Becka leaned against the sink, arms folded.
“Okay. Now what does he know about you? Does he know about Korea?”
“Jesus Christ, Becka!” I threw my hands up. “I don’t understand what you want. It’s been weeks, not years. He’s nice! Nice is fine! It’s fine to not know every single, goddamn thing about the person you’ve only just started dating! He doesn’t need to know everything about me, or is this abouthim? You want me to tell him about how I got dumped by a celebrity? How I was emotionally carved out like a fucking pumpkin? Would that be the bench mark?”
“Whoa, whoa,” Becka held up her hands. “You’re right, and I’m sorry.” She sighed and rubbed a hand across her forehead. “I know, I’m doing the thing again where I butt in and offer my unsolicited advice.” She bit her lip, and looked down, fiddling with the hem of her jumper.
“I guess I just expected you to do the whole dating thing sooner, you know? Since Jihoon, you’ve not wanted to, and now you are – which is great! I just hope you’re doing it because Patrick is a person you see romantically, and not someone you think you should.”
I was starting to feel a throb in my temple.
“It’s okay to not be ready yet, Ky.”
She reached for me, a line creased across her brow.
I tried to relax my fingers from where they’d clenched in my shirt.
“I want to be,” I said, all my righteous indignation evaporating.
“I know. I just think you should give yourself permission to not be, instead of forcing yourself, because that’s not fair on you, or him.”
My stomach twisted, and my eyes fell to the floor.
Becka rubbed a hand up my arm.
“It happened babes. You’re allowed to feel how you feel, for as long as you feel it.”
I nodded.
“Come on, let’s eat.”
She moved away to grab some plates out of the cupboard, setting them down on the island, while I got the cutlery.
The two of us moved around each other with the ease of two people used to living together, moving in each other’s grooves.
“But really, babes – carved out like a fucking pumpkin? Bit dramatic.” She winked at me.
“Oh, shut up,” I groused, bumping her with my hip.
The next morning, Becka waited outside with me until my Uber arrived to take me to the airport.
She was sniffling quietly beside me when a light blue Toyota Corolla rolled up beside us.
“Hey,” I said, turning to her. “This isn’t like last time. It won’t be years again, alright?”
Impulsively, I grabbed her, pulling her towards me so tight that she had to take a step forward or risk falling.
“I love you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with all the tears I refused to shed. The memory of the last time we’d done this so vivid in my mind.
“I love you, too.” She rubbed my back and for a time, we just stood there in each other’s embrace, until the driver rolled down his window.
“Kaiya Thompson?” He asked, and I turned around.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Get in,” Becka said nudging me with her elbow. “I’m not standing out here all morning.” She jerked her chin towards the car door.
I obliged, barely hesitating before I slid onto the back seat, bringing my one rucksack with me, having returned my years ago borrowed duffle back to it’s rightful owner. I felt a rush of déjà vu.
