Jihoon’s phone is almost vibrating off the seat with the number of messages coming through. He simply picks it up and turns it off, the most thoughtful thing a modern man can do, before briefly pressing his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry, Ari.” He sounds regretful. “Thislife is stifling. At least when I’m busy, I don’t think about it. Work is an excuse.”
Work is an excuse. Jihoon has a disconcerting habit of expressing thoughts I didn’t know had been circulating in my own mind. When I’m doing due diligence or checking over documents, I don’t have to think about what a fucking useless way I’m spending the time I have on this planet.
Here lies Ariadne Hui.
She wrote memos no one read.
Now she’s dead.
Lost in thought, I watch the night city pass by the car windows, Jihoon at my side with his hand on mine. He’s humming low to himself, little snippets of songs that start familiar but soon twist and alter into new melodies that curve around my mind. I think about cool water washing over my skin and the way the sun feels when it beats down through the thick, wet heat of a summer day. He changes the tune, and it turns bluer, filling me with longing for a place I’ve never been. Kaukokaipuu, the Finns call it. I write it on the first page of each new travel notebook.
I don’t realize I’ve let out a lingering sigh until Jihoon calls my name. “Ari?”
“Yes?” My eyes almost hurt from the intensity of looking out the window while not seeing what’s in front of me.
“Tell me what’s bothering you.” He shifts on the seat. “Is it me?”
“Not you.” I lift his hand to more comfortably fit my fingers with his and nestle my head back into the car seat to look through the sunroof. “You said work is an excuse.”
“I did.”
“Work has been my life for as long as I remember,” I say to the distant sky. “First school, then the office. My parents expected the best from me. You know Phoebe dropped out and is basically a nomad. It drives my father nuts to see her waste her life.”
“Yet you seem envious of her.”
“I don’t know if law was my goal or Dad’s. Phoebe got to do what she wanted, and I’m stuck with what he wanted for me.” I say it louder than I planned and then stop, shocked when I hear the words and how angry they are.
“Then, Ari, make a different choice. Like your sister did.”
I glare at him. Easy enough to say when it’s not you who has to deal with the backlash. “A choice that will worry and disappoint them the way she did? I was always the good one.”
“They survived your sister leaving school.”
“Sure, but they weren’t happy.” I make a face. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
He smiles and looks down at me. “I’ll be here when you do.” My hair is over my shoulder, and he slides a lock through his fingers before deftly tying it into a loose knot and undoing it. “This is the first time I haven’t adored a comeback,” he says thoughtfully. “Before, I was worried and tired but excited for fans to hear our work.”
“Why?”
“When I was with you in Toronto, I had no expectations on me. I could do whatever I wanted, without people fussing about where I was or what I was wearing. No one watched me. I had space to think and dream.”
Although I’ve slowly come to grips with the idea that being an international celebrity isn’t all skittles and beer, part of me wants to point out that being a millionaire with staff to take care of the boring parts of life is hardly a tragedy. That would be grossly unfair because neither is being a lawyer with loving family and friends and kick-ass benefits and a pension plan. I have all that I should need to be happy; so does Jihoon. Yet both of us greedily want more, to selfishly carve out the extra that makes life worth living instead of going through the motions every day.
“What did you dream about?” I ask.
“Impossible things. You know I write some of our songs.” He rubshis arms. “People think mine are fun ones, light and happy. I want to grow and move in different directions.”
“Then you should.”
His smile is sardonic. “The company likes things how they are.”
“Not messing with a good thing,” I say, remembering the conversation we had on my balcony. “You said you tried to do things on the side. Was it your songwriting?”
He freezes up, and this tension is so unusual, I turn to face him. “Jihoon?”
He only shakes his head, and soon we pull up to the Newlight building. “Turn to me for a second,” he says. He snaps a photo, then gives me a lingering kiss. “I’ll see you soon. I’ll find the time.”
This time when he leaves, he takes what remained of my regret and sadness with him. It’s going to be hard, but I’m in it to win it, even if it takes the open communication Jihoon threatened. I can do that for him.
