“What kind of things?”
“I don’t know, ridiculous stuff about leaving Jihoon alone.” He sighs. “Tune it out. If they’re here at the airport to see you, they probably have an unbalanced perspective on their relationship with the band as well.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. Go down the right ramp, and I’ll be about three meters away from the convenience store wearing a red hat.”
My first bag slides down to the carousel. “An unusual fashion statement.”
“I’d like to never speak of it again, but there’s a good chance ZZTV will have it plastered on their home page in about eight minutes.”
We hang up. I tug my bags to the floor and make my way to arrivals. Alex wasn’t lying. As soon as the door opens to reveal me, a man calls my name, and a barrage of lights goes off. I don’t know how Alex expects me to keep moving without falling over my feet, but I do my best, even though my eyes are bugging out behind my shades and my back bends with more than the weight of the new clothes in my bags. A woman screams, “Jihoon loves Starrys, not you, loser.” I automatically turn to answer, but a voice sounds beside me.
“C’mon, girl.” I nearly thrust my arm out for protection before I recognize Alex in his red hat. “Let’s go, you’re doing so good. Get your head high, that’s right.”
He takes my bags, continuing to murmur like I’m a skittish horse, and leads me out to a car, where he hands the luggage to a woman and ushers me in. The camera crews have followed us out, and I try not to duck.
He runs his fingers over his head, hideous hat discarded on the seat beside him. “Are you okay?”
“No. That was weird.”
“I know.” His quiet words are sympathetic. We don’t have the kind of relationship where we hug, but that goes out the window with everything else I’ve come to expect from my life when Alex pulls me in close. I bury my face in his expensively clad shoulder and let him pat my back until the hot feeling fades from my eyes. I won’t cry. Iwon’t.
“Jihoon contacted me,” he says.
I pull away. “When did he turn from Mr. Choi to Jihoon?”
Alex adjusts his lapel. “About the twelfth time I had to field a callfrom him since yesterday. Hana won’t talk to him, and he was terrified you were in danger. He wants to talk to you.”
This time, I look him right in the eyes. “Mr. Superstar doesn’t always get what he wants.”
“That’s unfair.”
“I appreciate your help in getting me home and through that clusterfuck at arrivals, but screw you, Alex.”
There’s a pause. “I deserved that. What are your plans?”
“To take some time to think.” I’ve never had that. I went from high school to university to law school and straight to work. At graduation, my friends’ parents got them copies ofOh, the Places You’ll Go!with teary handwritten variations ofthe world is yours, explore and be happy. I got the gratification of meeting expectations.
“You can have Hyphen’s condo for as long as you want. We have some places for you and Hana to look at if you take my very strong suggestion that you move. She said she’s back next week.”
“You spoke to Hana?”
“She wanted to talk about the statement. The yelling made my ears ring.”
We pass the silver silos of the Molson’s brewery, the gigantic Canadian flag hanging limp and dejected. “It was an asshole move for them to do.”
“For us, yes. For them, self-preservation and protecting their investment.” He ponders. “Also, they are kind of assholes.”
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, Alex is shaking me awake. “We’re here.”
He comes with me upstairs and points out he had the fridge filled with groceries. Then he tells me to keep a low profile and “for the love of God and your own mental health, don’t go on social media. At least your accounts are private.”
When I’m alone, I put down my bags and lie down on the couch.
Then I cry again, but it’s the last time. I swear.
Forty-Six
