“Good. Fine.” Denny surveyed the dining room like it was a battlefield and he had the unfortunate honor of leading the last, suicidal charge. He tracked the towheaded figure of Jesse, wobbling out of the kitchen with too many trays. “Explain something to me. How’s it possible that Ahn can sing and walk at the same time, but talking and walking is too much? What’s the math there?”
“Hmm. Fair question.”
Under normal circumstances, she'd expect a slow day. Raindrops pearled the windows and thick, gray clouds skulked on the horizon. It was the sort of weather that made people want to stay home. But it would be a full house, Jiyeon knew, because the producers engineered it that way. Scarcely a quarter of the diner’s customers were honest-to-goodness civilians who wandered in off the street. The rest was a curated mix of paid extras and specially chosen guests. On the first day of soft launch, the production invited a group of local citrus farmers. Yesterday, it was a busload of ICU and emergency room staff, fresh off the night shift. No fewer than three nurses had cried on Eunjae. Jiyeon missed the whole thing.
Jiyeon missed Eunjae. She missed him all the time, but he was right there, reporting for Denny’s mission brief.
When she came back to Langley House, there were flowers waiting in her room on the second floor. The attached note said they were a gift from Apollo, and yet the Polaroid taped to the jug could only be from Eunjae. It was a picture of lemons, stacked into a small pyramid, like a miniature version of the onethey’d seen in July. He must’ve found it at the farmer’s market on Saturday, with Arthur.
She turned away, intending to take up her post in the kitchen, but then there was a tug on her sleeve. Eunjae had followed, skipping the rest of Denny's lecture. “Emma,” he said, because at least one camera was on them, bearing witness like an unblinking, lidless eye.
Oh, how strange, to hear him use that name. How jarring. But she wasn't Jiyeon here, and he wasn't Eunjae. It would've been dangerous to forget.
“Ari,” she replied, doing her best to sound as normal as possible. “Need help with something?”
“Ah, yeah. Do you know if we have any extra chairs? They're saying we'll need more at Table 5.”
“Oh, sure. I can show you.”
They crossed into the kitchen. Perhaps deeming the interaction too boring to record, the camera focused its scrutiny elsewhere. And since the support staff was out there with Denny, Jiyeon and Eunjae were actually… alone. For the next six or seven minutes, anyway.
He motioned for her to duck behind the long prep table that divided the room. “Let me borrow one of your earrings. If anyone comes in, I was helping you look for it.”
“Funny how we keep losing things,” Jiyeon mused, removing an earring. She dropped it into Eunjae’s open palm. His fingers closed over hers, warm and reassuring. And he laughed just like she knew he would, but his worries still won out in the end.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I should've asked you how it was going, with the salon. You probably thought I didn't care.”
“No, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be saying that. And I never felt like you didn’t care.” She'd never doubted this. He just didn't pry into her business; it wasn't in his nature. Andif they were being as fair as possible, he didn't need to pry. She’d gotten into the habit of telling him almost everything. Keyword: almost.
As Emma, she used to share myriad details about her life to thousands of strangers daily. Clinging to her secrets was a hard habit to break.
Losing that retail space had hurt so much, for reasons that Jiyeon still couldn't bear to hold up to the light. Every mention felt like salt in the wound. While her parents and her brother and even Arthur were bringing it up all the time, Eunjae had done the opposite. She'd been so relieved.
Jiyeon didn’t want to think about it. Nor could she stop thinking about it, but Eunjae had enough going on. The last thing she wanted was to drag him down even further. He would've been so disappointed that the lease went to someone else, and Jiyeon said this to him at last, admitting why she'd chosen to keep the bad news to herself.
“I knew you’d be upset, so I kept putting it off. That’s why I couldn’t be mad when you didn’t tell me about Emerald. I wasn’t telling you everything, either. I didn’t want you to worry.”
Eunjae frowned. “Let me worry. Isn’t that part of the job?” Although their time was running out, he held on to her hand. “This is the first job I’ve ever gotten to choose for myself. Good or bad, I’ll be here.”
Crying would be a bad idea. How would she explain that? Jiyeon hadn’t cried in August, when she drove by and saw a brand new sign above the space that might have been hers. She was late to call about it. This was her fault. Now she was here, crouched behind a table, succumbing to the pressure of all these tears she hadn’t shed.
“That place… it could’ve been great, for me.”
“I know. But we’ll find another one, and it’ll be even better.”
The truth spilled out. “That's not what I want.”
“What do you mean?” Eunjae asked, searching her face, trying to understand. Jiyeon wished she could help with that. She didn’t understand what she meant, either, or why she felt lighter after the words were spoken.
That was when they heard it: Arthur Hong’s altogether too peppy ‘good morning!’ as he came striding into the diner. How odd. It was a Thursday, bright and early. Arthur should be at the office. Besides, he’d finished his interviews over the weekend.
“DEN-DEN!” he bellowed. “Oh man, look at this guy. He could crush my skull so fast. Isn’t that wild? I remember when he was only this tall. Tiny! Can you believe it?”
"No need to explain the passage of time, Hong. Take it down a notch."
Nicky’s squealing carried through the walls. “Oooh, Den-Den!”
“He had these yellow binoculars, right, and he’d go on patrol—”
