Sumire Kotani (pronounced "soo-me-reh") is very serious, a serious girl, a serious teacher. She wears her straight brown hair in a serious bun, along with serious glasses, to show the world how serious she is. She's half-Japanese, a linguistics stud...
Sumire and Nick spent New Year's Eve quietly, just the two of them, refusing all invitations, including the one from their director to join him at his home in Tokyo. They watched Kohaku Uta Gassen on TV, which Sumire explained was a New Year's Eve tradition in Japan. In it, Japan's top singers performed, with the women on the red team and the men on the white, and a panel of judges and the audience would vote and decide which team performed better at the end of the night.
As Nick pointed out, it was more funny than anything, especially for a gaijin, or foreigner, like he was, especially when liquor was involved, but that was okay.
"I mean, you must admit, they do tend to, uh, over emote just a little," he said as he took a drink of his sake.
"Why must you be so judgmental?" Sumire asked, taking another drink herself. She gestured toward the TV, where a woman was belting out a song in the traditional Japanese style, which was known as enka. It would almost be the Japanese equivalent of country music. "This is my childhood you're mocking, Nick Pensieri, I'll have you know."
They were dressed in their yukatas, sitting in a kotatsu, a low table with a blanket where a table cloth would be. There was a heating element on the underside of the table top, so the space where one put one's legs was heated. It was another bit of nostalgia from Sumire's childhood, but it had evolved somewhat from the Formica tabletops that she remembered. The one the kind ladies had set up for them came with a remote control, adjustable heat, and the most amazing "kotatsu sofa;" it was a cushioned chair that went all the way around the kotatsu, providing back support and cushy comfort, no matter where one chose to sit.
"You know, when I was little, our kotatsu was either off, or burn your legs hot, and we had to sit on cushions with no back support, so we ended up lying down in it after a while," she told Nick, as if imparting some ages old folklore. "This thing we're sitting in is amazing," she added, patting the cushions with appreciation.
"You're so, so cute when you're drunk," Nick told her, leaning in to give her an affectionate kiss.
"Hey! I'm not drunk," Sumire informed him with dignity. "You're drunk." She gave Nick a shove, misjudged her strength and the distance, and pushed him over.
"Whoa! Purple! Why?" Nick asked in an aggrieved voice. He pulled her on top of himself. "You know, this contraption we're sitting in is perfect for making out, isn't it? Way better than a couch. It's warm, soft, wide, and weirdly sexy." He slid his hands under Sumire's sweater, palms against her smooth skin. "Or do I mean sexual?" He thought for a moment. "I don't even know."
Sumire lay on top of him, legs under the kotatsu, and kissed him soundly. "You've had way more to drink than I have, sir," she informed him. "When are they bringing the food?" she asked.
Nick shrugged without removing his hands. "How should I know? You're the one who speaks the language."
Sumire lifted her head from Nick's chest to look at him. "Oh. Yeah. You're right."
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of dinner.
"Yum!" Sumire declared, rising to let them in.
Ten minutes later they were all tucked into their warm table with their traditional New Year's Eve meal of toshikoshisoba.
"Holy shit, this is so beautiful it looks like a work of art," Nick declared, taking a quick picture to send to Darcie. "And you're telling me that people are eating this all over Japan?"
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