Routine is good, especially now, when I’m doing my best to not think about Ines’s job offer. It’s tantalizing. Travel. Working with Yuko and Ines would mean an office where people talk to me or at least smile. They’d laugh at my jokes.
I might even make jokes.
Don’t let those thoughts take root.Like ivy in a wall, if those doubts grow, they’ll bore into my plans, flaking off little bits here and there until there’s nothing left.
I check Jihoon’s room to make sure he’s out before hunting through my playlist for the perfect song to motivate me for the day. “Paradise City” blares into the quiet apartment seconds later.
That’s the stuff. I start slow but am soon scream singing my frustrations into a wooden spoon snatched off the counter as I fill the kettle and pop it on the stove to boil, full-on Axl Rose-ing it with high kicks around the kitchen before standing with my legs apart and leaning back to squawk my way into the chorus, one handjabbing upward. My baggy pajamas flap around me, and for the first time all week, the tension leaves my muscles. I’m in the middle of channeling Slash with my spoon-cum-air-guitar as I beg the cup on the counter to take me home,yeah-yeah, when I attempt a complicated jump turn and nearly knock over Jihoon, who is standing behind me.
A week and a half ago, he scared the shit of me when I discovered him sleeping on the couch. That was nothing compared to my reaction now. The spoon goes flying as I trip and fall on my ass in the middle of the kitchen, my braid whipping up so the elastic at the bottom hits me in the face.
“Oww.” I cover my eye. “What the hell are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?”
“I called your name, but you couldn’t hear me.” Jihoon’s eyes are wide under the ball cap he’s wearing so low, you can barely make out his features. He’s been running, and where I would be a red and sweaty mess, he merely glistens charmingly. “Were you, ah, singing?” He stumbles over the last word, as if he knows technically that’s what I was attempting but feels it’s not an appropriate fit.
“No.” I silence Axl and Co.
“It was…” It would be amusing to watch him struggle for an inoffensive way to describe my yowling if I weren’t about to melt from embarrassment. “Interesting,” he offers finally.
I’m looking at the floor in sheer humiliation but catch his expression out of the corner of my eye. His shoulders are shaking with the effort of not laughing.
“Oh my God.” I groan. “Go ahead. I’m terrible. I know it. Hana’s mom made her get off the phone when I was singing in the shower because it hurt her ears.”
He explodes with laughter. I didn’t realize how tense he was until his shoulders drop and his face opens. He was keeping iron control around me all this time, but now he’s laughing so hard, he ends upleaning over with his forehead on the counter. “No, no,” he gasps into the granite. “Music is about passion. You’re passionate.”
I can’t keep a straight face. And itishilarious. Eventually we both stop laughing and wipe our eyes.
“I really am kind of mortified you saw that,” I admit.
“I’m sorry I laughed. I shouldn’t have. That was mean. You aren’t that bad.”
“Don’t lie.”
“You’re untrained, that’s all. Music is an art and a craft.” He grins. “And Axl Rose is hard to imitate.”
He heads off to the shower, and I continue making coffee, feeling lighter now that Jihoon is acting more like a regular person. I linger over the dregs in my cup and stare out the window as the water runs in the bathroom, thoughts flittering like moths through my mind. One by one they get zapped until only the biggest and strongest one remains, its pale wings made of emails and memos. I don’t want to work. I don’t want to do my usual Saturday things. Instead, I’m filled with the unusual desire to do…nothing. No, not nothing. Anything but opening my laptop.
I get up quickly. That’s not the attitude I need right now, so I settle down at the table with my work. Jihoon comes out looking at his phone. He’s dressed in black jeans and a loose black T-shirt with bare feet and shower-damp hair.
“What is this?” He shows me the screen, which has a text I sent him last night. I hadn’t been able to get to sleep and was doing some travel research to relax when I thought about what Jihoon could do to check out the city.
“Hana mentioned you don’t like crowds,” I say. “I sent you a few places around Toronto that should be quiet if you wanted to explore.”
“Because you’re working and want me out of the apartment?” he says, his mouth quirking up at the side.
“No! Of course not.” Well, yes, but I’m horrified to be sotransparent. I don’t want him gone, but it’s fair to say I was also not looking forward to Jihoon being home when I was trying to work. Quiet though he is, Jihoon has a distracting presence.
“It’s not a problem, Ari. I should get some air.”
He doesn’t say anything as he scrolls through the message, and I nearly whack myself for intruding. “They’re only suggestions,” I tell him, trying not to feel defensive. “I didn’t mean to interfere.”
Jihoon shakes his head, the small smile growing. “This was kind. Thank you.”
The way he looks at me is strange, and I can’t read his expression. It’s almost wistful, but why would he get emotional over spots I like to visit? It’s the least I can do. Hana’s voice whispers that the least I could do would be to keep the guy company for an hour, but I can’t. I already feel so behind at work that my heart races when I look at my laptop.
Jihoon leaves, and the hush of the apartment descends around me. When my timer goes off to indicate it’s time to take a break, I pull out my phone to call my parents.
“Hi, Dad,” I say when he picks up.
