“I don’t know if I like that.”
“Because you can’t reciprocate?”
“In part.” The silver earrings I got him now look so cheap, I feel embarrassed.
She perches on the edge of the bed like a wise owl. “Because you’ve been raised to be an independent and modern woman who doesn’t need a man to get by, who can’t be bought by material goods, like abribe, and who can make her own way in the world, thank you very much.”
I frown, fingers petting the soft green fabric I took from Hana. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Would you feel bad accepting flowers from someone?”
“No.”
She taps my earrings. “Look at it as scale. For Jihoon, these are the equivalent of flowers.”
“I don’t think that’s entirely true.”
“Relationships are not an exercise in absolute equality,” she says in exasperation. “From each according to their ability and to each according to their need.”
“That was Marx’s description of communism.”
“It’s perfectly applicable. Also youneedthose earrings.”
I vacillate because Jihoon’s gifts are wildly overgenerous but also really fucking awesome.
“How did he know the jacket would fit?” I wonder, looking in the mirror.
“I told him,” Hana says unrepentantly. “We’re the same size, so I can borrow that dream of a blazer. Win-win.”
“You’re unreal.”
She laughs and tugs it off me. “Now let me try.”
If I tuck it in the closet with the rest of my new clothes, well. Itisa nice jacket.
Thirty-Eight
“Don’t worry, you look good.” Hana checks me over for the tenth time. “I can’t believe you had the option to look like this all the time and deliberately chose not to. What’s the matter with you?”
In the end, I went for all white, a pair of high-waisted, wide-legged pants cinched with a silver belt and a satin halter tank. The shoes are red flats, and my hair is in a high pony that shows off my new bangs and my new earrings. My heart hammered when I looked in the mirror, and Hana’s quiet, “Damn, you look expensive,” when I came out didn’t help. My Cartier watch, which I brought with me, is clasped around my wrist.
Yeong drops us at a private side entrance, and we make our way to our seats. They’re incredible, front row and in a bend of the stage. It’s a smaller space—only seating twenty thousand—and Hana tells me that’s deliberate, to give an intimate feel. StarLune videos are already playing on the screens that line the stage.
People scan me over when I walk by, and it’s hard to stay calm. I’m not used to being looked at like this, but part of me likes it.
Full disclosure: all of me likes it. I spend so much time at work trying to blend in that I get a subversive pleasure out of being noticed for looking good as myself, not for looking different.
My phone buzzes.Are you here?
I send him a selfie of Hana and I, and my phone rings almost immediately.
“Look to the left,” Jihoon says. “Your left.”
There’s a set onstage with a small black curtain I wouldn’t have noticed unless I was looking. It twitches, and then I see him. It’s only a moment but enough to notice his smile when he sees me.
“You look…” He doesn’t continue as a burst of conversation comes from behind him. “Stay there, and I’ll have someone bring you backstage after.”
“Like a groupie.”
