Our waiter returns with his co-workers and our desserts — small coffee roll cakes and tiny bowls of chestnut ice cream — which brings everyone’s focus back to our meal and how delicious it all looks. Perfect timing for me to stuff my face and have an excuse not to talk about myself anymore. All I want to do is be full and be on my way home. I’m not feeling great. “Sumimasen,” I signal a different waiter and order some black tea with honey. I realize I’ve been talking all day, and now that I’ve gone a stretch without doing so, I can feel a sore throat coming on.

“Anou, Shibelle-sensei,” Misaki asks me, eyes wide. “Will you stay at Zozo one more year?”

Oh, great. The last thing I want to think about. “Uh, well …”

“Please stay!” she cries, leaning so close I can smell the wine on her breath. “I will miss you!”

I smile my thanks. With quick glances to Lieko, the others smile and nod but say nothing. What I wouldn’t give to dash from this table as soon as I finish dessert, but no can do. Got to stay until the very, very end. Got to fit in. Must do my very best to play my part in the well-tuned eikaiwa machine …

“I don’t know yet. My sister is getting married soon, I think.”

“Eh? Kekkon suru?” Misaki asks. “Older sister? Younger sister?”

“She’s my youngest sister.”

“Ehhh … she is so lucky. I think, it is best if you marry at younger age. At older age, it is difficult.”

Yeah, thanks.

“Shibelle-sensei is married?”

“Ha —! I mean, um, no.”

“Eh?! So, does Shibelle-sensei live with her sister in Japan?”

“No. My family is in Canada.”

“So, Shibelle-sensei live by herself? Eh, sugoi! Very difficult.”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“Shibelle-sensei, how many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“I have six.”

I might as well have said thirty-one thousand and eight. Their sudden outburst of laughter makes everyone at the next tables turn and glare at us — well, at me. When the post-meal coffee and my black tea arrive, I’m more than happy to have an excuse to stuff my face again with bun number seventeen (or whatever, I’ve lost count by now), even if it means giving everyone around me another excuse to marvel and stare.

As we leave the restaurant, the cute waiter stops me. “Ah, excuse me, mademoiselle.” He grins. Everyone — and I mean everyone, staff and customers alike — is staring at me. I smile, bracing myself.

“Oui?” I chuckle.

“You teach English?”

Shit. Really?

“Then, maybe, I can take lessons? From you? What time is your school —”

“Um, excuse me,” Lieko appears, breaking out her highest English voice. “But Zozo’s School is strictly for children and parents of students. I’m sorry. And, before you ask, she cannot give you private lessons. It is not in her contract. Sorry.”