When he hangs up, he slaps his hand against the wall.
“Everything okay?” I ask from the door.
He spins around. “You’re home. Did you hear that?” His eyes are huge.
“Yes, but my Korean is less than stellar.” I decide to ask. “Were you talking to your ex?”
He shoves his phone in his pocket. “That’s private.”
Of course it is, but I’m already keyed up from work and Phoebe, and now he’s made me feel like I overstepped, so I’m ready to fight. “Hey, sorry I asked.”
“It was a difficult conversation with someone back home.” He sounds conciliatory, but my passive-aggressive mode has been activated.
“Like I said, sorry I asked.”
“Ari. It’s nothing to do with you. You have no right to be angrywith me.” His mouth is a thin line. I should de-escalate this. I should be a good host. I should give him the space to have his feelings.
However, I can’t even do that when I’m having a good day, let alone when my sensitivity reservoir has been drained to an arid pit. “Whatever.”
He rubs his eyes. “Please don’t be like this.”
“I’m the problem?”
“Can I not get some privacy?” he snaps. “A moment to myself?”
In a fight, I’ve always been fairly good at knowing when to stop before I’ve crossed the line. Phoebe is the only one with whom I never paid attention to that border. With her, I didn’t tiptoe over it, I strut through like I was coming down a runway. It never mattered because Phoebe would already have leapfrogged over and be waiting for me to turn around.
I don’t say anything to Jihoon.
I don’t have to, because my eyes drift around the apartment—my apartment—and he gets the hint that he’s the one intruding.
“Forget it.” He snatches up his hat, jams on his slides, and is out the door.
I call Hana about three seconds later.
“Hey, hey.” She’s on video in her hotel room and wrapped in a robe. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to see how you are.”
“No, that’s a text. This is a phone call.”
True. The hierarchy of communication does put phone call above text, which ranks higher than social media post. God forbid you show up at someone’s door unannounced. That’s for deaths only or Mrs. Choi doing a drive-by room check disguised as a food drop.
“I have a problem, and I need advice.”
“Is it Jihoon related?”
“You know, not all my issues are about your cousin,” I say, insulted.
“Sorry. What’s it about, then?”
I hesitate. “Okay, it’s about Jihoon.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I check the time. “It’s only six in Vancouver. Why are you in a robe?”
“Because I hate humanity, so I put on my failure robe to call it a day.”