Page 24 of Baby Contract

A member of the staff whisks Violet away almost as soon as we cross the threshold. “Our family is so happy your family is taking the time for us,” Mrs. Yamamoto says. “We haven’t had babies in our house for so long. You’re very kind to allow us to play with her.”

“Please call me if she gets fussy. I’ve—we’ve never traveled with her before,” Addison replies.

“This will be no problem. We have many years of experience with children. There are more than just Mr. Yamamoto and mine that are here but many others from our extended family.”

“Thank you,” I interject.

“Do you golf, Mr. McRae? We have many good golf courses here in Japan despite it being a collection of islands.” Mr. Yamamoto leads us to the back where, adjoining a small garden, a table is laid out for four.

“I’ve played some in the past, but I’m no good.”

“I’m not very good either,” he replies with a smile which means he’s very good.

“Do you golf, Addison?” asks Mrs. Yamamoto.

“No. If I’m not with the kids, then I’m reading or catching up on a show that I’ve been meaning to binge.”

“Kids? I thought the two of you only had Violet?” Mrs. Yamamoto tilts her head.

Addison throws me a panicked look. I drag a hand down her back to soothe her. “Just the one, but Addison was in childcare before she met me.”

Mrs. Yamamoto nods in understanding. “I, too, was a teacher before marriage. Afterward, I was able to stay home, but I miss the days when I tended to many children. Please, sit, and tell me about your family.”

We take our seats, and a chef appears and begins to serve us, table side, an entireomakase.

“Omakase,” Mrs. Yamamoto explains, “is translated as ‘leave it up to chef,’ which means the menu is created entirely at the whim of Chef Hitomi as opposed to akaiseki, which is nine specific courses. I thought we would do something more casual.”

“This is amazing. Thank you,” I say during our third course of the meal: a clear soup with intense flavor.

“Yes, everything is delicious. Wow. I can’t say I’ve ever eaten anything this good in my life.” Addison says.

“Chef Hitomi is a genius,” Mr. Yamamoto proclaims. “When we start the development, you will have to come again, and then we will have akaiseki.”

“Perfect.”

Addison and Mrs. Yamamoto chat about kids and culture. Japanese children have a lot of freedom based on the widespread surveillance cameras and cultural mores that encourage their early independence. Kids will ride the subways to kindergarten classes and stop by to pick up small grocery items at the market.

Mr. Yamamoto and I talk about golf, the weather, Ohtani’s upcoming season and whether he’ll break last season’s home run and steals records. We don’t discuss business.

When Addison and Mrs. Yamamoto leave to fetch Violet, Mr. Yamamoto brings up the deal. “I am glad that you came to dine with us. I believe you can tell much about the character of a man over the dinner hour.”

Addison appears with Violet in her carrier. Our eyes catch. None of the sparkle remains, not the light that glowed during our foray into the streets and not the heat of the lust that glittered when she came. I hate it. Pretending to be something that she’s not doesn’t suit her. And me? It’s not like my business will crumble if I don’t get one deal, and if they can be snowed by a snake like Bob Remington, is it really a deal I need?

I turn to Mr. Yamamoto. “Then let me tell you the truth, sir. Addison is not my wife. I learned that a competitor of mine was here to steal away the contract, and so I jetted across the ocean to save this project. But it wasn’t right to ask Addison to lie to you so I’m going to bow out of the deal. Thank you for the meal. It was great.”

I reach out for Addison’s hand and draw her toward the door. Mrs. Yamamoto pins me with a serious stare. “Your marriage may have been an act, but I do not think your feelings are fake.”

“What are you doing?” Addison mutters under her breath as we walk out.

“You were miserable lying to the Yamamotos all night. I don’t like you unhappy, so I told the truth.”

“We were almost out the door. I was fine. I survived.”

I grab her shoulders and turn her to face me. “I don’t want you to be fine. To survive. I want you to be happy. To be loved.”

“Loved?”

It’s a word that I haven’t entertained in my head before either, but it sounds right when I say it. “Yeah. Loved.”

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