Twenty-Two
Phoebe stands beside me, her head tilted to the side. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
I gesture to my taco, trying to be normal. I’d thought about texting her a few times since I left her at the record bar, but I didn’t know what to say. “Eating.”
She eyes the mess on the tray. “That looks unappetizing.”
I shove it away. “It is.”
“I’m picking up some overpriced snacks as a farewell hostess gift.” She shakes a brown shopping bag at me so I can hear the clang of glass jars.
“Leaving already?” I mean to say it like a normal person, but it comes out spiteful.
To her credit, Phoebe doesn’t bite. “No, I found a short-term rental. I like to have my own place. Same neighborhood.” She waits for a minute, but I’m so drained, I can’t think of a good response. Her eyes narrow. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Stay here. Watch my bag.” She dumps it on the chair beside me and disappears to a café. I sort through her purchases in listless curiosity. Phoebe was always good at choosing gifts—when I was a kid, she got me a stuffed cat I loved so much, I brought it to university with me—and this proves it. She’s bought a selection of lovely sauces and pastas to match, as well as a little jar of what looks like marinated cheese. A crispy loaf of ciabatta is wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. I want to eat it all because my taco hadn’t satisfied anything beyond bare physical sustenance.
“Here.” She puts a monstrously puffy pastry in front of me, dusted with glittery powdered sugar and filled with greenish cream. I lean down to sniff and sneeze after snorting up the icing sugar.
Phoebe rolls her eyes. “It’s food, not cocaine.”
“Shut up. What did you get?”
She displays two croissants proudly.
“Almond and cheese?”
Phoebe runs her hand through her shaggy hair before she layers the two pastries together and bites in. I make a face.
“Almond and cheese make a classic combination,” she says with a shower of crumbs. “Don’t try to derail me. There’s something going on. Is it work?”
“Weirdly not.”
“That Jihoon guy?”
I run my finger around the edge of the cream puff and lick it off. Pistachio. “What makes you say that?”
“It looked like there was something between the two of you, and you take after Dad.”
“What’s that mean, I take after Dad?”
She peels her croissant layers apart. “Do you enjoy thinking about, discussing, or in any fundamental way acknowledging feelings?”
“I have feelings.”
“I know you do. Want to talk about them?”
“No.” At my response, Phoebe raises her eyebrows, and I glare at her. “You sashayed out of my life, and suddenly you have a right to know my innermost thoughts?”
She flushes and looks down. “Sorry.”
We sit in a heavy silence, both of us staring at the table. Inside my head is a snarled yarn ball. I want to be mad at Phoebe. I want to be mad at Jihoon and Hana. I can even see that anger, a twisted dark red strand woven through this big mess.
I’m so tired of being angry. I’m tired of my sister not being in my life. Tonight has battered me down enough that I don’t have the energy to avoid this conversation anymore. I’m on a roll with awkward talks anyway, right? Might as well keep going.
It takes me a few tries to get the words out. “Why do you never email? Call me?”
Phoebe breathes out hard enough to send her crumbs flying into my lap. “It’s hard.”
“What’s so hard about picking up the phone?”
She rips the corner off one of her croissants. “You tell me.”
I clamp my lips shut.
Phoebe continues, “You’re always so upset with me when I try. You make a big deal about how busy you are and…” She pauses before giving a little what-the-hell shrug. “It hurts, okay? It hurts that you and Dad insist on thinking I’m some screwup because I don’t want what you want.”
“You’re older than me.”
Phoebe eyes me in astonishment. “So?”
“You left when I was thirteen! Mom told me you dropped out. You didn’t even tell me yourself.”
“I was only twenty. I was scared. Dad was so mad, you have no idea. Like, furious. He made it clear that I would be a bad influence.”
It takes a minute for me to find the words. “Dad told you to stay away from me?”
She frowns. “Not really.”
“Then kind of.”
“He made it clear you were on a different path in life. Dad’s a short-term, narrowly focused workaholic, but he’s not cruel like that. It was my choice because I thought it was best.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me. Me, the person this affected most.” I also can’t believe we’re having this talk in a food court, but now that we’ve started this discussion, I don’t know if I can stop. The red string tightens enough to squeeze the rest of the ball and force out my words.
“I couldn’t.” Phoebe sounds sad. “By the time I realized how dense I was being, you didn’t want to talk. You were always at school or working, and we were at different points in our lives. It got harder and harder. We grew too far apart.”
“Yeah.” She’s right.
“I missed you.” Her voice is so quiet, I barely hear it.
I missed you, too. Agitated, I want to get up and go, the same way I did at Longplay, the same way she did when we had coffee. It’s easier, and I can focus on what I’ve told myself matters most. Work, which has always been straightforward, with rules I understand. Work, which is usually controllable and generally predictable.
“I want to have a sister again,” she says. “I want to be a sister.”
The red yarn snaps under the pressure, and the breath I draw in is so jerky, it hurts. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then let’s not for a bit, at least about this.” Phoebe pulls back but not in a bad way.
“Okay.” I take the reprieve gratefully. There’s a lot to think through, and I can’t right now. My mind hasn’t led me to the best places lately, leaving me tentative about everything I thought was a certainty.
“We can talk instead about why you’re here when you’d usually be in the office.”
I’m too tired to lie and about three minutes away from complete collapse. “It’s Jihoon.”
She nods. “He’s going back to Korea for StarLune?”
My mouth drops open. Phoebe watches me with concern.
“How did you know that’s who he was?” I ask.
“After watching that video a few more times, I kind of got into them. Did some research and found out Min’s real name is Choi Jihoon, and without the makeup, he looked like the same Jihoon who came to dinner and was spotted in your neighborhood today.”
Little shocks zing over me. “You didn’t think to text me?”
“I decided you would have told me if you wanted me to know.”
“I didn’t find out until a couple hours ago.”
She laughs but stops when she sees my face. “Oh, you’re serious. Then at dinner…”
“I thought he was Hana’s cousin and no more.”
“Dang.” She pinches her lip. “What happened?”
I spill the whole sordid tale, and Phoebe’s eyes don’t leave my face. A long silence swirls in the wake of my words until she gropes around for my Coke and takes a sip.
“I’m not sure what to say,” she admits. “What’s your plan?”
“You’re looking at it.”
“Eating in a food court forever seems unsustainable.”
“Not much can happen since he’s going back to Korea.”
“Video calls exist. Planes exist.” She sees my expression. “Can we get some perspective? It’s not like he’s gone off to some unknown land while you pine away standing on a boulder overlooking the ocean.”
All those things might exist, but I don’t know if Jihoon wants them. This tentative reconciliation with Phoebe is too new for me to admit this, so instead I say, “He’s an idol in Korea, and I’m a lawyer in Toronto.”
“Poor Ari,” she says, but the tone is kind. “Ari with her whole life mapped out so perfectly. Never having to take a detour. Always knowing where the next stop is. What will you do now that there’s another road to take?”
I swing my foot out to poke her leg. “There’s no other path.”
“Not if you don’t see it.” She gets up. “I’m due to drop this off. Will you be okay?”
I’m busy frowning at the table, so it takes the words a minute to register, but I nod. “I think so.”
“You can call me, Ari. Whenever you want.” She grabs her bag. “I’m going to be here a while.”
“Thanks. Hey, can you keep this to yourself?” I don’t want this story spread to our parents before I’m ready.
“Will do, capitaine.” She gives me a rakish salute.
I watch her go and almost see the thread dragging behind her. This time the ball in my chest feels loose. I feel better, and although there’s more to be said between us, I only have so much brain space, and this Jihoon thing is time sensitive.
What does it mean to be an idol, anyway? It’s an entire world that’s unfamiliar to me. I gather my taco and cream puff remains in their wrappings and toss them into the compost bin with a newfound sense of resolution. I need to do some research to know exactly what I’m dealing with. An uninformed decision is a trash decision, for all of Jihoon’s heart-over-head preaching.
I text Alex to make sure he’s alone because I don’t want to talk to Hana and Jihoon until I get myself sorted out. He lets me into his proxy command center when I arrive, his expression tired but satisfied.
“Here’s where we are,” Alex says, waving me to the cognac-leather Eames lounger as he spins on his executive chair. “It’s looking good.”
“Is there a horde outside my apartment building?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good?” We need to synchronize definitions.
“Sure is, because they’re singing and not rioting.” Alex rolls his neck until his vertebrae pop. “It’s supposed to rain, so that will help thin the crowd overnight.”
“Then I can go back home.”
“About that.” His face gets a serious look that means I’m not going to like whatever he’s about to say. “Not for two weeks at least. A month is better.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Alex rubs his nose. “StarLune has some die-hard fans who will make connections between Mr. Choi and the young, attractive Asian women in the building.”
“Alex. You truly thought about those words, decided they were the exact ones you wanted, and let them leave your mouth?”
“Three for three.” He’s unrepentant. “Again, optics. There are some vicious gossip blogs looking to make a story out of this, true or not. People can be nasty as hell.”
I can’t believe this won’t die down in a few days, so I tell him what he wants to hear. “I’ll think about it. What about work?”
I’d already been role-playing how the conversation with Richard could possibly go.
Richard, I’d say. I want to give you a heads-up that…I’ve been kind of dating a singer, and if his legions of fans and the media find out, they might start calling the office to get information about me.
Thank you, Ariadne, he’d reply. How lovely for you. Who is this singer?
Then I’ll send him a video of Jihoon with his blue hair, dancing while he casts scorching glances at the camera, and oh my God, what am I thinking? Richard’s conservative with both big and little Cs. He went to private school. His family has been running things and being conspicuously WASPy since before Canada was a country. He’d consider this a scandal beyond redemption.
“So far, so good. Since your names haven’t leaked, your job and family are safe,” says Alex. My shoulders sag with relief.
“My sister met Jihoon,” I say. “My parents, too.”
“As Jihoon, a friend of yours and a cousin of Hana? Nothing else?”
“Since I didn’t know there was anything else, yes. Phoebe guessed, though.”
“Can she keep quiet?”
“Yes.” We may have some issues, but I trust Phoebe not to tell after I asked her not to.
Alex strokes his chin. “Then I’ll leave it for now. I don’t want to cause more problems by alerting them if they have no idea.”
“Won’t it be on the news?”
“Will it ever!” He turns on the TV to the twenty-four-hour news channel, which is currently discussing a shortage of hospital beds. “They have it as a developing story. Sadly, it’s a slow news day. What I wouldn’t give for a political gaffe.”
The next segment shows my apartment building, where the news anchor stands with the milling crowd of StarLune fans. “In international celebrity news, it looks like Toronto became a haven for Korean pop star Min of StarLune. The globally popular singer, who was purported missing from his home in Seoul for weeks, was photographed in a local grocery store and had apparently been hiding out in this west-end building.”
He turns around. “Are you a fan of StarLune?” he asks a woman holding what looks like a flashlight with a blue heart star at the top. “Are you surprised one of the band members is in Toronto?”
She tosses her fuchsia-streaked hair and looks ecstatic. “No way! The boys have always had a soft spot for the city, and I’m thrilled he was able to come here and relax the way he deserves. We love him. Min, saranghaeyo!” She makes her fingers into a V shape by her face and blows a kiss at the camera.
“Do you have a favorite song?”
The woman starts bobbing her heart star flashlight while belting out a tune I don’t recognize. The people in the crowd around her join in, a few dancing with choreographed moves I assume are associated with the song. Others start chanting and the reporter laughs. “There you have it, Kari! A happy group of StarLune fans. The band was last here in the winter, when they sold out two nights at the Rogers Centre as part of their world tour.”
“This is messed up,” I mutter.
Alex turns it off. “Mr. Choi is the visual, and he’s very popular.”
I remember that term. “What’s a visual?” Right now Alex is my Virgil, guiding me through the nine circles of K-pop culture.
“The best-looking one in the group.”
“They’re officially ranked by their appearance?” Obviously if there were a hotness list, Jihoon would be first, but what a strange thing.
“It’s not a ranking but more a role in the band.”
I lower my head, trying to grasp this, as he continues, “Other channels have shown StarLune’s airport footage, and they’re always masked, or it’s concert footage. It’s hard to see Mr. Choi’s face, so I don’t think your parents will make the connection if they see it on the news.”
That’s a relief, although I’m more worried about people finding out about my parents than them finding out I brought an idol to dinner. “What about Jihoon?”
Alex looks confused. “What about him?”
I swallow hard because, even though I didn’t answer the door when he knocked, I’ll be unhappy (devastated) if he leaves before we talk. “Has he left for home yet?”
“No.” Alex pauses. “We’ve been trying, but he refuses to go until he sees you.”
“What?”
“You heard me, and the others won’t go without him.” Alex coughs. “Not going to lie here, you’d be doing me a real solid if you talk to him so we can get them all out of Toronto. The Seoul team is much better equipped to deal with this, plus once he’s gone, this should die down quickly.”
“Tomorrow.” I know I need to talk to him again, but I’m drained and also not ready. I want to do more research into who he is first so I can be prepared.
Alex frowns. “It would help me a lot. I can’t stress how much it will help if you talk to him as soon as possible. Right now, for instance.”
“I said tomorrow. First thing, I promise.”
I escape Alex, dragging my shopping bags into my room and noting the heavy security in the main room even though we’re in a private penthouse condo. Jihoon won’t leave until we talk, which goes far toward mollifying me. It’s a bad situation, and ignoring Jihoon and Hana and cutting them both out of my life—I can’t forgive one and not the other for the same transgression—isn’t a reasonable answer. Well, it might be, but it’s not a productive one, even though the juvenile part of me wants to do it to make a point.
The same way I did with Phoebe for years and look how happy that made me. I shove that thought away like I do so many others. It’s better that way. Or easier, at least in the moment.