Naïveté

By Kazuko Smith

"Naïveté-Journey of Second Chances" is a compelling tale that delves into an unconventional encounter between two individuals, Kate and Edward. Their connection unfolds in the digital realm, where love blossoms amidst the i

• Language: English
• Publisher: KS
• Release date: Feb 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798218332600

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NAÏVETÉ

A JOURNEY OF SECOND CHANCES

-KAZUKO SMITH-

Copyright © Kazuko Smith 2024

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be altered, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including, but not limited to, scanning, duplicating, uploading, hosting, distributing, or reselling, without the express prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of reasonable quotations in features such as reviews, interviews, and certain other non-commercial uses currently permitted by copyright law.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, and businesses are purely products of the author’s imagination and are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, places, or events is completely coincidental.

Table of Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

ONE

February 28, 2018

Wednesday at 10:14pm

Greetings. I hope you don’t mind me sending this.

I am new to Facebook, so please bear with me. I was just wondering if we could be friends here. I hope to hear from you soon.

Have a wonderful day.

No matter how Kate looked at it, the message was odd.

For one thing, she didn’t know any Edward Jónsson. A message from a complete stranger? To her? It wasn’t as though Kate had ever spent much time on social media. She checked her messages from family and friends, posted new photos now and then, and that was it. After the divorce, she’d stopped using Facebook completely. Only in the past few years had she begun to pick it up again. So how had this Edward even found her when they didn’t share any friends or acquaintances?

Yet there it was, right there on her iPhone with the rest of her morning emails and texts. Greetings.

Sara would tell her it was a scam. And after eighteen years of friendship, Kate trusted Sara more than anyone. Sara would tell her to delete the message right away, and probably send a dozen articles about online scams while she was at it.

And yet…

I was just wondering if we could be friends here. Hope to hear from you soon.

Kate shook her head. What am I doing? She muttered. Maybe she was just tired.

As she finished eating, she pushed the message from her mind. She checked her emails and sent replies to those that needed immediate attention. She did her morning stretches and meditation. She worked, and before lunch, she breezed through her daily French lesson.

Just wondering if we could be friends.

The house was quiet, as it had been ever since her kids had gotten old enough to move out. Through the kitchen window, she could see birds splashing around in the garden birdbath, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. She would have to go out and prune the flower bushes later; yet another hobby she’d taken up to keep herself busy after work. Along with the French, the yoga, the online articles, and the reading.

It was all very structured. Routine, but boring.

Just wondering…

Her eyes drifted back to her phone.

Had it really been that long since she’d had attention from a man? Was that why she couldn’t get the message out of her head? Maybe she was a little lonely, but she wasn’t unhappy with her life. Besides, the message was so simple. According to Sara, unsolicited hookup messages were usually explicit, and pushy. If he were interested in her looks, he would have already sent more messages. Maybe even an unwanted picture of his own. But more importantly: Why was she still hung up on this?

At least there was work to focus on. IT translation wasn’t exciting, but in Palo Alto, Kate didn’t have as many chances to speak Japanese as she wanted. Work gave her that connection back. Japanese was comforting; the formality was formulaic and predictable, unlike English, whose rules were confusing and contradictory. Growing up bilingual had been difficult, but now, she made it work.

For a while, work was an excellent distraction. But when she caught her focus slipping toward the end of the day, she gave up resisting her curiosity.

Alright, Kate, think logically. She shook her head slightly and straightened her posture. Where does he come from? What does he do for a living? Does he really want to become friends with me?

It was easy enough to check his profile. It was sparse, the barest information, and only a single picture. It didn’t seem locked behind privacy—maybe he really was new to Facebook. A little odd, but not unheard of for older people like them. His son’s profile was just like his father’s: basic information about him and his school, and a single photo.

Kate, you’re being ridiculous. Even kindergarteners know not to talk to strangers. Leave it alone. The voice in her head sounded suspiciously like Sara’s. Maybe she really did need to get out more.

Kate went to the kitchen and made some tea, then went out to the terrace, sinking down into a garden chair. The evening was warm, but there was a nice breeze. The blossoms of flowers and trees were yet to be seen, but many little buds had begun to peek out from the earth or from branches. In a month, the garden would be painted red, orange, yellow, and green.

When was the last time she’d had someone over? Her daughter had called earlier, promising to come home from San Diego on a university break. But that was still two weeks away, and she’d been gone for months. Sara, Jane, and Mary had all been busy too—with work, and with their own lives. They texted regularly, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen them in person.

She was only forty-three. She barely even had wrinkles, thanks to her Asian genetics. She felt like she’d turned twenty-one just yesterday, celebrating adulthood with her closest friends. And while that lifelong bond was still there, they’d undeniably drifted apart over the years. And the last time she'd met someone new... especially a man... well. It wasn’t worth remembering.

Her tea no longer tasted sweet and refreshing. Spend some time with your actual friends, Kate, she muttered, heading back inside. Delete it and forget it. That’s what you need to do.

But despite her resolution, when she fell asleep that night, the message remained on her phone.

The next morning was just the same as any other morning. Kate woke up to her usual ringtone and checked for any messages. To her surprise, she only found one message, and it was from Edward.

Thursday at 11:45pm

Greetings. How are you doing? I hope you don’t mind me sending you another message. I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but I was looking at your pictures, and I noticed your museum photos. Are you a fan of Picasso? He is one of my favorite painters of all time. I’d love to chat about art, if you’re interested.

Was that his attempt at starting a hookup message? It seemed too polite for that. Perhaps she should’ve been bothered to learn he had looked through her photos, but then, she was the one who left them public. It wasn’t that odd.

Or maybe you’re talking yourself into replying, Kate.

She read the message again. She did love Picasso. When she’d been younger, full of adventurous energy, she’d visited the Picasso Museum in Paris a few times. She’d even gone to the one in Antibes where he’d spent his last years. That trip had been the reason she’d started learning French, even though she hadn’t been back to Europe in years.

It wasn’t just Picasso, either. Van Gough, Renoir, and Monet–she loved them all. She’d once dreamed of visiting an art museum in every country in the world, but that dream had been replaced with realism long ago.

Who were Edward’s favorites? It was dangerous to think about him, but she couldn’t help it. It was common sense to be cautious online—her friends, her kids, anyone would tell her to delete the messages and move on. She’d thought the same thing just last night. But they seemed so harmless, and she couldn’t deny that she was intrigued.

Fine, answer him. But it's on you if he starts asking for photos or money, said the Sara voice in Kate’s head.

Well, if he was genuine, then he could be patient. She made him wait as she went through her morning routine, her work, and—just to prove to herself that she wasn’t starved for new conversation—her lunch. Finally, just before she dove back into work, she sent a simple reply.

Hello, thank you for your message. I’m just fine. How are you doing?

*************

Edward glanced around his office as he opened his laptop. The small room was occupied with many men working at their computers. Some of them were furiously typing, while others stared boredly at the screen, as if they were trying to mentally generate the messages they were waiting for.

Edward looked at the clock on the wall. It was three in the morning–not quite break time, but he couldn’t stand to be at the computer any longer. Grabbing his cigarettes and his lighter, he headed outside. He didn’t say a word to his coworkers, and they didn’t so much as glance up as he brushed past.

He lit a cigarette and drew the first whiff of smoke deep, expelling it in a long lingering exhalation. Early morning dews glistened on the flowers and trees. The air was already warm and humid; not unexpected, even for the dry season, but even after twenty years, Edward couldn’t get used to it.

He’d only been nineteen when he came to Kuala Lumpur. He hadn’t planned on leaving Iceland behind for good, but here he was, two weeks past forty. So much for his dreams of heading home and starting college.

He sighed, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. Henrik was ready to leave, that was for sure. He’d been ready for two years, in fact–probably longer. His son had a tendency to stew on things in private before he ever brought them up. Edward wouldn’t budge, though. They often fought about it. Edward couldn’t keep him safe forever, he knew, but damned if he wouldn’t try for as long as he could, no matter what Henrik thought about it.

He drew a second whiff of smoke, then a third. The fourth and the fifth in quick succession. His smoking always got worse when he was frustrated. A cool breeze sent a chill through him, and Edward took that as his cue to head back inside. He muffled a cough in his sleeve as he crushed the cigarette, dragging his feet back towards the doors. It was too bad, he thought, that he couldn’t trade places with the cigarette.

No one looked up as he headed back to his computer. The distance wasn’t surprising. Edward was the only white man among them, after all. They all spoke English, but Edward had never made any attempts to chat with them, and they were happy enough to leave him alone. Aidan’s quotas were strict, after all, and they were hardly running a legitimate business.

It was a scam operation, plain and simple. They picked women from Aidan’s lists–always a few at a time–and, after gaining their trust and affection, convinced them to part with hefty sums of money before vanishing from their lives. So basic, but it had always been surprisingly effective. Edward always wondered how Aidan found the women on his lists, but he’d never asked. No questions, no problems. That was his philosophy.

Normally, Edward started from the top and worked his way down the list. This time, though, something had caught his eye: a woman in Palo Alto, California, America. If he remembered correctly, Stanford University was located in Palo Alto; Henrik had applied there the other day. If he got accepted, it would make Edward's getaway far more feasible. And if he had a contact in Palo Alto, all the better. It was a flimsy excuse for an alibi, but with half the city under Aidan’s control, he needed every scrap of hope he could get.

First, though, he needed the woman to respond.

Luck was with him. When he settled back at his desk, the woman–a Kate–had replied to his second message. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. More importantly, she’d only replied a few minutes ago. If he was quick, he could catch her in a conversation.

Hello, I’m so glad you replied.

Sorry, I know my messages came out of nowhere. But my son said I should use Facebook to make new friends, so I thought, why not find out what life is like across the Atlantic?

I’m originally from Iceland, but I have been living and working in London for the last 20 years. How about you? Your profile says you live in California. What’s that like?

A new message came in a few minutes.

It’s very nice. I’ve lived here for about 20 years, and the weather is always beautiful.

For a while, they exchanged basic pleasantries. Kate worked in translation, he learned; Edward, as far as Kate was concerned, was the boss of a small investment company. It was a boring alias, but boring meant few questions, and the less he had to say about his made-up backstory, the better. He’d gotten caught in his lies before, back when he’d first started, and Aidan’s punishments had been swift and harsh.

You mentioned Picasso in your message yesterday. Do you like his paintings?

Yea, I love them. I have one of them in my office.

Really, which one? I’ve got a couple in my house. One of them is ‘Mother and Son’ and the other ‘Blue Nude.’

You’re kidding, that’s what I have, ‘Blue Nude!’

You don’t say! I can’t believe it!

By the time Kate signed off, he had almost managed to stamp out the usual guilt.

How many women had he talked online for the last twenty years? Too many to count. They were usually nice enough: lonely, awkward, and sometimes naive. The most recent one had been a special case, so vulgar that even Edward, who’d long grown desensitized, had felt uncomfortable. Kate was a breath of fresh air in that regard. The sort of woman he would have enjoyed talking to under better circumstances.

How’s the new list working out?

Aidan, of course, right on cue. It was like the man could hear it every time Edward daydreamed about getting away from him. Fortunately, Edward’s shift was over. He grunted, closing his laptop and getting to his feet.

I found a good one, he said simply, and headed out the door.

*************

Kate was in trouble.

Alright, maybe that was dramatic. But she couldn’t believe that after such a short conversation, she had signed off with talk to you later. It hadn’t even occurred to her not to until after she’d already gotten a reply.

Talking to Edward had been easy. Comfortable. She didn’t have to pretend to be someone else. Her ex, Robert, was a nice and understanding man. But they couldn’t have been more different. He’d had no interest in art and culture.

When was the last time she had felt so comfortable with a man? She certainly couldn’t remember. For once, she wasn’t eager to get back to work. She wanted to linger, to bask in that nice, warm feeling of connection. But reality called; with one last glance at the open message box, she closed the tab, reluctantly pulling up her work.

Right after college, Kate had gotten a low-paying job writing web articles. Writing came easily to her, and she’d enjoyed the quick results of her work, but she’d grown bored of it. Translation did not give her that kind of instant gratification, but Kate loved what she did. Tackling a big project was like climbing a mountain. It required concentration and patience. Finishing felt like reaching the summit. Only after she stood atop all the completed pages did she feel like she could breathe pure air. No other feeling came close.

It was easier to forget about the conversation with Edward as she worked. Her productivity carried her through the evening. As she made dinner, she debated calling her kids, but Dominique was probably out with her friends, and William–who was studying at UC Irvine–was probably busy studying. She and William were very close when he was younger, but they’d grown distant from each other lately. They both loved her, she knew, but she doubted they wanted to be bothered.

The ring of the doorbell snapped her out of her thoughts, and she frowned,