“Right.” I feel flattened. “I brought in a new client.” That will make him happy.
“Good.” His eyes flutter a bit before opening. “I’ve told you your hair is too long. Shorter is more professional.”
“Okay, Dad.” The hair comment is a biannual ritual.
The room eventually settles into silence, the opposite of the family last night, who huddled close and talked over one other, connecting with soft touches. It’s been years since we were all together, and even when we were a real family, we respected each other’s physical space. I alwaysthought that was the best way to exist. Then I remember how Jihoon touched me on the arm or the shoulder as if to reassure me that he was there and I wasn’t alone. In this room, my family is close enough to touch, but somehow they’re too distant for me to even try to reach out.
“Time to let your father get some rest,” Mom says, rubbing her hands on her pants. “We’ll be home tomorrow or the next day, so I’ll tell you when we get settled.”
Phoebe gives Dad a hug, and I watch as his arms come up but then drop back down to the bed before he raises them again to gingerly tap her shoulders. I wave from the end of the bed and make my escape.
“Want to share a cab?” Phoebe trundles her suitcase beside me. “My friend’s place is in your direction.”
“Sure.”
I don’t want to talk, and luckily, I don’t have to because we’d have to shout to be heard over the phone call the driver is taking on speaker. I take the respite gratefully as we head back into the city. When we turn south onto Jane Street, Phoebe waves her phone at me. “I should give you my number, in case something happens.”
I’m leaning against the back of the seat, letting the streetlights shine through my closed eyelids. “Fine.” Even before I finish the word, my phone buzzes with a text from Phoebe.
Hi, it says.
I experience total disbelief. She hadn’t lost my number. She just…didn’t want to contact me. The knowledge that she couldn’t even be bothered to typeAin her contacts list to bring up my name sits like a rock in my stomach, but it’s not unexpected. Even if she had lost it, she could have asked Mom or emailed, but that would take effort, and that’s not her style. There’s no point in bringing it up. I’m too tired to have another fight, which is what will happen if I do.
We turn onto Bloor Street. “This is me,” she says. “Tell me the final fare, and I’ll transfer you the money.”
“Never mind.” I don’t turn from the window.
“Thanks.” The cab pulls over, and she hesitates. “Look. Ah, we should get together. For a drink or coffee.”
When I look at her, she seems uncharacteristically unsure of herself. She must want something from me, but I don’t want to think about what it could be because I’ve had enough Phoebe for today. I take the easy way out. “Yeah, okay. Text me.”
There, the ball is in her court, and I have a feeling it’ll bounce there for a while. She nods, and I hear thethudof the trunk as she collects her bag and leaves.
“Where to, lady?” The cab driver leans back to look at me.
“Wait a sec.” I watch Phoebe, shadowed by the light coming through the bay window, as she yanks her suitcase up the crooked front steps. The door opens to show a woman with a high ponytail. She laughs as she brings my sister into a close hug and then pulls her into the house. Neither of them looks over to where I wait in the dark cab.
I tell the driver my address and head home.
Eight
On my way up to the apartment, I push away thoughts of Phoebe and think about what to eat. According to my weekly meal plan, tonight is chickpea bowls. Healthy and nutritious. I prepped the quinoa on Sunday the way I always do. Suddenly my chest feels hollow, but I don’t know why. Chickpeas are good, and as a treat, I got organic for an extra two dollars a can. I like having the same thing every week. Streamlining my life means I can focus on what’s important.
Jihoon is lying on the couch staring at a pen he’s holding but sits up when I come in. I hadn’t known how badly I’d wanted him to be home until I saw him. I throw myself in the chair opposite him, then get back up to put my purse where it belongs. He watches me before rising with a graceful motion and fetching two glasses and a bottle of wine.
“How did you know I wanted this?” I ask as I take my glass.
He puts down the bottle. “I did, too. How’s your father?”
I fill him in and feel a surge of relief when I finish the story of Phoebe and the visit. I survived but don’t want to linger on it. “What did you do today after the café?”
Jihoon updates me on his day as though it didn’t happen until he tells someone about it. There’s no detail too random for him to leave out, and even though I should find it aggravating, I don’t. I close myeyes as he describes the two dogs he saw playing in the park near a high stone wall. He has an eye for small details that make a scene come to life: the red collar and dusty paws on the black dog, and the dry, crumpled leaf stuck in the fur of the gray one.
Then I open my eyes to a delicious aroma wafting over from the kitchen and a blanket over me.
Oh my God, I fell asleep when Jihoon was talking. That’s the rudest thing I could have done, even if the low rasp of his voice could be sold as stress relief therapy. He should run an ASMR channel.
I tumble off the couch, yelping as my knees thump on the floor, and Jihoon calls from where he’s standing at the kitchen counter, “Ari, are you awake?”
