“Am I wrong?”
I sulk a bit before answering. “No.”
She clicks play. There are no English subtitles, but the tones and expressions of a bunch of guys taking the piss are fairly universal.
“I don’t see how this helps.” My protest is half-hearted because the video they’re watching shows Jihoon with a black velvet blazer, no shirt, and a thick chain around his throat. He’s so hot, the others whistle and whack him on the back of the head as he covers his face.
“They’re telling Jihoon he looks like a snack,” Hana translates unnecessarily.
I watch Jihoon laughing with his friends, and I swear, it’s the man I know, the thoughtful guy who likes shoes in excessive quantities and talking about cereal brands and leaving notebooks all over the living room. But… “This is filmed,” I say. “He’s putting on an act. It’s hisI’m a regular guyact.”
She blows out her breath in a slow, controlled whistle. “You’re impossible. Use your eyes. This is Jihoon. It’s the way you’re the same Ari goofing around at home as you are the professional Ariadne in the office. Different facets of the same person.”
Except Jihoon’s transformation is far more extreme, so extreme it’s hard to trust. I push the laptop away. “I don’t know what to do.”
This activates Hana’s latent inner counselor, and she sits cross-legged on the bed, the better to examine me with a critical eye. “You need to define what you need to decide. What exactly is it you don’t know what to do? Forgive Jihoon? Continue a relationship with him?”
“We don’t have a relationship,” I point out with some acerbity. “You came home early, and then his global fame got in the way.”
“Do you want one? You need to know what you want before you can make a decision on anything.”
“What I want?”
Hana nods emphatically, then pulls her hair off from where it’s stuck to her ChapStick-covered lips. “Based on your priorities, values, and needs.” She looks like she’s about to launch into a lecture, so I hold up both hands to pause her.
“I’ll think about it.”
“What you’ll do is get tied in knots trying to convince yourself of a decision that won’t mess with your precious career regardless of whether it’s the right choice.”
“I won’t.” I definitely will.
Hana leans over and fishes a loonie out of her pocket before handing it to me. “Heads or tails,” she says.
“Are you suggesting I let a one-dollar coin dictate my life?”
“Works for deciding between sushi and pizza for dinner, so it’ll scale.” She taps the coin. “Heads, you never talk to Jihoon or I again. Tails, you accept that we both screwed up for various reasons, mostly because we are human, and you forgive us.”
“This is useless.”
She makes a tossing motion, so I flip it up in the air before snatching the coin and slapping it down on the back of my hand. We both lean over.
“Heads,” she says quietly. “Never talk to us again.”
I drop the coin. “Obviously I’m not going to do that.”
“Then stop pretending it’s an option and move forward.”
Tough love Hana is tough. “Even if I forgive him, nothing can happen with Jihoon,” I say. “He lives in Korea. He’s leaving soon.”
“None of that is different from what it was two days ago when you were ready to go over to his place.”
“He’s a celebrity. I don’t like celebrities.”
“To repeat, you were doing fine before you knew that, and it’s not like he got a new personality in the last six hours. Also you don’t know any celebrities.”
“I work with them through Luxe.”
“You indirectly work with some through Luxe,” she corrects. “You also work directly with a bunch of douchebags at Doperly and Twittings, and you seem to manage that well enough. Why are so many of them named after verbs, like Chase or Rob?”
