Jihoon reaches out, but I step back with my hand up. “No way are you coming near me.” I shake my head. “You know what I said in my last text?” Things can’t get worse, so I might as well address this elephant in my mind.
“Yes.”
“Forget it. Forget this all happened.”
“Ari, please.” His voice is so soft. “I want to talk to you about that. I was waiting. Let’s talk.”
I turn to the window and answer his reflection. “No.”
He bows his head. “If that’s what you want.”
Then he’s the one to leave.
Forty-Four
I don’t cry in the car but look rough enough that Yeong casts worried glances through the rearview mirror. Finally I give him a brief smile. He’s a nice guy, and I didn’t even get a chance to buy him a thank-you gift.
“Gwaenchanayo? Okay?” he asks slowly enough for me to understand.
“Gwaenchanayo.” I’m not, I’m a mess, but there’s no way Yeong is paid enough to deal with my drama.
He’s unconvinced, and the language barrier is enough that we have to leave it at that. His silent sympathy flows to the back seat, where I huddle against the door.
I didn’t see Jihoon again, but that could be because I left as soon as I was sure I wouldn’t see him in the hall. Yeong was already in the lobby, so I didn’t need to call a cab, which was convenient since a common taxi probably couldn’t penetrate Jihoon’s famous-person security. I wondered if Yeong had been asked to wait, if Jihoon knew I would leave. Or if he wanted me to.
Yeong drops me off under the awning of a luxury hotel that glows gold and unloads my bags. We both bow, him with considerably more grace than me.
“Gamsahamnida,” I say, proud I remember how to say thank you.A low bar, and I should aim higher than toddler-level Korean when in Seoul. Richard once told me a client had to improve his English if he wanted to be taken seriously. He didn’t say anything when I pointed out it was the man’s sixth language and most people at Yesterly and Havings spoke only one despite learning French in school.
Confirmed: Richard truly is a dick.
The moment Yeong drives away, I search my phone for another hotel. I don’t want Jihoon finding me, even though I suspect it won’t be a problem. He made his choice, and it wasn’t me. Despite the pretty words, it was never going to be me because I can’t win against his relationships with his bandmates and his fans. Enjoying my company isn’t enough when he stacks it up against his entire life and lifestyle, the routines and habits of his world.
While I have my phone out, I block Jihoon’s number and his email. We’ve said what we needed. My hand hardly shakes as I pick up my bags and head to the new hotel, a comfortable middle-range place that’s a good two stars below the one Yeong left me at. I collapse on the bed after checking in. I need to book a flight out. I need to call Hana. Alex. I need…to do nothing.
An hour later, I stop staring at the ceiling and look at my phone, which has accumulated messages like plaque. I don’t have the energy to check through them but send a text to Hana to say I’m heading home. A second goes to Alex, asking for help with a plane ticket to Toronto as soon as possible.
Alex:Done. Flight leaves tomorrow. Check your email. I’ll meet you at Pearson.
I swing my feet to the floor and stretch, thoughts zigging through my zagging mind, when Phoebe calls. “We talked to that Alex guy,” she says without preamble.
“How mad was Dad?”
“Worry about yourself first,” she says. “This won’t send him into a heart attack.”
“What if—”
“Ari, enough. He’s an adult and capable of taking care of himself. The question is how are you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s a lot.”
“Did you talk to Jihoon?”
I snort. “Did I ever.”
“It didn’t go well?”
“You saw the statement.”
