Page 44 of The Comeback
A text comes from Phoebe, reminding me about dinner, as if I’m the irresponsible one. I don’t even bother to reply, and I feel my mood drop another eight percentage points. I look at my phone and text a message to Jihoon.
Me:I’m going to my parents’ for dinner. Want to come?
Jihoon:They won’t mind?
Me:Of course not.
Even if they did, right now his companionship is more for methan them. I deserve it after today. Plus, Jihoon’s presence will force Phoebe to be on her best—or at least better—behavior.
Jihoon:Thank you. I would love to meet your family.
Me:I’ll be home soon.
Knowing Jihoon is coming makes me look forward to this dinner. I like having him near, with his crooked smile and the way he throws his head back when he laughs. I like how he looks at the world, so different than I do. He gives me a break from myself.
The professional smile I put on as I leave the office is a little warmer because I’m thinking about Jihoon. It doesn’t matter. I don’t see anyone as I make my escape.
Fourteen
“What’s with the presents?” I point to the box of chocolates and flowers he’s carrying as we walk to the car.
“I’m going to the home of your parents,” he says. “It’s polite.”
“They won’t care.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I do.”
We’re quiet for a bit as we get in and I start the car. Finally Jihoon leans over. “You’re thinking so hard, I can hear you,” he says. “What going on?”
“Nothing. Work stuff, but it’s not a big deal.”
“Ari. You helped me with my work issues. Tell me. I’m here if you want to talk.”
To my shame, tears prick at the back of my eyes. I don’t want to talk, but if I don’t, I’ll explode. That’s not a good mindset before going into a family dinner. I give in. “They’re giving me less important clients. I know they are.”
“What happened?”
I keep to the facts as I tell him about Beaconsmith and the Queen’s Bride, and he hums along to show he’s listening. “I’m not sure what to do,” I say at the end.
“Do you want me to listen or give advice?”
“How are you so good at this?” He makes me feel like I live in a cave and throw sticks as my primary communication method.
“My company has therapists come in and train us in conflict resolution,” he says. “You can’t create together without being able to talk.”
I think about it. “Advice, then.”
“You need to decide what you want out of this,” he says. “Do you want to take Beaconsmith from Brittany? Do you truly care about the Queen’s Bride?”
“The Queen’s Bride might be more interesting, but there’s more to it.”
“Richard is not valuing your contributions.”
“That, too.” I stop at a red and glance over. He motions for me to keep talking. “I expected it, you know? I’m embarrassed that I misjudged it. Like I was a finalist for an award and waiting to hear my name but hers was called.”
“I understand.”
Only two words and he doesn’t add on any useless reassurance. Just sympathy. I feel he really does get it, and that’s enough to make me take a deep breath. “I feel better,” I admit. “Thanks.”
