“Yeah, I think there might be.”
She appears as surprised as I feel. For one second, I am startled by the fact that I have just admitted this not only to myself, but also outloud. Yung-Sun has been popping up in my thoughts unsolicited all night, but the admission seems like another step forward.
Chaeji’s expression morphs again into a kind of angry shock, offended by this imaginary betrayal. “How could you be seeing someone else? You should know how I feel about you!”
“And I’m sorry you feel that way, because I can’t reciprocate,” I tell her, pushing my chair back from the table, because I’m done.
I’m done with this “date.”
I’m done with her.
I need to get out of here, and I need to do some reflection or breathing exercises or something before I full-on spiral into a panic. I clearly need to work through some things sooner rather than later.
“You can’t leave like this,” she hisses, quickly realizing the optics of me stepping out on her will not play well for the public relations narrative she’s constructed for us.
Stepping around to pull her chair out as well, I slap some money down on the table to cover the bill and say, “I guess you’re ready to go, too, then.”
She snatches her tiny little purse, cursing under her breath, but catches herself almost immediately, slipping her arm through mine and curving her lips into a soft smile.
I escort her out the door—simply because I fear what my mother would say if she found out I didn’t—and untangle myself from her the moment we are past the windows of the restaurant “This is where we part ways. No more texting. No more talking about me in interviews. Understood?”
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she argues, reaching for the lapel of my jacket.
I move further away from her. “It does. Good night, Chaeji.” I bow, even though I don’t feel like it’s necessary and practically jog to my car.
I’m still uneasy as I pull out onto the dark streets. Everything about tonight feels wrong. Being there with Chaeji. The obvious set-up for maximum visual attention. She had everything figured out, except for how to get me to agree. Maybe she thought that was a given.
I wonder if I would have been more willing to go along with her, if she had proposed all this before.
Before.
Like there’s a divide in time now.
Before and after those conversations in my office.
My heart catches in my throat as I tap the brake harder than I need to at a stoplight.
Is there someone else?
I think there might be.
So I’ve decided this is an option, apparently.
He is a possibility.
Yung-Sun.
I am considering Yung-Sun as someone that I would date.
A horn honks behind me, letting me know I need to go because the light is green.
Something about the timing—this situation—strikes me as ironic.
I’m on the verge of making what could ultimately be the biggest decision of my life, and someone is pushing me.
Turning onto a random side street just to get out of the way, I wonder if this is one of those signs my Aunt Dahye always used to talk about. My mother was too practical to believe in the same kind of things, but her sister had been big on signs. The little nudges from the universe that are supposed to provide guidance and clarity.
Here’s this car, making me move out of the way.
