I think it over. It sounds relaxing. Dare I say…fun? Too bad I have a heavy day today.
“I’ll be home late.” I know the regret makes my voice harsher than usual but don’t know how to stop it.
“I understand.” His eyes drop to the floor. “Bye, Ari.”
I open my mouth to say something that will soften the rejection and let him know that I appreciated his company last night, but I’m not sure how to phrase it without sounding graceless or putting my foot in deeper. A reprieve comes with the ding of my phone, so I nod at him and escape, the emails coming through making it easier to feign distraction.
When I get to work, I text Jihoon the address of a café I like, hoping to make partial amends. We got to bed late, I tell myself. He’ll need the caffeine.
My concentration at work, already being tested thanks to fatigue,is not helped by constantly checking my phone for updates from Mom, which come through as if being squeezed through a dropper. Dad is awake and feeling better. They’re running tests. He’s being moved to a new room. Phoebe missed her train and will catch a later one.
Exactly what I’d expect from her.
I’m about to do my next email triage when a text comes from Jihoon, a photo of a cinnamon-flecked cappuccino from the café I’d mentioned.
Jihoon:I was going to bring a croissant home for you but it looked so good I ate it.
A wave of pleasure tingles my skin.
Me:Probably for the best. Squishing croissants that perfect is a crime.
Jihoon:Do you come here often?
Me:That’s the worst pick-up line ever. Tell me you never use it.
That could be on the edge of too flirty. My pulse quickens as I wait for his reply even as I tell myself it’s only a joke, so a rebuff wouldn’t be a real rejection.
Jihoon:I never use pick-up lines.
Me:Confident.
This is definitely flirty.
Jihoon:Except this one. Ready?
Me:Probably not.
Jihoon:If I could rearrange the alphabet I’d put U and I together.
I run through six different responses that could either nip this in the bud or see where it goes. I settle on my default, which is a little bitchy but teasing. Flirtsults, Hana calls them.
Me:That’s horrible. Did you google worst pick-up line ever?
Jihoon:No. I searched bad pick-up lines not worst.
I’m laughing at my phone when it dings again.
Jihoon:Have a good day, Ari. It was nice to be with you last night. I hope your father is well.
When I get to the hospital later that evening, I pause in front of the gift store. It’s filled with little volunteer-knit booties and saccharine get-well-soon cards (no sympathy ones, I notice with morbid interest), and I hold an internal debate over whether to get a gift. Flowers are a no-go, since both my parents think they’re a waste of money. Chocolate might not be the best for a man recovering from a heart attack. Books are safe, but as I linger in front of the display of books on how to lead a better life, inspirational autobiographies, and a selection of romance and thrillers, I’m struck by the realization I don’t know what my own father would like.
Forget it. I head up to Dad’s room empty-handed and find him asleep when I arrive. Mom is by the bed filling a cup of water. Phoebe lounges in a padded plastic chair.
She reacts first. “Hey, sis. Long time.”
I bite back my gut response, which is a cheap variation onwhose fault is that?“Hi, Phoebe. How was the trip?”
I congratulate myself on my neutral tone. I didn’t even point out how she missed the train to visit her own father, who barely cheated death twenty-four hours ago.
