her way into one of these girl groups, starting with a compliment or astute observation that would send them into laughter. A hard truth trickled in the back of her mind suddenly – which was that she didn’t have any close Asian friends. Despite being half-Japanese, Nadine spent most of her life surrounded by white people, starting with the whitest of places, Wales. The kind of people who could afford a school like Pratt also tended to be privileged white people. Looking back, she was ashamed to admit she prided herself on being able to infiltrate these spaces. Like she was special. But in a room full of mostly Asian people (a mix of local and Western expat Asians), she didn’t feel like she fit in there either. Thinking about her Asian-inspired final show again, she realized what a fraud she secretly was.
Nadine pulls out her phone from her cobalt clutch and thumbs her way to the Uber app. It’s time to go home. She’s just about to punch in the address for the pier when she sees a pair of mens shoes approaching beneath her gaze. She looks up and meets the eyes of a medium-height guy with short tousled brown hair wearing an army green jacket. A pair of black headphones were slung around his neck. His heavy-lidded blue-green eyes look…familiar.
“Hey I think I’ve seen you around,” he says to her.
She wanted to roll her eyes and say haven’t heard that one before, but something inside her decided to answer truthfully. “I agree, but I have no idea where because all I do is spend time at my dad’s home and his office. And sometimes the mall.”
“Office?” It’s like someone flicked the light switch on his face. “Wait a minute. Is your dad’s office in Admiralty and is his name Ken Shirakami?”
“Yes, that’s him,” she draws out slowly. “Okay, so we do know each other. Kind of.”
He looks relieved. “So you sort of recognize me, too? I’m not crazy then.”
“I guess not? I wouldn’t have picked you apart from the suits who pass in and out of his office until you mention it. Although there’s not much to do there except people-watch.”
“There also aren’t that many young people, particularly women, in your dad’s office either. I didn’t know he was your father, though. Thought you were a secretary maybe.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who imagines stories of people’s lives you see out in the wild.”
He laughs and adjusts his horn-rimmed glasses. “The wild, huh. Well, who doesn’t?”
“I’ve basically been doing that the entire time I’ve been here.” She gestures to an older woman in pearls and a burgundy suit standing next to an oily younger man with slicked back hair with ornamental rings stacked on his fingers. “Like I want to say they are mother and son at first glance, but something tells me there is something sugary going on.”
“Oh she owns an art gallery in Mongkok and he works for Art Basel.”
She deflates a bit. “Why am I disappointed I’m wrong?”
He leans in closer to her. She can smell a hint of cologne that’s smokey and warm citrusy. “He is sleeping with her son, though.”
“Sleeping or dating? Because one is juicier than the other.”
He glances around before he answers. “The son is engaged to someone else.”
“Now that’s the kind of tea I was hoping for.”
“Tea like that isn’t hard to come by in a town like Hong Kong.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “Well, Hong Kong is smaller than people might think. Everyone knows everyone and soon, pretty quickly, they’ll find out about each other. Wait, are you new here?”
“I just moved here a couple months ago. My dad’s been here longer, so I’ve only visited a handful of times for maybe a week or so before settling in, You?”
“I’ve been here for five years now. I studied abroad here in college for a semester, went back to New York for my first job, which ended up taking me back to Hong Kong somehow.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an architect at Gensler. I was recruited for a role in the HK office since I was the only one in New York who had any experience there and could speak the language. That’s how I ended up working on this project with your dad’s firm.”
“The only thing I can muster up is mm goi. I’m too scared to attempt Cantonese. They already think I’m a gweilo, might as well live up to the part.”
“They already know I’m a gweilo, so I try to show them I’m not like the others.”
Nadine chuckles. The party takes a life of its own now, a floating organism moving between the corner she and this guy have occupied. Champagne flutes, cigarettes, and canapes. She wonders who he came here with.
“Who did you come here with?”
“Alone,” he says, not shyly. “A client-slash-friend had an extra ticket, but then it turned out he had another obligation at the last minute and couldn’t join me. I’m going to a work dinner in the neighborhood so it was on the way.”
“Do you appreciate art?”
“Yeah, of course. I studied architecture.”
“In New York?”
“How did you know?”
“You mentioned New York in passing earlier. I went to school in New York, too.”
“Where?”
“Pratt.”
“You were a Pratt student! Really?”
“Yes, I got my degree in painting.”
“Pratt is the kind of school I wish I could get into. But I went to Fordham instead.”
She shrugs. “School is all the same at the end of the day.”
“True, true. So what brings you to Hong Kong, um…sorry, I never caught your name?”
“I’m Nadine. I was wondering when I should ask what your name is, too, but I feared we were too far along in this conversation to ask.”
He grins. “I’m Simon. You could have asked any time.”
“I have a technique actually. So I would have asked for your number and then when I’m preparing to fill the contact, I’d ask how you spell it.”
“That’s pretty clever. Although I might have difficulty believing you because I can’t think of any other way to spell ‘Simon.’”
“S-Y-M-O-N?”
“Simon with a Y sounds like one of those made up white girl names.”
“Like Taylee, McKarty, Nayvie, Maylee…” Nadine hopes he gets this niche internet joke.
“Lakynn?” he finishes. They laugh. “So we’re on the same side of the internet, too.”
“Not sure if it’s a good thing to be part of the chronically online, but yes,” she says. “And to answer your question, I came to Hong Kong to be with my dad and figure out what I want to do with my life. I’d say get involved in the art world, but unsure how. I came to this party to try to make some connections and get a foot in some door. I don’t think I’m doing a good job of that.
“You don’t have to figure it out right away.”
“Lives take time to build,” she agrees.
“To be honest,” he says, looking around again. “I don’t think the art is that good here. I think her work has been overhyped by social media.”
“These days I’m finding it hard to differentiate between what’s actually good art and what’s art that’s been blown up by Instagram to convince everyone it is good art.”
“Didn’t they teach you that in Pratt?”
“They taught me a lot of things. I’m overstimulated by it all.”
Simon gestures to the stairs. “Do you want to take a break?”
“This would be my third break in two hours. Maybe I should call it at this point.”
He checks his watch. “I’ve got to run to my work dinner, anyway. I’ll walk you out.”
The two of them head towards the elevators. She feels a tingle on the small of her back here he puts his hand on to gently guide them in as a mass exodus passes out.
“Where are you from originally?” he asks her in the elevator when they’re alone.
She can’t help but notice this pureness that comes from him whenever he speaks. A little naive, a lot earnest. He didn’t give her New York vibes. Maybe middle America. He blinks at her, waiting for her response. “What do you think?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.
“It’s like someone mixed a California Valley Girl accent with a cockney one.”
She surprises herself with a real laugh. “Cockney? Oh god. I’ve been told I have a weird hybrid accent, but cockney is probably the last one I want to be associated with.”
His eyes smile. “Peaky Blinders is one of my favorite shows. Take it as a compliment?”
“Well you look like Cillian Murphy with a mustache, so it checks out.”
As they reach the lobby, Simon waves down a red cab that pulls up to them immediately.
“So…I guess I’ll say hi to you next time you’re at my dad’s office?” She wants to see him again, but can’t bring herself to make a real move. What she just said sounds very lame.
“That’s right. I’ll be working with your dad pretty closely in the next couple of months,” he says. “But I’d rather not wait for a chance run-in during work hours. Let’s exchange numbers. Maybe I can take you to a better art show next time.” He passes her his phone.
“Yeah, take me around Hong Kong or something. I still haven’t seen much.” She punches in his number and hands back his phone.
“Stop hiding in your dad’s office. There’s so much world to see.” He waves his hand at the skyscrapers and opens the door for her to slide in. “Get home safe, Nadine.”
“Bye,” she says, waving away.
The sky has turned purple and neon lights flash and sparkle from street corners. Red cabs and black trams dance past her, a sea of black heads. She’s not sure if it’s just night vision or if the city has truly grown brighter in the last hour.
