“That’ll be booked out for sure.”
“You’re right, those bushes are a crowd pleaser. Alright, what about the Japanese place in Soho?”
“I’m easy.” I shrugged again.
“No? Okay, alright, let’s think. Hmm, what about the gastro pub on the embankment? Or the-”
“Patrick, I don’t mind,” I cut in, smiling to hide my slight grimace.
He fell silent, like he was thinking of a dozen more suggestions. I wanted to contribute, I just didn’t have an opinion on where we went to eat. I was… ambivalent, and I think that must have shown on my face.
“Kaiya, do you really not mind what plans we make, or… or do you just not want to make plans with me? Specifically?”
My eyes snapped to his and stayed there.
He didn’t look upset. Maybe it was resignation I saw on his face, I couldn’t tell, but I took a breath, because here it was.
The opening I’d been searching for, and trying to ignore.
I studied him, and it seemed like he let me. Waiting on me to look my fill. It was one of the things I liked the most about him. He never rushed me. He never needed to fill empty silences, even when I often lapsed into them. He always seemed to know that sometimes I just needed space to breathe, and think.
In that moment, I wished I felt regret, or anything other than… apathy.
He was perfect. Interesting, driven, kind. He liked me, and I wanted to be there with him, I really did. I just…
“I don’t.” I said – to answer his question, and my unspoken statement.
I stood, needing to be in motion rather than sat at a table still covered in plates from the meal my boyfriend had made for us.
“Patrick, you’re perfect. No, listen to me-” I said as he scoffed and made to turn away. I moved towards him, but stopped halfway. “You are. I wish… I wish it was you.”
I clasped my hands together, knowing I didn’t have any better words to give him.
“But it’s not, is it?” He smiled at me, more kindly than I deserved. I willed my heart to feel it. But it didn’t.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” He asked, with the ghost of a smile. “The one you won’t talk about. He really messed you up, didn’t he?”
I bit my lip, a small hurt to contain the bigger one that had never quite gone away. I shoved my hands into my pockets, running my thumb over the mental band on my finger before I even knew I was doing it. I didn’t bother trying to stop once I realised. It was a habit I’d long since accepted.
“I don’t want to be like this,” I said so quietly, I wasn’t even sure I’d meant to say the words out loud. “I want to be ready to move on. I thought I was, but I’m not. I don’t know when I will be, or if I ever will be.”
My throat felt ragged, like the words were glass being dragged out of me, but I forced myself to continue. To be as decent as Patrick deserved, and not drag him down with me. “You deserve better. You deserve someone who will be all in. Someone who only sees you.” My voice hitched. “Because I see him around every corner. He follows me, and the worst thing is that I don’t know if I ever want that to go away.”
Flashes of detail hit me like mnemonic hail stones.
His eyes as they crinkled, laughing at something I’d done. His smile, imperfectly crooked when it was just us. The way his fingers ghosted up my spine in the morning.
I was breathing hard, little gasps of air sawing in and out. I rubbed at my chest, at the spot right in the middle, where I knewhe – Jihoon – had made a home inside me and never really left, even when I’d lied to myself that I’d patched myself up. I felt him there even now, standing in Patrick’s kitchen, looking into his warm eyes that I wanted so desperately to fall into, but knew I never could.
Moving slowly, as if he didn’t want to scare me off, Patrick moved until he was close enough to touch. He looked down at me with more understanding than I deserved.
“I remember our first date,” he said lightly. “You told me you hadn’t felt the urge to put down roots, and I told you that you hadn’t found the right patch of ground. Do you remember?”
I smiled a watery smile, nodding, even as my heart clenched.
“I remember.”
Gently, he put his hands on my arms, rubbing gently as if I were cold.
