Twenty-Six
I arrive in Niagara ninety minutes later and hurriedly navigate to a small boutique winery off the picturesque parkway that follows the Niagara River to the waterfalls. Ines waits under a tree, looking as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. Her pristine white suit plays up the deep brown of her skin. She’s always so put together and often has a perfectly arranged Hermès scarf at her neck. Today’s is an eye-catching mix of pale pink and dark green.
“Ari, thank you.”
I smile, but a tiny part of me thinks, I could be having outrageous sex with Jihoon right now. I tamp that down and focus on the job.
She glances at my wrist, where my new watch catches the sun. “Cartier?”
“It was a gift,” I say.
Ines nods in approval.
“What?” I ask.
“Someone values you the way you deserve be valued. It’s good to see.” She points me to her car. “We’ll go together so we can talk.”
I check my phone as Ines briefs me. Nothing from Jihoon, and I try not to let it disappoint me. Crowding my phone are more notifications about StarLune. I should turn them off, but I’m also curious about what people are saying. So far, it’s still shock and speculation on why he’s in Toronto and places where people are sure they saw him. No mention of me or Hana, thank God.
The rest of the afternoon and early evening is a blur as I follow Ines between wineries to smooth out details. Much of what Luxe does is last-minute to accommodate the whims of their clients, who apparently have the future-planning abilities of marmosets. Everything is perfect—the weather is clear and warm, the wine is ready, and I’ve sacrificed my last day with Jihoon for an overpampered socialite to come enjoy it with her parasitic posse.
The real kicker is that I didn’t even need to do much besides look over some contract wording that I probably could have done by phone. Why didn’t I push back harder?
During breaks, I check the increasing traffic of StarLune posts. It was a bad idea to set the notifications. I should mute them, but it’s like watching a building collapse. I can’t look away. Although I’ve accepted Jihoon—Min—and StarLune are a phenomenon, I don’t think I internalized it completely until now. The sheer volume of posts tramples my ignorance into the ground. I put my phone away, promising to only check every hour. Every half hour, I amend, taking one more peek.
When we finish at the final stop, it’s almost six, and I want to get back to Toronto. “Are we good?” I ask Ines, trying to keep my voice as patient as possible.
“I’ll drive you back to your car.” She smiles at me. “It was a relief to have you here although you didn’t have much to do. Some of those wineries can be difficult about special clients with no lead time, and I wanted to be prepared.”
“Of course,” I mutter.
I text Jihoon that I’m on my way back as Ines starts driving. When her phone rings, she puts it on speaker.
“Ines,” she says in a smooth voice.
“Hey, Ms. Ines, the guests are gone.” It’s Gregor, the driver.
“What?” Her hands tighten around the wheel.
“The ladies I was driving around? They’re gone.”
“Gone where?” she asks. I look at Ines’s itinerary as she talks to Gregor and see they should be enjoying mussels while overlooking the Niagara gorge whirlpool right now.
“A waiter at the last place told them about some strip club where the guys only wear steel-toed boots and, uh, tool belts? I guess he called them a cab, and they went over.”
I try not to giggle at Ines’s face. Tool belts?
Ines, however, handles it like a pro. “Gregor, you stay there in case they come back.”
“Will do, boss.”
Ines pulls over. “Sorry, I need to take care of this.”
“Of course.” My leg starts trembling with stress, but it’s not like I can walk to my car from here, so the sooner this is dealt with, the faster I’m on my way home. I take a surreptitious look at my phone. StarLune notifications are off the charts, and I clear them all with a swipe. I don’t need Jihoon’s fame shoved in my face this much.
Ines calls a local contact, who, not surprisingly given the clues, knows exactly which club it is. “It’s called the Jackhammer,” the woman says with enthusiasm. “Yeah, I can see why they went.”
Ines’s eyebrows rise as she glances at me. We’re both thinking the same thing. “You’ve been there?” she asks.
“Sure. They have the best nacho poutine around.”
Ines hangs up and stares at the phone. “Tool belts,” she says thoughtfully.
I try not to laugh. “Where do you think they wear the work socks?”
Her face twitches as she starts the car again.
The bar is about ten minutes away, and Jihoon calls as we enter the little dimly lit foyer. I answer because I want to talk to him in case I’m delayed further.
“Ari? Where are you?”
Although it’s not as loud as a dance club, the place is lit up like someone set off fireworks. Ines heads to the right, and I sniff cautiously as I look left. It reeks of fried food, sweat, and Tory Burch perfume, and I raise my voice to talk into the phone so Jihoon can hear me. “I’m at a bar.”
“A bar? I thought you were leaving.” He sounds more confused than upset. I edge into the main room so I can multitask finding these women and talking to Jihoon, but cheers erupt as a man takes to the stage swinging a sledgehammer. The entire effect is more nerve-racking than arousing as I wait for him to accidentally take out the stripper pole.
“The guests disappeared. We’re trying to find…oh my God.”
A man dressed in a jockstrap and tool belt has popped up in front of me. “Looking for a good time, baby girl?” he asks, twitching his oiled pecs in my direction. “I like the cute ones. I’ll give you a discount, make it good.”
There’s a choked noise on the phone. “Ari?”
Poor Jihoon. “It’s for work. I’ll call you back.” I hang up.
Tool Belt Man drops me a wink. “Boyfriend, huh? Have him come by. I don’t mind.”
I ignore that. “I’m looking for five women. Mostly blond and they’re probably drunk.”
He adjusts his belt. “Yeah? Take your pick, baby girl.”
I leave my new, almost naked friend and start peering into booths, increasingly desperate to get on my way. The nacho poutine, which is about six inches high, does look good, though. I’m fending off another tool belt handyman and am about to recheck the tables when a text comes from Ines.
Found them, it says. Meet me at the door.
The best message of my life. I race back to the exit and meet with Ines, who’s outside taking deep breaths.
“They’re good?” I ask.
“Very happy, and I have learned several different applications of the term flexibility tonight,” she says. “Let me run you to your car. Gregor can pick them up.”
I take a photo of the neon sign, including the Pec Popper, who is blowing me a kiss, and send it to Jihoon.
Me: Taking you here next time you’re in Canada.
Jihoon: Can’t wait baby girl.
Me: Shut up. On my way back.
I delete the next flood of StarLune update notifications, and this time I turn the damn things off. I have plenty of stress already, thanks.
I’m going to be late.
Seven thirty comes, and I check my phone. I’ve kept Jihoon updated on my painfully slow progress, and I see the message I’ve been dreading. We need to leave for the airport soon.
I can make it, I send back.
Ten minutes later, I’ve moved about three kilometers. Soon comes another message, read out by my phone.
We have to go. I’ll miss you. I glance at the screen to see Jihoon’s added a series of hearts and a photo of him blowing a kiss.
There’s no way I can get to the condo in time, but I’m going to see Jihoon and that’s it. I keep driving as I tabulate my options. I can go to the airport directly, but I won’t be able to say goodbye to him in departures like normal people.
I can’t make it back, but I have an idea. I text Jihoon. I can meet you. Then I give the GPS coordinates for a gas station off the highway on the way to the airport.
He sends back a series of hearts. Yes.
I hang up and don’t bother to check the time as I wait for the traffic to move.
The traffic gods bless me with a few breaks, but I’m late to the empty gas station. I check my phone.
We’re here.
Are you close?
Then, a few minutes later. We have to go for our flight.
God damn the sexy tool belt strippers. I text Jihoon. I’m sorry. Traffic. I’m here. I can’t believe I missed you.
I lean back in the seat. Should I call him? I will, the second the tears stop welling up in my eyes.
Now that Jihoon’s gone and the chances of seeing him in person for a long time—if ever—are very slim, I admit that I’m perhaps on the brink of something a little more than a crush. Beside me sits my laptop, and I throw it to the back seat with a vicious motion. Work. Was it worth it to disappoint Jihoon so I could be there as a just-in-case for Ines? Staring out the windshield at the bored gas attendant working the cash, I glimpse what Hana’s been trying to tell me all these years. Work is work, but it doesn’t have to be the entirety of my life. I ignored her because I had nothing else to turn to. Work becomes life when life is empty.
But Jihoon filled it. He slid into the fractures I didn’t realize were forming and burst it all open. Now he’s gone before I have a chance to smooth the cracks out. The road in front of me is as flat and featureless as the highway I drove down. Boring. Endless. Dull.
No. Come on, Ari. I’m being dramatic. I survived without Jihoon, and it’s not like I’m facing a life of hardship and deprivation because the guy I liked left the country. I have everything that matters—work, health, food, and shelter.
“Get it together,” I whisper at my reflection in the window. This isn’t like me at all. I don’t cry over this stuff because I hardly ever cry. “What’s the matter with you?”
The uplifting talk doesn’t help, probably because it’s not very good.
I pull out my phone and add to my distress by looking at StarLune videos so I can see Jihoon’s face. The screen lights up the inside of the car in a garish flicker as I stop on a subtitled interview StarLune did with a Japanese broadcaster. Jihoon tells the interviewer he has no time to date because his career and his fans were the most important loves of his life.
I frown and go to the next video, which features Jihoon and Kit. They’re in a practice studio with the video time-stamped two in the morning.
Then Jihoon in an airport, head bowed and almost invisible amid a sea of people.
Jihoon in the center of the stage, tears running down his face as the five members hug and laugh.
Hopes, Hana asked me. What are my hopes? What do I want? I thought I wanted to make my parents proud by being the best lawyer, to succeed at my career. That was my primary focus. It was why I worked so hard, why I felt guilty when I spent time on anything not geared to getting more clients, more money, more accolades.
Even when I loved doing other things. Like making useless itineraries for trips I’d never take. Like reading a book while Jihoon wrote in his notebook or watching a movie with Hana. Those weren’t productive, they couldn’t be billed, so I never considered them valuable.
The tears start to fall in earnest. There’s no one to witness my breakdown, so I let myself go until I’m flat-out crying with belly sobs as I sit alone in my car.
I wanted more time with Jihoon, and now he’s back to his old life. He’s not going to remember a lawyer he met in Toronto when he’s jet-setting around the world. I guess I suspected this would be the end, no matter what he said. We’ll text every day, and then one day he’ll be too busy and I’ll be too proud to call him twice in a row. Then I’ll be tired. A day will pass, then two.
Then it will be over, a slow and pitiful disintegration.
I don’t want that to happen.
Kit’s voice comes back to me. You’ve only known each other a month. He’s a dick but he’s right. This is nothing but an infatuation.
But I liked being with Jihoon. I liked the person I was when we spent time together. Who is the person I am now, on my own? What do I do now that he’s gone?
These are the kinds of questions that normally only come after a lot of wine, and sober me is not prepared to deal with them while sitting in the parking lot of a highway gas station. Nor do I like the fact that they center around a man or another person in general. At least when I’m focused on work, I’m the driver.
I pause and sniffle. No, I’m not. Work is Jihoon in another form—a dependency. I don’t like that either, but it’s all I know.
I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. Jihoon will be on the highway by now, and there’s no way I’m going to win a high-speed chase down the 401.
There’s a knock at my window, and I lurch back in my seat, ready to fight.
Then I see Jihoon’s smile, and my heart does a dance as complicated as any StarLune choreography to know that he came back for me.