Page 91 of The Comeback
“Will it hurt to hear?” she asks with exasperation.
“It might,” I say.
She smiles. “Yeah, you’re right. You should listen, though.”
I wave for her to go ahead. Behind her, the server swings the gate open to let in a group of women dressed in tiaras and Hawaiian shirts.
Phoebe takes a drink before she speaks. “I had to make a choice, and the therapist told me to think of the worst thing that could happen. In your example, let’s say you reach out to Jihoon. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“He rejects me.” That bursts out before I can even be embarrassed.
“What happens after that?”
No need to think about this either. “He’s out of my life forever.” She stares at me, and I stare back before I finally ask, “What’s your point?”
“Jesus, this is like pulling teeth.” Phoebe runs a hand through her hair. “I’ll spell it out. Is that different from your here and now?”
I don’t like where this is going, but I shake my head. “No.”
“Then you’re already living your worst-case scenario.” She stands and grabs her bag. “You’ve nothing left to lose. Think about it.”
Phoebe’s words pick their way across my mind as I head home. I’m not living my worst-case scenario. A real worst-case scenario is being left in a desert with no water. A squandered romantic opportunity is almost commonplace. It’s why there are so many missed connections sections in local newspapers and online. There’s no such thing as one true love, and I am 100 percent not living my worst scenario.
I’mnot.
Hana is on the couch when I get home, her head bent so far back she looks like she’s auditioning for a part inThe Exorcist: Demon Death Redux. “Leftovers in the fridge,” she mumbles.
I take a good look at her. “How was your mom?”
“Brutal. It’s killing me. She won’t listen.”
Hana had been summoned to the Choi household for another interrogation about her role in the Jihoon incident, which had apparently devolved into her mother’s usual nagging about Hana’s life.
Tears of frustration leak out from the corners of her eyes. She’s been seeing a therapist—secretly, because Mama Choi would dissolve into self-accusations of how she’s a terrible mother if she knew—but it’s hard to go against your parents. Especially when whatever is done is supposedly done out of love.
“What was it tonight?” I ask.
“Everything. Even this work trip I need to take to Korea in a couple weeks is a chance for her to try to control me. She gave me a nonnegotiable list of what I need to bring back and people I need to see.”
I repress the slap of emotion I get when Hana mentions her Korea trip. It’s happened a few times, and I don’t dwell on it long enough to tell if it’s envy or remorse. Although she’s going to Busan and not Seoul, I haven’t had the courage to ask if she’s going to see Jihoon. His watch is tucked in the back of my sock drawer. I haven’t looked at it since he left.
Tonight isn’t about my heartache, though, but Hana’s. I remember what her therapist had told her to do. “Did you set your boundaries?”
“I told her the other day I didn’t want her talking about what I eat or how I look.”
“That’s good,” I encourage her.
“Technically, it worked. She didn’t say a word about my appearance.” She reaches down and fishes around in her bag. “Instead she very generously bought me some new clothes.”
I snatch it out of the air when she tosses it over. “Is it a necktie?”
Hana closes her eyes. “Good guess but no. They are pants.”
The two of us have similar body types, solidly on the curvier side. These pants might fit up to my knee. I check the tag. They’re an extra small. “Wow, this is some Machiavellian-level mind play.”
“I’ll donate them to a children’s charity,” she says.
I sit beside Hana and nudge her in the side. “I know you don’t like my football coach mottos, but you’ll appreciate this one.”
