I laugh uncomfortably. “I mean, he doesn’t owe me anything. We’re not in a relationship.”
She looks horrified. “Eww. With my cousin?” Her eyes narrow. “Ari.”
“What?” I busy myself in the fridge.
“Why would you even say that? Is it something on the table? Is it even in the room where the table is located?”
“Of course not. Don’t worry.”
She gives me a long look. “Okay.”
“I need to get back to work,” I say, deploying my go-to excuse to get out of anything.
“I don’t know why you want to make partner at Yuckerly and Jerklings so bad,” Hana grumbles, brushing crumbs off her robe. “You don’t like anyone there. You don’t have a single work friend. They don’t treat you well.”
“Work is for working,” I say. “It’s the best firm in the city, which means the best lawyers in the country work there.”
“You’re spending your life on something you don’t like. It’s a waste.”
“It suits me,” I say.
“You haven’t given yourself a chance to suit anything else.”
I make a face at her, and she gets the hint that I don’t want to talk about my career choices right now—or ever. I’ve made up my mind on the correct path for me, and you don’t get to the finish line by taking detours.
She manages to get off the phone before I can press her about her mother, and I pass the table where Jihoon’s notepad sits open and filled with scribbles. I change out of my work clothes and come back out dressed for coziness in sweatpants, my hair in a loose knot. It’s late but I haven’t had dinner and I should cook. Instead, I take a bottle of wine and go out on the balcony.
The sounds of the city rise as I prop my feet on the rail and lean back in my chair. I have a memo due tomorrow, but instead I pull out my travel notebook and flip through the pages. All these places I’ve never seen. I told myself I’d go later, but later never seems to arrive. I toss the notebook away, frustrated with myself in a way I’ve never felt before.
Behind me, the door to the apartment clicks shut, announcing Jihoon’s return.
Twelve
The appropriate thing would be to get up and apologize.
Instead I sit and drink my wine and pretend I don’t know he’s home despite being very aware of each movement he makes. There’s the slight tap of his phone as he places it on the counter. The sticking noise of the fridge door and the creak of a cabinet.
Then a long silence where I imagine him standing in the middle of the living room. I try to act normal, but my hand feels almost numb, and my arm jerks unsteadily when I lift my glass.
Apologize.
It doesn’t make you weak to say you were overreacting when you were in fact overreacting.
His steps come toward the door.
I put the glass down with more force than necessary and twist around.
“I’m sorry.”
We both blink at each other because Jihoon hasn’t even echoed my apology—he said it at the same time. He’s at the balcony door, arms crossed over his chest so he can grip his elbows.
“I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on you,” I say, speaking to his left armpit because I don’t want to look in his eyes. “It wasn’t coolfor me to make you feel unwelcome.” I take a breath. “I’m glad you’re here. I like being with you.”
That was honesty in action. Hana would be proud, but I feel a bit nauseous. This communication thing sucks.
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he says. “I was upset by that call from home.”
“I get it.” I point at the bottle. “Drink?”
