The Tachibana house was in a quiet neighbourhood that had the specific quality of old money comfortable with itself — not showy, just solid. Good trees. A garden that had been maintained for decades. The kind of house that had opinions about furniture and had been right about them for thirty years.
Haruka had been preparing him on the train.
"My mother," she said, "will ask about your family first."
"Okay," he said.
"Then your education."
"Okay."
"Then your plans."
"Okay."
"And my father," she said, "will ask about the currency position."
"I know," he said.
"In detail."
"Yes."
"For a long time."
"You mentioned."
She looked at her hands.
"I'm warning you," she said.
"I appreciate it," he said.
"Are you nervous."
He considered this with the honest attention he gave most questions.
"No," he said.
She looked at him.
"You should be at least slightly nervous," she said.
"Why."
"Because my parents are—" She stopped. "They have expectations."
"What kind."
