“Will it look like you walking down an aisle?” “It will.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, you have always known what you want. You have always known your own heart.”

“Have I?”

“I think so,” he said. “I … I made a mistake two years ago in trying to tell you what to do. I still think I was right, but the reason I liked you in the first place was because you were so independent, so stubborn, and so much yourself. One cannot change Anya Balanchine’s mind about anything. I was wrong even to try.” He looked at my sister, who was talking to one of her teachers at the podium. “You must be so proud.”

“I am.”

“You did everything right, Anya. I know she thinks so, too.”

“I did my best, but I’m sure I made mistakes. I’m glad we are finally talking like this,” I said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Really? I wouldn’t think you missed anyone. You look straight ahead into the future, and you don’t look back. Besides, I know you haven’t suffered for company these last two years. Theo Marquez, Yuji Ono.”

“You haven’t either! Natty says you have a different girlfriend every time she sees you.”

“That ought to make you feel important. I’m serious about no one.” He looked at me. “You ruined me,” he said in as playful a way as it is possible to make such a remark. “I was hoping I’d see you today. I’ve had something I’ve wanted to say to you for a while, but then the years pass, and things go unsaid. The truth is, I read about your club sometimes.”

“You do?”

“I like to keep up. But that’s the context, not the point. What I wanted to tell you is how very proud of you I am.” He took my hand in his. “I don’t know if it will even matter to you, but I wanted to have said it.”

I was about to reply that of course it mattered to me, but at that moment, Natty joined us. “Win,” she said, “come to lunch with us!”

“I can’t,” he said. “Your speech was great, kid.” He took a small box out of his pocket and handed it to her. “For you, Natty. Congratulations again.”

He embraced Natty and then shook my hand. Natty and I watched him walk away. I was still holding his peacock feather. I almost called after him, but decided not to.

At lunch, Natty unwrapped Win’s gift. It was a small silver locket in the shape of a heart. “He still sees me like a little kid,” she said. She stuffed the box into her purse. “What did you two talk about today?”

“Old times,” I said.

“Fine. Don’t tell me,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you to Japan? You are getting married.”

“It’s going to be more like a business meeting.” “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Natty. I’ve decided.” I took out my calendar. “You have camp”—she was a counselor—“and then college. I’ll be back in September to help you set up your dorm room, okay?”

“Annie, I’m worried about you. I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I do, Natty. Listen, people get married for many different reasons. There are only two things that matter to me in this world, and the first is my family—you and Leo—and the second is my work. I’m not romantic, so getting married for a reason other than love doesn’t matter as much to me as it might to someone else. What’s making me feel bad right now is you looking at me with that tragic expression.”

“You are romantic. You loved Win.”

“I was a teenager then. It was different.”

“You’re still a teenager until August,” she reminded me. “Technically.”

Natty rolled her eyes. “Even if it is a sham, take pictures, would you? The way things are going, it might be my only chance to see you in a wedding dress.”

WHEN I ARRIVED IN TOKYO, an entourage of ten representatives of the Ono Sweets Company met me. All wore dark suits. Two women carried signs that said BALANCHINE. After a great deal of bowing, I was presented with a bouquet of pink tulips, a basket of oranges, a box of Ono candies, and a silk purse that contained several pairs of elaborately embroidered socks.

“Is Ono-san’s house close by?” I asked one of the women.

“No, Anya-san, we have to go into Tokyo. There, we will take the bullet train to Osaka.”

I had been to Japan as a child, but I didn’t remember much about it. Physically, the urban parts were not unlike New York, I suppose, though the train (and the air) was much cleaner. At first the view consisted of the familiar gray and neon flashes of a vertical city: red signs indicating stores or bars or girls; impressive steel-and-glass balconies with unexpectedly old-fashioned clotheslines strung across them. I find such views relaxing as they remind me of my home and indeed, I fell asleep. When I awoke, we were speeding through a green swirl of forest. Too much nature makes me anxious; I fell asleep again. When I next awoke, the view had shifted once more: ocean, modest skyscrapers. This was Osaka.

We drove in long black cars with tinted windows to the Ono estate. I could not shake the feeling that I was in a funeral procession.

Finally we came to a gate with two iron doors mounted in stone walls. A guard waved us through. The Ono house was two stories high, with dark walnut siding and a gray tile roof. It sprawled across the land, low but somehow muscular. A member of the entourage explained that the house was in the traditional Japanese style. There were canals along the perimeter, several ponds, and groomed trees. When we reached the house entrance, I knew to take off my shoes. Perhaps that explained the gift of socks.

Kazuo, Yuji’s bodyguard, told me that my luggage would be brought to my room and that dinner was laid out for me if I was hungry—I wasn’t. “May I say hello to Yuji?” I asked. I was told he’d already retired for the evening.

A female house servant dressed in a maroon kimono led me down a hallway. The hallways ran along the perimeter of the building. The servant slid open a door that also acted as a wall.

I went into the bedroom, which had tatami mats on the floor and walls, but a Western-style bed. The room had a distant view of a pond. A cat roamed the grounds, and I wondered if she was a descendant of the cat Natty and I had met on our visit over a decade ago. Or perhaps it was the same cat? Cats live a long time, sometimes longer than people.

I unpacked my suitcase and then lay down on the bed. Silly to say, but it began to seem of pivotal importance that I find out the weather for tomorrow, my wedding day. I turned on my phone, but it wouldn’t work. I turned on my slate; slates were said to be more reliable than phones when you were traveling. A message came up on the screen.

win-win: Anya?

anyaschka66: I’m here.

win-win: I hoped you might be using your slate since you were traveling abroad. You’re in Japan, right?

anyaschka66: Yes.

win-win: That means you’re getting married tomorrow.

anyaschka66: Are you going to try to stop me?

win-win: I’d never try to stop you from doing anything anymore. I’m slow, but I learned my lesson.

anyaschka66: Smart boy.

win-win: I was thinking that it was nice seeing you at Natty’s graduation, though.

anyaschka66: Yes.

win-win: This is tiring. Why did our grandparents ever like doing this? Why didn’t people pick up phones?

anyaschka66: They had a lot more acronyms than us. My nana used to tell me them sometimes. She won a speed-texting competition when she was fifteen or maybe sixteen. OMG. LOL.