“Well, be grateful you weren’t there tonight because Phoebe quizzed the poor guy.”
Hana bites the conversational shift bait. “Are you going to see her?”
“I saw her tonight.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” Hana says gently.
“What’s the point?” I open a drawer with enough force that it nearly comes out into my hands. “She’s the one who said she would call to meet up. News flash, she hasn’t.”
“Have you told her how that makes you feel?”
“I feel fine about it.” I snatch out a pair of clean pajamas, neatly folded into flat squares.
Hana exhales. “I don’t know what to say when you get like this, but I know you don’t like how things are with her.”
“I don’t like lots of things,” I say. “Like the water that comes out when you don’t shake the mustard enough.”
She frowns. “Yeah, but the liquid that pools on the top of the yogurt is worse.”
“Debatable. My point is life’s not about liking everything that happens. Sometimes you deal with it, and that’s enough. You pour out the yogurt water. You wipe off the soggy bun.”
“This is a different level than a wet hot dog.” Hana tucks her arms under her head. “Phoebe’s your only sister.”
I don’t answer because it’s late, and I’m tired. As I stand in the shower, Hana’s words come back, and I stick my face under the water so the rushing sound fills my ears. She doesn’t understand how unreliable Phoebe is. How can you trust someone who leaves for something better, no matter how much you want them to stay? Love isn’t enough sometimes.
I stick my tongue out at the wall and finish up. Nothing with Phoebe has changed since she left, and I don’t anticipate that shifting now. I go back to my room and get into bed, Hana already curled up and asleep.
Sleep comes slowly as my thoughts oscillate between Jihoon and Phoebe.
The early morning finds me on the balcony enjoying the last cool breaths until dusk falls. The day is already collecting a thick humidity that coats your skin and lungs until your body feels almost saturated. I haven’t yet donned the prison of my nylons and am happy in loose shorts and no bra while I sketch out a day for Hana and Jihoon to enjoy.
It’s self-indulgent to take the time to do this when I should be ruthlessly triaging my emails, but my pen doodles over a page in my travel notepad. I have a digital planner as well—I found one called Eppy that’s great for day organizing and has the vacation planning module of my dreams—but I always start with pen and paper. I prop my feet up against the balcony wall and think. There are considerations when doing an itinerary: energy, goals, and external factors.
On the energy front: Jihoon will be fine, but Hana will be tired from her trip. A low-key day is best.
Goals: It’s been a while since they saw each other, so they’ll want to talk and reconnect. Don’t plan activities that require a lot of focus or noise.
External factors: It’s going to be a typical Toronto August day, with disgusting humidity, strong sun, and almost 40°C temperatures. They’ll need coolness and shade. It’s also high tourist season, and Jihoon dislikes crowds. No Toronto Islands or big museums, although the smaller ones might work.
I go in to grab a refill of coffee. One of Hana’s hot-pink mules lies on its side by the door beside Jihoon’s expensive Italian or possibly Japanese luxury brand leather sneakers.
Instantly, I know how their day looks.
I check a few things online and book a table for their lunch before I shoot a text to Yuko, who promises to work her contacts for me. Isend Hana an email with instructions—since both she and Jihoon are lovers of surprise, I make them vague and provide scavenger hunt–style clues that are easy to puzzle out.
Hana comes out wearing a sheet mask. “You not going to work?” She sounds surprised.
“I wanted to do something first.”
She nods and adjusts the mask around her eyes before staring vacantly at the railing in front of us.
“How was Vancouver, really?” I ask. Hana loves her work, but the long trips can drain her.
She rubs her hand on her knee. “Discouraging. It’s like battling uphill, you know? I got an email telling me my anti-racist seminar was racist.”
“How?”
She pulls out her phone and reads from it. “‘I was disappointed to see the amount of time given to Asians over other disadvantaged groups, when it’s obvious Asians benefit most from the system and suffer little from discrimination. I invite you to sit with the idea that having a Chinese woman in charge of the training inserted unnecessary bias into what might have been a thought-provoking seminar. After all, allies such as myself are working on listening and learning in order to hold space for those who truly require our help and understanding.’”
