Forty-Nine
February is the shortest and longest month on the calendar. It’s been over four months since I left Seoul, and my life has been turned around. Alex’s second music tour sold out in a day. I’m now creating the K-pop tour because he’s on board to do a whole music series in conjunction with local artists in different cities. Ines asked me to do on-the-ground negotiations for her luxury travel again when the other guy quit, and this time I jumped at it. I can finally experience everything I’ve put off. Phoebe and I made tentative plans to travel together and meet someone she knows in Malta who might be a good connection.
In summary, I have a lot to do, but instead of doing any of it, I’m rereading the emails Jihoon sent me. For the hundredth time, I wonder if I should write back. What would I say?
I’m not sure. Phoebe and Hana were correct—Jihoon was a man struggling to do the right thing. I even have new sympathy for him. He spent his career working with StarLune and putting them first. Protecting his members was his default. I even get why he wanted to lie about who I was. Safety and timing were good reasons, but I was too hurt to see it then, and I’m too stuck to do anything about it now.
I tuck my legs under me and huddle under a fuzzy blanket. I wish all this soul-searching had resulted in me being able to leave those feelings behind, but the twistiness in my heart is enough to tell me what I wish weren’t true: the pain hasn’t gone away because I am very much in love with Jihoon.
Ugh. Come on, brain, do your job. Reason this feeling out of existence and let me live my life, I beg of you.
I give my brain a count of five to take some action. Nothing.
I twist the coin in my pocket before I pull it out to toss lightly in my hand. I need to make a decision, but I’m not even sure what the question is. What would be heads, and what choice would be tails?
I throw the coin in the air and grab it in my fist, staring at my knuckles.
Then I tuck the coin in my pocket without looking. It doesn’t really matter, after all. The moment the coin flipped in the air, I knew what I wanted because it hasn’t changed.
After all this, I want Jihoon back. I want us.
I check the email, and there’s a new message.
Ari—I wrote a song. It was the first song I wrote where I could write the music I wanted. Daehyun is tired of hiding as well, and this time we stood up to the company. The others came with us for support but I never would have had the nerve had it not been for you. Thank you for this gift.
There was a mural in the alley you took me to with a tiger flower. I think of it often because that was the true image of my life, the desire to be loved, but intimately and not on the world stage. I wish you could hear this song but I don’t think I’ll see you. You never reply to these messages and they only drag out the pain.
I won’t be checking this email again. Goodbye, Ari.
Panic. Sheer panic. I don’t know why I thought Jihoon’s one-sided emails would continue forever, but I did. I read it again, and knowing he’ll never see my answer gives me a sense of liberation.
This time, I click reply.
Jihoon, I hope this email finds you well.
I make a face.
Hi Jihoon!
No, oh my God.
Dear Jihoon: With regards to your last email.
I bang my head against the back of the couch.
Then I take a deep breath and start typing.
Jihoon—I read your messages. All of them, many times. I didn’t reply because I didn’t know what to say. I’m going to try now because knowing you’ll never see this makes it easier to say what I’ve been thinking about since I came home.
I know you’re sorry for what happened. I don’t like it but I understand. You felt you didn’t have a choice.
It hurt, though. It really, really sucks to be told you’re first and then to find out that you’re not. That I was more like eighth, after the members and band and fans and music. When you wanted to say I was nothing but an acquaintance, I felt dismissed. I was insignificant, and I’d never felt like that with you.
But you’re part of StarLune. I expected you to make decisions based on us as individuals but you considered the impact on everyone else as well. I thought in islands and you saw the ocean. It wasn’t wrong but I couldn’t see that.
I made some big changes in the past few months. My life is going okay now, actually. I quit law. I’m going to be traveling. I’m doing what I wanted but it seems empty without you. It’s not going as well as it could because I miss you. I think of the Jihoon I met here in Toronto and I miss us. I’m glad you found your music again. I know you’ll write the songs people need to hear.
I wish we could find our way back to what we had but I don’t know how and it’s too late.
Ari
“Pass the char siu bao.” Dad doesn’t look at Mom, who mutters about sodium intake.
We’re at our usual dim sum restaurant, since Mom wanted a family lunch and Phoebe and I privately agreed that a neutral and public place would be preferable. It’s the first time we’ve been together since I told Dad I’d quit at Yesterly and Havings. My other news, given over the phone, that I was now what he called a glorified tour guide, had gone over equally well.
Phoebe passes him the BBQ pork buns as I pour another cup of jasmine tea, dark leaves swirling in the bottom of my cup. So far, the conversation has lurched from the weather to my work to Phoebe’s work. Mom must have put the fear of God into Dad, because I swear his lips began to form the Y in Yesterly and her gaze snapped to him like a laser. He shut up.
Mom’s excited to tell us about her new exercise class that’s “like Zumba but better, with poles.”
Phoebe looks at her curiously. “Ski poles?”
“No, stuck in the ground. I’m learning to swing on them.”
I choke. “You’re taking pole dancing?” Phoebe pinches me under the table.
Mom nods happily. “It’s very good for muscle toning. I’ll need it for the beach.”
Phoebe’s eyes narrow. “What beach?”
“We’re going to Mexico for a week. Your father can explore Mayan temples while I snorkel in the ocean. They have barracudas and sea turtles.”
My sister and I stop eating. “Vacation,” I say. “You, Dad?”
He shrugs and doesn’t look up from his rice. “It makes your mother happy.”
Phoebe’s mouth hangs open. “Whoa,” she whispers. I agree. It’s like witnessing a unicorn prance along the dim sum carts. I do my best to keep the conversation going so he doesn’t clam up.
“What temples are you thinking of visiting?” I ask.
Dad’s chopsticks waver over the deep-fried shrimp dumplings before he turns to the steamed ones with a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure yet.”
“I can help you out,” I offer, trying to keep my voice casual even though my heart jitters. “I’ve done a few itineraries for friends going to Riviera Maya.”
He nods, attention on the food. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I was ready for a rejection, so it takes me a minute to absorb this.
“Might as well put your knowledge to use.”
Phoebe winks and sends me a discreet thumbs-up, but I barely pay attention.
I’m going to plan Dad the best freaking excursions ever.
And find a pole dance studio for Mom while I’m at it. As long as she never makes me watch.
The notification on my phone announces that Jihoon’s about to start a new livestream. I can recognize his name, Min, in Hangul now. A glutton for punishment, I pull out my laptop to see his face better. It’s been three days since I sent that email, and I haven’t checked it again. Part of me is glad to have gotten it off my chest, but most of me is psychically wallowing in an overflowing pool of loss that will hopefully drain over time.
I turn on the livestream as Hana comes in. “I was about to ask if you wanted to watch this,” she says.
I pat the couch beside me, and she squeezes my shoulder as she tucks in. Jihoon appears on the screen, but unlike the usual room they film from, he’s outside. Hana sucks in her breath, and I squint at the screen as the comments explode with theories on where he is. He wears a black beanie and black puffer jacket, and there’s snow on the ground. Behind him is a concrete wall, but I can make out what looks like a painting to his right. It looks more like Toronto than Seoul, but I guess all cities have pockets of similarity. I don’t look too long at the scenery because my attention is on him. This is the last time I watch, I promise myself. The very last time. I can’t keep punching myself in my own face.
He looks to the side of the screen, I assume reading the comments.
“Phone must be on a tripod,” Hana mutters. I don’t answer, because first, that’s truly irrelevant to me, and second, I’m taking in every aspect of his appearance. His hair has grown out a bit, and under the beanie, I can see it’s back to black. He’s barefaced, and this makes him more like Jihoon than Min. I can almost picture him lying with his legs up on the couch, telling me about his day as he always did, hair flopping in his face until he shoved a bandana on to keep it back. All those little details I didn’t know I kept as memories.
A few seconds later, he nods as if he’s ready.
“Hello.” He bows quickly, eyes crinkling as he looks up and smiles. “I’m going to speak in English for this.” He speaks briefly in Korean, breath puffing in the cold, and the chat lights up.
“This isn’t usually where I talk to you, but I have something special I want to share.” He smiles at the chat. “Yes, it’s a song, one I wrote recently. It’s never been performed before, but now that our mini tour is done, I’d like you to hear it.”
“What?” squeals Hana. “A new song?” That, along with the comments, tells me this is not the usual order of things.
“Did he tell you this was happening?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Only to make sure you tune in.”
Before I can quiz her on this, Jihoon is speaking.
“This a bit different from what you’ve come to think of as my sound. I hope you like it because it’s the kind of music I’m going to create from now on.”
“What’s he doing?” mumbles Hana. I told her about Jihoon and Daehyun and their songwriting credits. “Is he going to come out and tell people what’s been happening?”
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t,” I say. “There might be rumors, but he won’t confirm them unless they do it together as a group.”
She glances over. “That sounds exactly like him.”
Jihoon has been reading the comments, and when he looks up, his expression is discouraged. I wonder what he expected to see. “I’ll play it now. Please forgive any mistakes. It’s called ‘Turns.’ When it’s done, you can tell me what you think on my new social media account.”
“His what?” bleats Hana. “They’re not allowed individual accounts. Newlight controls a single one for the whole band.”
Jihoon’s face fades, and up comes the image of a field and a winding path. Along it grow vibrant orange flowers. Tiger flowers.
“Did he shoot a music video for his surprise livestream song?” asks Hana in disbelief. “What is he doing? Is this a solo?”
Jihoon’s velvet voice comes on. The flowers fade as the image becomes Jihoon in a sound booth. Hana starts to translate, but I touch her hand. Right now, I want to concentrate on his voice.
Then come words I recognize because the chorus is in English.
Tiger flower
Every turn I take
I see only your reflection
A silhouette in the setting sun traced with red
Tiger flower
Through the maze I walk, tracing your fading path
My watch measuring steps instead of hours
I drop to my knees to see you, touch you
Tiger flower
I need you
I wanted that. I want that. Goddamn Jihoon. I can’t stop staring at the screen where Jihoon is singing, eyes closed in the booth. His right hand is held up, and his finger makes a circle with his pinkie. Our sign.
Molasses slow, it occurs to me this is our song, the song we talked about in Toronto. I recognize the melody and some of the lines. He took our messing around and made it art.
Kit joins in the next chorus, and their voices rise in a duet before the rest of the band comes in. It’s a haunting tune, and I tear my eyes away to check the chat. It’s moving too fast for me to even read, but I catch the occasional English word as people try to describe what they hear: beautiful, yearning, passion, genius.
Then it fades, and the screen is blank. Jihoon is gone, the livestream over.
I jump to my feet, shaking my laptop. “What happened? Make it come back.” Frantic, I close the window and bring the browser back up. Nothing. “Hana, check your phone. Where did he go?”
Hana sits like a statue on the couch, mouth open. She looks over to where I’m now on social media, trying to find out what the hell is going on. The internet is in full meltdown, and #MinSong and #Turns are already trending. “Ari.”
“What?”
“That song’s for you.”
To hear her say what I was thinking causes me to stop what I’m doing. “How do you know?” I ask, wanting to know what she heard.
“The maze. The thread. Ariadne. He’s talking about you. It’s for you.”
I need to find those lyrics ASAP. “There was nothing about a thread.”
“Right, that was the Korean part. The lyrics are about following a thread out to the light. Ariadne gave Theseus the thread to find his way out of the maze.”
I collapse on the couch, staring between Hana and my phone. “Did he tell you he was doing this?”
She shakes her head and glances at her phone. “Wait. He mentioned his new social media.” She taps in the search and brings up a new account headed with a casual selfie of Jihoon. The follower count clicks up and up as I watch. It has a single post. A tiger flower.
Hana taps again. “Holy shit. Kit. Sangjun. Xin. Daehyun. All of them have launched their own accounts and under their own names, not their stage names.”
She shows me, and every member of the band has posted the same image as Jihoon in solidarity, and each already has likes in the hundreds of thousands. “Newlight is screwed,” she crows. “This is unbelievable. StarLune is finally taking control.”
I nod, barely listening. That this is unprecedented is clear from the comments, and I’m scrolling so fast, I’m accidentally liking posts when my fingers tap hurriedly on the screen.
“Check that email,” Hana says. “Check it right now.”
I do. There’s another message.
Ari—I miss you.
“Tiger flowers,” I murmur, thinking about the video. “He talked to me about them.”
“They’re Jihoon’s birth flower,” Hana supplies.
“He mentioned it.”
“Did he tell you the meaning?”
I shake my head and swipe at my eyes. “He’d only told me the meaning for primrose.” Loveliness.
“Please love me.” She grabs my hand, hard. “That’s what tiger flowers mean. He’s told two million people he’s in love with you.”