“I took an Uber here the other night,” he says somewhat sheepishly. “I was kind of drunk already when we were texting.”
That feels like a million years ago. “Are you waiting for one right now?” I ask, looking down the street. He nods.
“Cancel your ride. I’m dropping you off.” I park and unlock the doors.
He hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“Yes! In my day we didn’t take Ubers, we made our friends pick us up from LAX during rush hour. Get in.”
We drive down the windy hillside with the windows open. “I appreciate it,” he says. “I know this is cutting into your birthday trip.”
“Hardly, don’t even worry about it.” I point to the car’s touch screen. “Want to plug in the address? Your work, right?”
“Oh, you can just take San Fernando all the way to Fletcher. We’re in Silver Lake, I can just tell you how to get there.”
I appreciate this, a guy who knows how to navigate. And he doesit well, with patience and competence. All these moments of appreciation add up to a realization: If, and it’s a big if, I don’t find Daniel anytime soon…Ellis. Ellis is pretty damn great. It’s a little scary to think of another option, but there’s no denying we’ve had an amazing weekend. That maybe we could have many more.
We’re driving alongside the Silver Lake Reservoir when he asks, “When did you start this birthday trip tradition?”
“Hmm, twenty years ago, I think? Wow, that’s a long time.” I am about to do the math to see how old he would have been then but stop myself from that particular torture.
“Can I ask why you do it?”
I’m not ready to give him the answer and my silence is met with understanding. He nods. “We don’t have to get into it.”
“Thanks.”
Soon after, we pull up to his office, a tasteful two-story mid-century situation tucked behind greenery on a corner off of Sunset.
“Thanks for the ride,” he says. “And happy birthday again.”
“You’re very welcome. And thank you.”
There’s a moment where we both wonder if we should kiss or if that would be overkill at his place of work. He makes the decision—he gives me a quick, firm kiss on the lips then swiftly gets out of the car. He’s about to close the door when someone shouts his name. It’s a man walking toward the building in efficient, hurried strides. He’s wearing black wayfarer sunglasses and a crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. When he reaches Ellis, the two exchange a fist bump and I can see that the guy is Asian, as well.
“Morning,” he says to Ellis, then peers into the car at me. “Hello there.” He has a British accent.
I wave. “Hi.”
“Oh, sorry, this is Cassia,” Ellis says, his arm sweeping toward me. “Cass, this is my boss, Daniel.”
The world stutters around me. I push my sunglasses to the top of my head to get a good look at this man. “Daniel?”
Daniel smiles uncertainly. “Yes? Have we met?”
My extremities are starting to go numb. “Possibly. Daniel…?”
“Nam-Watson.”
11
I was thirty when Halmoni gave me the piece of paper with Daniel Nam’s name stitched into it.
“Do you want to know what I saw? To know more about your past life?” Halmoni had asked as I held the piece of paper in my hands, my heart beating so furiously that I thought I might actually have a heart attack.
I wasn’t sure. It seemed like a no-brainer. Whowouldn’twant to know about their past life? But I also felt a warning rolling into the atmosphere, like the moments before a storm. A voice whispering,This path leads to destruction.Well, close to that, maybe not as dramatic. So, I shook my head.
Halmoni pushed my hair back from my face. “You’re going to have a wonderful love story, Cassia.”
