Me:No.
Jihoon:It’s ok. I forgive you.
The next image is of that goofy cat, one paw raised in benevolent benediction. I laugh. At least he’s less awkward on text.
Thursday, 2:01 p.m.
I look through the streaked window at the traffic sitting idly on Bay Street and visualize the corner office where I’ll be working in a few years. I know the exact one on the fifty-fourth floor, complete with leather furniture and dark wood. At night I’ll stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows as the lights of cars make the roads look like streams of liquid gold. I’ll have exactly what I want and what my parents want for me. After all, I’m Ari, the younger but dependable and ambitious sister, not Phoebe, the flighty dropout.
Will you be happy?That snippy little voice sounds like Phoebe, who was so good at getting under my skin that I can hear her even after she’s been AWOL from my life for years.
Shut up, disembodied Phoebe voice.
I squeeze my eyes harder and try to ignore it, but at times like this, weighed down with a weariness that’s not from physical exertion,I wonder if that voice is onto something, if there’s more out there than what I’ve set my sights on.
These aren’t productive thoughts. These won’t help me reach my goals. I push them away and get back to work.
Thursday, 8:29 p.m.
When I get home, Jihoon is in the living room sitting on the couch surrounded by half-empty chip bags. In his hand is a tall boy. His laptop is open on the coffee table, and he pauses his show to smile at me. It’s small, but this is the first truly positive expression I’ve seen since he arrived. It looks good on him.
“Hi, Ari.”
I debate saying hi and then going straight into the kitchen to avoid conversation, but that’s rude. Also, I want some of the chips. “Hey.” I poke through the bags. “You didn’t get hickory sticks. Those are a classic.”
He groans and puts a hand over his stomach, his black shirt covered with crumbs. “I wanted to explore new flavors we don’t have at home. It might have been a mistake. Help yourself.”
I grab the bag of cheesy garlic bread chips and try one. Then I make a face and go for the sriracha ruffled. Those are better. Meanwhile, Jihoon goes to the kitchen and comes back with more beer and two glasses. He pours me a glass as I glance at his screen, which shows a handsome man in a wide-brimmed hat and a black jacket.
“What are you watching?” I ask.
“My favorite K-drama.” He hesitates. “Do you want to watch?”
Not really, but I’m too lazy to go to my room. I nod with my mouth full of jalapeño chips.
He adjusts the settings to include English subtitles. I’m lost within minutes but don’t bother pestering Jihoon with questions. It’s pleasant enough to nibble on the gross chips and watch stunning men in turtleneck sweaters bicker with each other.
We finish the episode, and Jihoon glances over at me. “Another?”
I nod. “And a pizza?” Chips aren’t a proper meal.
He lights up. “Can we get one with Gorgonzola ?”
“I know the perfect place.”
We watch another episode until the pizza comes, and we drink more beer and don’t talk about much at all except for confusing plot points. It’s kind of a perfect night, cozy and unexpectedly comfortable.
I make a mental note to apologize to Hana for calling her cousin a serial killer.
Friday, 3:13 p.m.
Yuko waves me into Luxe’s open space office, which is shared by her and Ines. Ines is on the phone dealing with the personal assistant of an actor insisting on a dress a design house has promised to someone apparently lower in the fame hierarchy. Her voice is soothing and calm, but she shoots a glare at Yuko, who is pretending to gag behind her desk. Yuko stops and waves me over to whisper in my ear.
“Remember that travel itinerary you did for me when I went to Sicily?”
“Sure. It was fun.” I included a catered picnic at the Zingaro Nature Reserve, which they loved.
“My friend’s going to Singapore, and I was wondering if you can do one for her.”
