Before I can clap back, a yawn so huge it’s close to dislocating my jaw splits my face. Alex tucks my phone into my bag. “Get some rest,” he says. “We’ve got a few hours to go, and you’re going to be working hard this week. Newlight doesn’t waste time.”
His voice comes through a fog because I’m already drifting off, thinking about Jihoon and what might have been had I not been so wrongly sure of what was possible.
Our arrival at Incheon Airport is undramatic and the exact opposite of the mayhem I know greets StarLune. I’m an exhausted swirl of weary body and keyed-up brain from finally being in another country after dreaming of it for so long. Even the endless immigration line does nothing to dampen my enthusiasm. I went on a plane. I’m out of Canada. I’m in a different country with unfamiliar stores and food and rules, and I don’t understand a word being said around me. Beside me, Alex thumbs through his phone mumbling at the messages from Newlight, but I want to drink in everything about this sterile airport environment. The border guard asks me why I’m here and for how long, and I do my best to not grin at him like an absolute fool.
Luggage collected, we get out of the airport and into our car, where I lean my head against the window to take in the scenery. Although it looks like the kind of highway you’d see connecting any industrialized city, there are a slew of minor differences. Korean signs, obviously, and people drive faster than in Toronto in cars that all seem to have tinted windows. As we cross a huge bridge, I think of how big the world is and how I’ve spent my time longing for a fancier office to look down on it instead of exploring it in person. I don’t want to miss a moment and have reached the point of trying to lift my eyelids with my fingers to keep my eyes open before I give in and end up dozing. Alex pokes me awake when we arrive at the ornate door of a luxury hotel. The valets bow when we arrive and rush to help us with our bags, which are lit up by the marquee that covers the main door.
Our rooms are adjacent but don’t have an adjoining door, so Alex drops off his bag and comes to see me. Given the sumptuous atmosphere of the rest of the hotel, I was expecting a Versailles look, or at least a Las Vegas winner’s suite, but the room is a standard size and painted a calming gray. Even the photos on the walls are tasteful black-and-white landscapes.
Alex checks his phone. “It’s now eight in the evening Seoul time on Monday. It was Sunday when we left Toronto.”
“Right.” I’m barely listening. I’ve never been this far from home, and the sight outside my window draws me in. From here, Seoul looks like most other cities, and I’m itching to go out to feel like I’ve left Canada.
“Ari.” Alex sounds exasperated, but he’s smiling at me.
“Sorry.” I shut the curtains and take a deep breath. I’m here to work. “Have they changed the schedule?”
“Let’s walk and talk,” he suggests. “Did you do a travel plan?”
I scoff. Do I have a plan? Of course I have a plan. For the first time, I was able to do an itinerary for myself, which is written in purple ink in my travel notebook. “There’s a café I want to try. It’s close.” All the walls are made of plants, with furniture from repurposed tree stumps. There’s even grass on the floor, according to the pictures.
“I’m in.”
Five minutes later, we’re on the street, which has a wide sidewalk and looks like a financial district, with lots of gray buildings. I’m almost immediately sidetracked by a brightly lit convenience store, and Alex and I share a single look before we enter. There’s a big seating area with microwaves and a hot water urn. Alex looks around.
“How wedded were you to the café?” he asks. “I love convenience stores. They’re like cultural microcosms.”
I look at the shelves upon shelves of snacks I’ve never tried or known existed. “Travel is about flexibility.”
We each grab a purple plastic basket and start browsing. I select some strawberry milk and a box of Choco Pies, which look like the cookie-marshmallow-chocolate wagon wheels from home. Alex grabs Spam on a stick, eyes wide with joy. “Do you know how hard it is to get food with Spam at home?” he asks as he pops it into the microwave after we pay.
I only nod because I’m biting into a sandwich with tangy egg salad and spaghetti on white bread. It’s kind of nasty and also amazing, and I realize I haven’t thought about Jihoon all night.
Then I look over at a display of canned coffee and see him emblazoned on the side.
Right. He’s a huge celebrity with endorsements, and I’m in his territory. My mood plummets, but I hide it from Alex, who is chatting about what to expect tomorrow. Newlight has it packed tight, including social events. “There’s a company party,” Alex says. “They’ve had a good quarter and want to celebrate.”
“Do I have to go?” I don’t like corporate parties.
“Yes, because I have to, and I’m not enduring it alone.”
We look out at the street at the people passing. “Are you going to contact Mr. Choi?” he asks.
“No.”
Alex looks pained. “Up to you, but if you want something, don’t waste time not going after it.”
“Right now, all I want is for tomorrow’s meeting to go well,” I say, bringing the conversation back to work. He takes the hint, and we’re soon yawning over the table of food wrappers.
“Time for bed,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “This was a good idea. We’ll check out that café tomorrow.”
Back in the hotel, I roll up in the crisp white sheets and try not to think about why Alex’s comment about wasting time bothers me so much. Then the thought comes to me that this is nothing new. Wasting time is what I’ve been doing for years. I just didn’t realize it.
That night, I dream about canned coffee and photo shoots.
Thirty-One
We’re ready bright and early for Newlight. Although there’s almost zero chance of seeing Jihoon in the corporate office, I have a shaky feeling in my chest, like my heart is vibrating.