“I won’t ask if you’re secretly together, but I’m not opposed to you telling me,” Yuko adds.
“Your personal life is personal,” Ines says firmly. Then she holds out her hand. “Welcome, sweeting. We want you here.”
I take a deep breath because I need to confirm I can get what I really want. “How about the tours?” I ask.
She leans back. “The one you did for Alex sold out in hours. You have an eye for what people want. It’s a deal.” She smiles. “You got the jump on me, Ari. I was going to ask you to do more anyway.”
Yuko whoops and pulls out the champagne. “Time to celebrate!”
As I sip the cool champagne and talk shop with Ines and Yuko, I think about how funny heartbreak is. It sounds so dramatic. My heart is broken. My heart is split in two. Cleaved.
The unfunny thing about heartbreak is that it’s not dramatic at all. It’s simply there as a background ache that ebbs and flows. Like now. As Yuko digs out a package of sriracha cashews, the pain that comes when I think of telling Jihoon about my new job comes sharp and fast, a stab to the heart.
I bleed.
The hurt waves in over the weeks. Like when Hana and I move into our new place with a view of the CN Tower. Not sending Jihoon a photo leaves me empty.
Like when I see a man walking down the street with his pet lizard zipped into his jacket to keep warm, the animal’s head tucked under its human’s chin. There’s a soft twinge when I think of how Jihoon would laugh.
Like seeing the online hype for StarLune’s mini tour, which soldout venues in record-breaking time. Or when I hear the full album and read the glowing reviews. When there’s a billboard in Yonge-Dundas Square featuring Jihoon in that prince outfit and lilac hair.
“Why can’t I get over him?” I ask Hana one lazy Saturday morning, the early winter snow falling lightly outside.
“He’s a Choi,” she says, microwaving milk for hot chocolate. “We’re pretty great.”
“Hana.”
There’s a beep, and she pulls out her cup. “He made a mistake, a big one, but you’re punishing yourself. Did you want to leave him in Seoul or think you should?”
“Both. It was a big deal when he didn’t stand up for me.” I can’t overlook that, although I’ve come around to understanding the impact on the group.
“Remember, at the beginning of this wholething”—here she gestures as if to encompass the past, present, and future—“I asked what you hope for?”
“Vaguely.”
“Shut up, I know you do. It’s time to put it in action again.”
“Yeah, since it worked so well last time.”
“It does when you’re honest with yourself.” She reaches for her phone and taps for a moment. “If you need some help.”
I check my messages. “An email account with a password?”
“I’ll go out for a bit.” Her look is so kind, it kicks my confusion right past nervous into extreme trepidation. “Call me when you’re ready.”
I don’t answer because I’m already logging in. The account name provides no clues, and as usual, it takes extra-long to load up because the gods of the internet are attuned to knowing exactly when you need urgent access to something and enjoy thwarting you at every turn.
Then I’m in, and my whole body freezes. It’s a regular email account with forty-six unread messages from Jihoon. The last one’sdated from earlier in the week. I sit up straighter. Obviously I’m going to read the messages, but I debate over the order before deciding to check the earliest one first.
It’s an email Jihoon sent in August, when he was in Toronto. I scan it without absorbing any of the words. Then I slow down and read it again before clicking through to the next.
Ari—You mentioned the email account your friend had for memories and I thought I would do it for you. Last week you took me on a tour of the city and I watched you laugh. It was lovely to see. You’re often so serious and I like that about you too. I like everything about you.
Ari—Tonight I kissed you and there was a song there, I felt it. I didn’t care because you were with me. The song could wait. For the first time, the song could wait.
Ari—Kit hyeong and Daehyun are here and I’m scared they’ll tell you my secret. My time with you has been precious. I felt like me again, Jihoon, and not StarLune’s Min. I’d forgotten what that was like and I can’t bear to lose myself like that again. No wonder I couldn’t believe in my songs if I couldn’t even believe in me.
Ari—Hana said I should have told you who I was before but I had no words. A lyricist with no words, what a joke.
