He was sick of being so far away.
“Excuse me,” Eunjae heard someone call out, along with the tread of stiff leather loafers on the lobby floor. The remaining receptionist on duty beckoned to him from the other side of the desk. She must be new; he didn't recognize her face.
“I'm so sorry to bother you. You’re Ari, right? From Apollo? I know your manager said he wanted to handle these calls personally, but he didn't answer when I tried his cell.” She glanced at the phone, where a tiny red light flashed above a button labeled HOLD. “I'd keep trying, but this lady sounds so upset. She won't stop asking for you. What should I tell her?”
A terrible clarity took hold.Your manager said he wanted to handle these calls personally. Just yesterday, Eunjae had watched Denny dealing with this same issue. He knew now, without a doubt, that it would be the same person waiting impatiently on the line.
She won't stop asking for you.
“It's okay,” said Eunjae. “I'll talk to her. You should go.”
“Are you sure? Manager Han told us—”
“Don’t worry. Your family’s waiting, right? I overheard, sorry.”
The receptionist bowed, peppering Eunjae with further apologies as she gathered her things. He noticed all of this, and made the appropriate responses, but it was as though someone else acted in the scene while he watched from far, far away.
Eunjae brought the phone to his ear. “Mum,” he said, dully. The word felt wrong, like a note sung off-key.
She preferred acting to singing, but Leila had a lovely voice, clear and cold as a winter’s day. His mother could deliver any line with the musicality of flowing water. And when she was angry, her words took on the weight and pressure of water, as well — a freezing river, unhurried but inexorable.
“Finally,” said Leila. “I’ve gotten so tired of calling and calling and calling. Did you know I’ve been trying since June? As soon as I heard the news, I was on the phone. And I can’t count how many emails I’ve sent. I’ve even mailed letters, Ari. The slow way. How can it be so difficult to speak to my own son?” A hollow laugh. “It’s unbelievable.”
“If this is about Ezra, you can leave it to the school like we agreed. They know how to contact me directly.”
“Your brother? He’s fine. For now, at least. Ask me again when you’ve finished ruining your career and Blackridge sends Ezra home for good. I doubt it will take much longer. The tuition there is no joke, my love.”
“He won’t have to leave Blackridge. I wouldn’t let that happen.”
More laughter, joyless and sharp-edged. “When will you wake up?” Leila asked. “You can’t keep pretending that everything will work out. Zenith thinks you’re damaged goods.Why else would they drag their feet like this? The other boy is dating, so what? It’s you. You’re the one they don’t want.”
“That’s fine. I don’t regret what I did.”
“You don’t even understand what you did. Stop playing games and let me fix this before it’s too late. They don’t even know the whole story yet. It’ll take just one tabloid reporting that you’ve thrown it all away for some girl in California—”
A bolt of bright scarlet lanced through Eunjae’s head, tinting his vision, slashing his composure to shreds. But he never heard the rest of what Leila had to say, nor did he ever have the chance to respond. Cool fingers pried the phone from his grasp. The call came to an abrupt end.
“It’s alright,” said another voice he knew. “I’ve got him. Oh, were you about to leave for the day? Go ahead. Thanks for working so hard.”
Eunjae looked up. Red faded, reverting to the lobby’s pale neutrals and lush, saturated greens. Clicking heels announced the receptionist’s departure, leaving him with someone unexpected: Jaehwan, cropped hair hidden under a baseball cap, his jacket speckled with raindrops. So he hadn't imagined it. His brother was here, and not just on a screen, or as the disembodied voice of Eunjae's conscience.
The world righted itself. “Hyung? But how? I didn't think we'd see you before we left.”
“I can't stay long,” Jaehwan admitted, “but I had to be here. Won't have another chance for a while.” A smile softened the contours of his face. He slung an arm around Eunjae and guided him back to the elevator. “It's good to see you, Ari.”
6
Theelevatormadeitsdescent. Jaehwan watched the display flashing overhead, from L1 to B1 and then to B2. “Sorry to interrupt, by the way,” he said. “Can't have you throwing a phone at the wall. Wouldn't be a good look.”
“Sorry, hyung.” Haltingly, he explained that it was Leila who called, and that Denny must have blocked her past attempts at getting in touch. “I haven’t talked to her in years. I wasn’t ready for it.”
They stepped out when the doors opened on B3. Jaehwan kept his arm around Eunjae’s shoulders, hanging a right instead of continuing down the long hall. “That wasn't your mom on the phone. I'm your mom, and I'm standing right next to you. Why would I bother calling? You think I've got that kind of time? Use your head, kid.”
Eunjae managed a miserable nod. He was grateful for Jaehwan, whose presence was a comfort he'd sorely needed, but Leila’s words were now buried in his heart like shards of ice. Hismother knew about Jiyeon. All too soon, profound relief gave way to deep, pervasive dread. It sparked an irrational urge to dial Jiyeon’s number, to hear her voice on the line and confirm that she was okay, as if Leila might have harmed her already.
At the next juncture, his brother mentioned that he’d ordered dinner. Denny had gone to meet the delivery driver. “He’s taking the news better than you,” Jaehwan remarked.
“That’s usually how it goes,” murmured Eunjae. Denny was unshakable.
