“I know. I did one before asking Ben to marry me. The con side was much longer than the pros, starting with his parents.”
“You got married, though.” I glance at his wedding band. I’d seen photos of the ceremony in Costa Rica, both the grooms in custom-made linen suits with Bermuda shorts and gigantic smiles.
“Because there was one pro that negated every con. Every last one. That’s when I realized it’s not a pros and cons list, it’s a weighting. If I weighed all my concerns against all the benefits, what would win out?”
Now I’m interested. “What was the pro?”
He grins. “I’d writtenBen, in all capital letters. He was all that mattered.”
I glance back at my phone. There are so many cons: the distance, work, the fame. Then that one weighted pro: it’s Jihoon.
I really liked him. Like him. I can’t stop thinking about him, butmore than that, what my existence could be with him. More intense and richer. Deeper and broader. I wish I hadn’t been such a quitter. I wish I’d given my life half the attention I give to work, that I’d valued myself as much as I had a law firm that couldn’t care less about me. I wish I’d given us a chance to be something.
Alex reaches over to give my hand a squeeze. It’s warm and comforting as we drive through the busy Seoul streets. Then he releases me and looks out the window to give me space to think.
When I take out my phone, l let my heart lead the decision.
It takes three tries for me to type out a reply that doesn’t have any typos from my trembling thumbs. Then I read it over again. I’m about to read it one more time before my finger unilaterally decides to commit to this course of action, dragging my brain along with it.
I’d like to talk to you, my reply reads.To apologize.
The reply comes blessedly fast:I’m free tomorrow night.
This time I don’t wait or bother with checking my message, so what I send back says,yse.
He understands.I’ll send you the address of a café.
When I look up, Alex takes one glance at my beaming face and bursts out laughing. I don’t even care.
I get to see Jihoon again.
Then there’s a pause and another message comes in.You looked lovely in that dress. Good night, Ari.
I don’t hate parties that much after all.
Thirty-Three
The next day drags, and before I leave, Jihoon texts me where we can meet.
Jihoon:It’s safe but wear a mask and hat.
Safe. I’m meeting a man who needs to consider safety when going for coffee. Despite his money and fame, Jihoon lives in a bubble.
By the time I get to the café, I’ve discarded seven different starters as to how I’m going to apologize. None of them seem adequate yet all seem beyond my ability to manage.
The café is in a side alley and, absorbed in my interior role-play, I walk past the entrance and have to double back. The moment I tap the button to open the door and walk in, a smiling woman wearing an ivory apron bows and waves for me to follow her. The café is empty but gorgeously decorated like an old library, with green lamps and dark wood and books piled on side tables surrounding plush club chairs. She points me up the back staircase.
The decor on the second floor is similar but features pretty tea sets instead of books. I notice all these details with a sense of desperation as I try to avoid thinking about what’s going to happen. I don’t want to have this conversation. I would sell my soul to skip the next twenty minutes so I can deal with the fallout of what Jihoon has to say without having to live through the actual words.
There’s a table near a window, and at the table sits Jihoon, eyes trained on me. A black slide loafer dangles from the toes of his crossed leg.
He stands to greet me, and I peer at him. “What happened to your eyes?”
That wasn’t one of my planned openers, but it’s too late. Well, it’s no worse than some of them, so I commit and give a weak wave toward his face. “Your eyes. They’re blue.” More of a grayish blue, the color of a battleship, but now is not the time to get pedantic.
“Contacts,” he says. “For a photo shoot.”
“Oh.” Right now, I’m Smaug lying on that bed of loot, the jewels encrusting me, but the second I start talking, my words will reveal that one soft spot on my underbelly for him to stab or stroke.