That I don’t know how to feel about any of this makes me overheated in my skin. I know how I want to feel—furious, betrayed, all those juicy and satisfyingly self-righteous emotions, but at the same time…I can’t, not completely. Would I have told me? I want to say yes, but as Jihoon pointed out, knowing you need to say something and getting the words out are two very different beasts.
The same applies to Hana. I poke idly at the disintegrating taco.We might be best friends, but this is family we’re talking about. She couldn’t predict the future, and she wasn’t wrong when she thought a guy brooding around the house wouldn’t be my type. This is Jihoon’s fault, I decide. He had to mess it all up by being so likable.
“Ari?”
I know that voice. I whip around.
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 universitywith 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?”