"I'll come pick you up."

Right after those words, the call ended. Through the building’s glass door, I saw a figure move inside.
(So this is the right building…!)
I straightened up with nervous anticipation. The figure approached, and eventually opened the front door. And then—

Standing before me was… a very small man.

I mean no offense. But really, it was my honest first impression of him.
But his eyes were gentle, kind even. He reminded me a little of my grandfather on my mother’s side, who passed away ten years ago.
His hair was a curly mess of blond and white, his back slightly hunched, with a bit of a belly. A sharp nose and big, expressive eyes. There was no doubt—this must be Branco.

"You must be Remi," he said with a warm smile.
"Hello. And you’re Branco, right?"
"That’s me. Come in, come in. Thank you for coming. The apartment is straight back at the end."

Just like the listing had said—this part of the building was publicly accessible. Branco led me through, finally unlocking a white door at the very end.
As I stepped in, I could faintly hear someone speaking a foreign language from one of the neighboring apartments.

"Should I take my shoes off?"
"You can leave them on if you like."
"Alright. Well, it was drizzling a bit, so I’ll take them off just to be safe."

Inside, the white walls were decorated with what I assumed was Branco’s taste in art—nothing overbearing, just pleasantly curated pieces.
And then he said:

"Welcome to the divorced club."

"Whaaat!? Seriously?! Everyone here?! That’s actually kinda great."

I nearly stumbled backward in shock as we walked further down the hallway.

"To be precise," Branco said, "I was in a long-term relationship for ten years. We lived together. Then we split up. But Leo…"

We entered the living room. Seated at the table, delicately folding his long limbs into a small chair, was a man with striking blue eyes behind his glasses.
This must be Leo, the photographer.

"Ah, I was just having lunch. Please, don’t mind me. I’m Leo. I’m from England."

His English was absolutely beautiful. The kind of accent that makes you want to straighten your posture a bit.
If I were to translate his words into Japanese, they’d come out sounding polite—like a man with proper manners. He was tall, dressed in a classic navy sweater and trousers, very British in his fashion sense.
But somehow…. He had this quiet, slightly disheveled charm. Like he might throw in a witty, cutting remark at any moment—a character straight out of a British comedy.

The living room was just as described in the listing: filled with classic art, books that looked carefully collected over the years, and bottles of wine and liquor.
The space reminded me of Annie Hall’s apartment—quintessentially New York.

"Nice to meet you. I’m Remi—a sushi chef and manga artist. Thank you for taking the time to meet me today."
"No, thank you. I checked out your website—what a fascinating background you have."
"Thanks! So… I heard everyone here’s been through a divorce? How did you two meet?"
"Branco’s partner moved out, and I moved in. That was ten years ago, right Branco?"
"Wow, has it really been that long?"
"So you’ve been living together for ten years?"
"Yes. Just two guys enjoying a peaceful co-living situation. We watch '70s movies together once a week and keep things easy."

Wait… what was that?

"You both like movies?"
"Very much so. We have a little theater room in the basement. Sundays are movie nights. Especially Branco—he loves films from the '70s."

A home theater room?! That was definitely not in the listing.

"A theater room?! I love movies too, but I don’t know much about '70s films. I’d love to get some recommendations."
"Do you ever go see films at MoMA? They have a wonderful selection."
"Not really, but I used to be a BAM member. These days, I just use Regal’s all-you-can-watch plan."
"Ah, that’s a good one. By the way…"

Leo suddenly turned to me with a serious look.

"Do you… have a cat?"
"A cat? Uh, no. Why?"
"Well…" Leo looked over at Branco.

"We really like cats," Branco said.
"Wait… so you mean…" I started.
"Yes. We love cats. But we’ve never had the chance to own one ourselves. So we’ve been hoping the next roommate might have one."

What kind of reason is that?! I couldn’t help laughing. The image of two old men excitedly hoping for a cat-filled future was just too good.
But sadly, I didn’t have a cat.

"My current roommate has a dog, so I’ve experienced the joy of living with a pet through that. She’s a sweet, wonderful dog… but no, I don’t have a cat."

"I see. That's okay. By the way, I heard you're a sushi chef?"
"Ah, yes, sort of."
"Did you learn sushi in New York? How did that come about?"
"Well... I worked at a Peruvian restaurant. I learned sushi from a Peruvian chef there. That's how it all started."

This Peruvian restaurant holds a special place in my heart, so much so that I once made it the theme of a serialized article. It was a cozy izakaya run by a Japanese-Peruvian couple and a 100% Peruvian husband and wife. Every time I explain how I became a sushi chef, most Americans find it amusing, so it's quite a handy story.

Then, Leo dropped another bombshell.

"Peruvian!? Branko is Peruvian."
"Really!?"
"His parents came to America from Peru. All his relatives are in Lima. He used to return to Peru every summer when he was a kid. But to think a Japanese person learned sushi from a Peruvian chef..."
Branko's eyes widened.
"Peruvians were the first people in New York who treated me like real family. The food is delicious... My career started by making Peruvian sushi rolls."

It was all true.

I could feel the distance between us closing rapidly. Immigrants and children of immigrants. Both of us had fully committed to interpersonal relationships and experienced the pain of separation. This... could it be? I shouldn't get my hopes up, but I couldn't help feeling my heart race.

"By the way, this is a lovely apartment. You've been living here for a long time, haven't you?"
"Yes, I've been here for 10 years, but Branko has lived here for 20 years. It's small but comfortable."
"20 years!?"

The space was so well-organized that it didn't feel like 20 years had passed. They must have been living here with regular, careful maintenance. Indeed, each piece of equipment felt old, but the kitchen was spotless, without a single oil stain. Through the kitchen window, I could see the trees in the backyard swaying in the wind. It was clear they cherished this apartment. If there were a cat here, it would surely be wonderful...

"It's a bit shabby, but it's a cute room, don't you think?"
"Just like us!" Leo said with a smug smile.

Ah, no. I couldn't help but cover my face.

"Ah... I really want to live here. I want to live here with you two!"

My inner cry escaped. I hadn't even seen my own room yet. But somehow, it felt painfully clear that our meeting was inevitable. I wanted it to be so. But with a room like this, in this location, at that price... it seemed too good to be true. I couldn't help but think that.

"But surely, many people have applied, right? So..."
"Yes, many people have applied. I'm meeting various people this week and plan to decide who to offer the room to. But Remi, you seem like a very pleasant person."
"Thank you. The atmosphere between the three of us feels really good. Oh, by the way, I wasn't sure if you liked alcohol, but if you do, please have this."

I handed them the bottle of ginjo sake I had bought. They both seemed pleased. After that, they showed me the personal room, which had excellent sunlight and was even larger than my current room. The wooden floor, two large windows, and high ceiling made me imagine where to place plants. The slightly chipped white walls were endearing.

Ah... I want to live here with these two. The conditions are too good to be true. This shouldn't be happening in reality.

"I know it's not good to be too desperate, but I really like this apartment. Talking with you two was truly wonderful. But I want to respect your decision. Whether you choose me or not, could you please contact me once you've decided?"
"Of course. I'll contact you by the weekend."
"Thank you. And... before I leave, could you show me the theater room?"
"Of course. Please follow me to the basement."

And we went downstairs. In the basement was Branko's living space, next to a handmade large screen, a projector, high-quality speakers, and a massive record collection! They looked well-used but not dusty.

"I can't believe it...!!"

A scream-like voice escaped from deep within my throat. I closed my eyes tightly. Please stop. Don't become more wonderful than this. The way I'll feel when I get rejected will be unbearable.

"I can't believe it. It's so wonderful, it's making me dizzy. And your record collection... it's just...!"

My inner voice was leaking out uncontrollably. Unbelievable. I was so excited that my breathing became erratic. I've never met anyone in New York who has a room so fully committed to movies. Please let me work here!!!

"Last question: What's Branko's favorite movie?"
"xxxxxxx." (Unintelligible, probably an old movie with a long title)
"Wow, sorry. I don't know that movie. It's embarrassing since I asked."
"No, it's okay. If we're talking about famous ones, I like '2001: A Space Odyssey.'"
"Ah, I went to see the orchestral version. It was wonderful. Do you like Kubrick?"
"Yes, I love him."
"Recently, I rewatched 'The Shining.' It's not just scary; the cinematography is beautiful, too."
"I know! It's a masterpiece no matter how many times you watch it."

We talked about this and that, then went back upstairs. It was about time to leave.

"Well then, thank you both for today. Oh, if you're interested—would you like to see some of my work?"

I pulled out my iPad as I said this. The two of them leaned in with curiosity, so I began scrolling through the Procreate gallery with my finger. No matter how much I scrolled, it just kept going—and of course it did. It was about seven years' worth of sketches and doodles.

"Wow, you've drawn so much!" Leo said, visibly impressed.
"Yeah, I draw every day. I really, truly love making art. It’s all I do, day in and day out. Oh, and this Sunday, I'm doing an event at the UNIQLO on Fifth Avenue. If you're free, please feel free to drop by."
"That’s amazing! We’d love to check it out."

And just like that, I said goodbye to the two of them and left the apartment. Even though nothing had been decided yet, just meeting them made me feel genuinely happy. It was Wednesday. They had said they'd get in touch by the weekend. Whether that meant Friday, Saturday, or Sunday—I had no way of knowing.

I wondered what kind of expression I’d be wearing at the UNIQLO event on Sunday. With that thought in mind, I walked home with a noticeably lighter step than when I arrived.

(It's getting pretty long, but the story’s not over yet!)