“You’re in?”
“Like I said: yes.”
“What would Cate Blanchett think?”
“Leave her out of this. Anyway, if I were her, I’d invest in a restaurant. You have money problems, I don’t. We could spruce up the decor, and you could hire a reliable waitress and pay her enough that she’d stay for good—”
“My restaurant doesn’t need sprucing up,” Daisy interrupted. “Right now, all I need is a hand.”
“You don’t have to give me an answer now. Think about it.”
“How was the Opera?”
“I gave him his phone and left.”
“That’s all?”
“Yup.”
“Is he gay?”
“I didn’t think to ask.”
“You go all the way across Paris to give him his phone and all you get is a ‘thank you and good-bye’?”
Mia did not engage her further. She put on her apron and began to set tables.
Paul had eaten dinner with Arthur and Lauren in a bistro on Rue de Bourgogne. The wine flowed freely, helping turn the joke they had played on him into a distant memory. The next day his friends were leaving to visit Provence, and he wanted to make the most of the remaining time with them.
“I think she was right,” Paul said as they walked across the Esplanade des Invalides.
“Who?” asked Lauren.
“My . . . editor.”
“I thought your editor was a man?” Arthur objected.
“Of course he is,” Paul replied.
“And what was he right about?” Lauren went on.
“I should go to Korea and set things straight once and for all. It’s ridiculous, this fear of flying.”
“Or . . . you could ride this new wave of bravery and come back to San Francisco,” Arthur suggested.
“Let him be,” Lauren said. “If he wants to go to Seoul, you should be encouraging him.”
Arthur took Paul by the shoulder, turning him to meet his gaze.
“If that’s where you think you’ll find happiness, fine. It’ll only put you another few thousand miles away from us.”
“No offense, but you really suck at geography, Arthur. Or maybe you forgot if you fly west instead of east, we’d actually be closer? Breaking news—the world is round!”
Back at his apartment, Paul sat down, uninspired, in front of his computer. Around one a.m., he wrote an email.
Kyong,
I should have come to see you a long time ago. I think about you when I wake up, all day, and late into the night, but I never give voice to these thoughts. I only have to close my eyes to picture your face. You’re here, leaning over my desk, reading me and translating me at the same time in your thoughts, without ever saying a word. You know I’m watching you, so you keep your feelings concealed.
