Yin Yang Love Song

Chapter 13 Vin

Chapter 13

VIN

W e’re four hours out from our flight to New York, and I’ve been duped. When Leo asked to meet, I thought maybe he wanted to discuss the contract. I didn’t think I’d find myself sitting in the Heartbreak Circle with him, Daisy, and a few other guests.

For the past twenty minutes everyone’s been sharing what brought them here and how they’re feeling. For some it’s been a few days, for others a few weeks. I’m too distracted about why I’m here to catch anyone’s names.

“As heartbreakers, it feels wrong to be here,” I whisper to Leo.

“Shhh,” he says, waving me off.

“I’m not even a guest,” I mumble to myself.

I’ve clearly said this too loudly and am now the focus of the group.

“Vin, would you care to share?” Daisy says.

“Share what exactly?” I ask.

“What your favorite game to play as a child was?” she says. “We’re taking some time to lean into nostalgia. When we do this, we’re brought down a path of thinking about what our past held. What we’ve maybe lost. We can be nostalgic for hopscotch, as Garen shared. Or capture the flag or yo-yoing, as Ruth and Marisol enjoyed.”

“I liked Floor Is Lava,” Leo shares, looking into the distance. “Those were happier days.”

Daisy smiles. “These games may not be in our lives anymore, but they shaped us. And we still have the capacity to look back on them fondly, should we so choose.”

This must be where we all share something from our past, and Daisy connects it to how this type of longing and reminiscing is relevant to what we feel with heartbreak.

No thanks. Not interested.

“So, what about you?” she asks.

I look from person to person as they patiently wait for me to share. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears, my throat suddenly dry.

I reach into the depths of my brain to conjure up something, anything. I can’t even think of one. The only games circling in my brain are the ones that Daisy just listed out, but those are other people’s memories. A stupid game from childhood should not be this hard to recall.

Ask me for a song name, and I’ll give you twenty. “Ave Maria.” The Carnival of the Animals . Brahms’s Symphony No. 3.

“I’m not here as a participant,” I croak.

“Take a minute to think about it, if you need,” Daisy says kindly, moving on to the person next to me.

I don’t need a minute, or two, or ten. I don’t need any of this right now.

“I need to go pack,” I murmur.

I stand, knocking my heart-shaped seat backward. I leave, breaking the circle. Breaking yet another heart.

New York City is at its best in the spring. The signs of life are everywhere: Daffodils blossom to let us know winter is officially behind us, trees leaf out, birds sing their songs. I notice my tension ease a little when someone on the street below leans on their car horn. The city sounds I’m used to are back in my life temporarily, plus the addition of a new one.

A faint musical laugh spills out of Chryssy. It dissipates into a rare breeze, but I can still hear it in my mind’s ear. She’s radiant in the sun in her yellow dress, the thin straps accentuating her shoulders.

“I’d ask how the fake dating is going, but I don’t think I need to,” Leo says, watching me watch Chryssy.

Chryssy joined Leo and me for our two-day photoshoot at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The first day she was busy taking meetings with shops who want to sell In Full Bloom. Today, with the Met as our backdrop, there are more opportunities for Chryssy and me to be photographed together. When Leo and I weren’t posing or walking up the Met steps with cello cases in hand for the commercial, I’d sneak away to find her and we’d allow ourselves to be caught in the act of existing together. Now, one clothing change later, we’re up on the Met’s rooftop for a different set of photos. Behind us, the Manhattan skyline and treetops of Central Park shine in the afternoon light.

Leo being here not only takes some of the heat off him, but it also helps my relationship with Chryssy. People can finally start focusing on us instead of where he’s been. With proof that my brother’s alive, this should also help ticket sales. The show must go on, after all.

And Leo loves the brand we’re working with. When Lu & Co. approached us for a new watch they’re debuting this summer, Leo jumped at the opportunity. We don’t wear watches while performing, but any other public appearances we make will require us to wear them. The luxury jewelry company has a respectable reputation and has been around since the late 1800s, which intrigued me. I don’t only want to work with new companies but also ones that have a long-standing history and tradition. Ones that have stood the test of time.

“The point of us doing this is for it to look real, so I’m making it look real,” I say, clamping my mouth shut when the makeup artist comes over to sweep powder over our noses and foreheads.

Disposable garment sheets are tucked into our necklines to protect the high-end black linen sweaters we’re wearing. We have our cellos with us, and to my surprise, Leo played a few chords even though we aren’t contractually obligated to. It gives me hope that we’ll be able to rehearse soon.

Our sleeves have been strategically rolled up to showcase the slim watch and its rectangular face, and the leather bands have been tightened comfortably around our wrists so we can move around without any shifting. The watch’s theme is centered around music, which is why we were tapped to promote the product. Every hour, one of the dozen music notes on the face of the watch tilts in a different direction to signify the time.

“I should’ve known it was never just going to be two dates,” Leo says.

“How could you possibly have known that?” I ask.

Leo shakes his head. “It was only a matter of time before you gave in to her. I saw the way you were looking at her at the party.”

I grunt in disagreement. “I didn’t look at anybody like anything.”

“Oh, come on! You couldn’t stop looking at her. You thought she was pretty the moment you saw her,” Leo says. “Your eye twitched.”

“Pretty” would be an understatement. Chryssy’s gorgeous.

“It didn’t. What does that even mean?” I ask, reaching up to feel my eye.

“When other people’s eyes sparkle in excitement, yours twitch. It’s a rare occurrence, but it happens when you like something you see.”

A scoff comes out. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Leo thinks for a moment. “Like when you first saw a Stradivarius cello. I think both of your eyes had a reaction.”

I give him an exasperated look. “It was a Strad . Anybody with a pulse would have a reaction to that.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve been that expressive,” Leo says, waiting for the makeup artist to leave before adding, “She called us out, and you liked it. No one ever calls you out.”

“I’m about to call you out,” I respond.

“Easy. You’re acting like I’ve said you’re gonna marry the woman,” Leo says, while I maintain silence. He’s entertained, and I’m glad to see it, even if it is at my expense. “Well, maybe fake -marry.”

“That’s it. You’re walking back to the inn,” I tell him.

Leo pulls on his blazer’s lapel. “Fine! Geez. In all seriousness, how’s it been when it’s just you two alone?”

“Easier than I thought it would be,” I say, glancing over again at Chryssy. She’s lingering around the craft table, plate in hand. “Even living together has been fine. Comfortable, even.”

“It seems like you two are becoming friends,” Leo says, bouncing his eyebrows up and down.

I shrug. “Friends? Sure, we’re that.”

Leo leans in closer to my face. “Your eye twitch hasn’t gone away, for the record,” he says. “And this is happening after you’ve known her for a while. Oh man.”

“‘Oh man,’ what?” I press.

“You like her,” Leo says, his appearance earnest. “You made her breakfast before our flight yesterday, randomly bought her a toothbrush at the airport—which I thought was kind of strange, but hey, I’m not here to judge—and gave her your window seat. That was today alone.”

“You can hardly call it a breakfast. It was burned toast,” I say.

“Yeah, but you don’t cook. And you tried. For her. What’s that about?”

Leo doesn’t need to know the details about how Chryssy and I have been cooking together at night.

I shrug. “I’m learning.”

“Oh man ,” he says again.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” I tell him. “This is just an extended deal. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I’ve never seen you burn toast for anyone before, is all,” Leo says smugly.

I blame the quiet of the island, or the fresh air. I don’t know how else to explain it. It must’ve been all the short but repetitive interactions. There were the dates, yes. But there’s also seeing Chryssy wash her face every night, squeezing past her in the hallway every morning, being in each other’s sphere day in and day out. Is fake-dating Chryssy like playing scales? What starts out slow at first turns into, with time, improved precision and speed?

“We needed to eat. I don’t dislike her, so yeah, I guess logic says I like her. What’s not to like?” I ask, my tone a tad too defensive for the mildness of his accusation.

Leo rubs his hands together. “Your logic is illogical.”

In less than three weeks, Chryssy and I are supposed to split up and go our separate ways. I tug at my sweater, feeling extra hot in the rising temperature.

“Speaking of logic and not having any, have you been checking your emails?” I ask.

Leo shakes his head. “I still haven’t turned on my phone.”

“Well, the new terms came through. They’re offering three times what we expected,” I say, waiting for his reaction before I share the rest.

His eyes, as expected, pop. “Are you serious?”

I huff out a laugh. “We got everything we wanted. It’s just not… there’s a stipulation.”

“What stipulation?”

Around us, the crew looks preoccupied setting up the next shot. “We need to maintain the heartbreaker brand.”

Leo rubs his forehead, which the makeup artist had explicitly instructed us not to do. “We have to remain heartbreakers?” he asks. “Did we expect something different? Isn’t this whole plan with Chryssy for the purposes of maintaining our brand?”

I shift in my seat. “Yeah? Yes. It is,” I say, hearing how false my voice sounds.

Leo watches a pigeon walk across the set. “They should be signing us because we’re good. Do we not have a say in our own careers? Our own legacy?”

“Maybe we can push back?” I say, dodging the pigeon as it flies away. “Get it struck from the contract. Can that even be in there?”

“We make them too much money. They’ll never go for it,” he says. “Man, we’ll never escape it. We’ll never be as free as that bird.”

“Maybe there’s no trying to escape it,” I say. “It’s in ink. It feels pretty permanent.”

Leo stares into the distance. “Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we never picked up cellos?”

“Well, we wouldn’t be modeling watches whose prices are only available upon request,” I say before acknowledging what he’s really getting at. “And we wouldn’t be heartbreakers.”

“We wouldn’t be called heartbreakers,” Leo clarifies. “Vin, I know you. I know your heart. You’re not a heartbreaker in the sense everyone thinks you are. You’re not out there womanizing and sleeping around. You’ve broken hearts, yes.”

“My specialty,” I say.

“There were good people you broke things off with because they weren’t what you were looking for,” Leo adds. “But you’ve also refused to settle for people who treated you poorly or took advantage of you, or women who wanted to use you for your fame, money, and decent looks, which I think we can both admit you get from me.”

I smirk. “Not Mom and Dad?”

“Yeah, sure. Them too,” Leo says. “But would you have broken as many hearts as you have if you weren’t famous? Would you have met Chryssy if you weren’t famous?”

“The truth doesn’t matter if people think I’m all of those things,” I say. “There’s no point in playing this game, Leo. This is the life we have.” I backtrack on any thoughts otherwise.

And if I want to sign the biggest deal of my life, I have to break up with Chryssy.

“Why? Do you wish we played guitars instead?” I ask.

Leo glances my way, squinting against the sun. “I… nothing. Guitars definitely would’ve been more portable,” he jokes unenthusiastically.

“We—Chryssy and I—will stick to the plan. You and I are going to get everything we ever wanted,” I say half-heartedly.

“ We? ” Leo asks, leaning back on his stool. “You two sound like a bona fide couple.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, big brother,” I say. “What Chryssy and I have is fake. Not real at all. One hundred percent fabricated.”

They’re all lies, and I know it.

Leo’s forehead wrinkles as he makes a disbelieving face. “You’re really good at lying to yourself, you know that?”

“Thank you,” I say. “And you’re good at avoidance. You can’t escape the contract forever. This is what we’ve been working toward. This deal could give us and our family security for a long time.”

“Whatever we do, we’ll be okay,” Leo says.

Chryssy approaches us, balancing a fruit plate and a few cups. “They told me to tell you it’s going to be fifteen more minutes, so I come bearing snacks.”

“Life- and conversation saver,” Leo says, lifting a strawberry to her in a toast-like fashion.

She hands us each a paper cup. “And tea, of course. I’m giving both of you roses to drink.”

Leo holds up a packet. “No need! I’ve got my own,” he says, waving it around. “I prefer chamomile.”

“Perfect for digestion,” I retort.

Chryssy tosses ginger into our cups. “Because we were on an airplane.”

“They have ginger over there?” Leo asks.

“I carry extra ginger around with me,” Chryssy says. “For moments exactly like this. Kind of like your toothbrushes, Vin.”

Leo accepts the tea, watching our interaction with a smirk on his face. “Why do I get the feeling I’m on the outside of an inside joke? Whatever it is, it’s very cute. I’ll leave you two be.”

Leo heads over to the makeup artist to get his powder fixed again as Chryssy takes his seat.

“Question for you,” she says, leaning closer to me. “Is this your typical on-set energy? Because if you’re going to represent our brand, I’m going to need more charisma.”

I can’t tell if it’s her body heat or mine warming me up. “These are always so awkward. Too much attention on us. And I’m not a model. At least not a symmetrical one,” I say, turning my head to the side and pointing to my nose.

In my peripheral, I see Chryssy tracing my profile with her eyes. She takes her time doing it.

“Do you not see it? Feel this.”

“Oh, I see it. It’s subtle,” she says, taking me up on my invite to feel the broken bridge.

She closes her eyes and gently runs the pad of her finger down the slope of my nose. When she reaches the part where it starts to veer off, her eyes blink open in surprise.

“The groove is deeper than it looks. How’d it happen?” she asks.

“I was a cello casualty. Leo and I were on tour, taking the train from Bologna to Milan. I put my cello up on the luggage rack across the aisle. The train rocked before coming to a sharp halt, and my cello came flying down. My face stopped it. I pushed my nose back in place the best I could,” I say with a shrug. “We had a performance that night. Detours were out of the question.”

Chryssy gives me a look of concern, her hand flying to my forearm. I unconsciously pull back as a noise escapes me.

“Sorry,” she says. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s just my arm,” I say.

Chryssy retrieves a gold tin from her bag. “Here. Let me see it.”

“What’s that?” I ask, tucking my arm back.

“It’s a cooling balm. You’ve still got a couple more hours of showing off your wrist. I can help you make it a little less painful.”

I push my sleeve up higher, tentatively extending my arm toward her. “Okay.”

She gently rubs the balm around my elbow, and the light layer is both cooling and warming. Cinnamon and eucalyptus scent the air. “At the inn, we heal more than just hearts,” she says.

“I think it’s just from overuse. It’ll get better.”

“I’m guessing this isn’t the first time you’ve had something like this?”

“Yeah, but it’ll be fine,” I say.

She dips her chin. “Okay, well, that’s good then.” When she removes her hand, the cooling sensation strengthens. I don’t want her to stop touching me.

My throat tightens at this realization. I hear my response to Leo repeating itself in my mind. I like her. And I do. I like Chryssy. But what am I supposed to do with that?

My mind is playing tricks on me. It seems to me it would be completely natural to feel sparks or something for people you spend your midnight hours with. Liking people doesn’t mean you’re going to marry them, or even fall in love with them. Even if you are pretending to date them.

“Vin? You okay?” Chryssy asks, suspending my thoughts.

And then she has to go and smile. Chryssy carries her happiness in her eyes. Seeing her light up makes me happy in return.

“Oh. Yeah. Just thinking about the pain,” I say.

“Of your nose or arm?” she asks.

“Both?” I reply, groaning at having just related breaking my nose to thinking about liking Chryssy. Both do feel like unexpected smacks in the face.

“Can I admit something to you?” she asks, twisting the lid back on the balm. “This might sound weird, but your nose was one of the first things I noticed about you. I think it’s cute. I like that it’s not perfect.”

My chest tightens in response to hearing this. Chryssy thinks I’m cute. Wait, no. She thinks my nose is cute.

“Thanks” is all I can come up with before deflecting. “How’s it going over there?”

“Everyone’s nice. Now that I’m the Heartbreak Herbalist, people want easy answers for immediate results on health,” she says before biting into an apple slice.

This designated title isn’t so different from mine, but fortunately, Chryssy’s label puts her in a good light.

“How have you felt about it?” I ask.

Chryssy sucks in a breath of air. “It’s not something I expected, to be honest, but I want to own it,” she says. “People have a lot of thoughts about what TCM is, and many times, Asian cultures are stereotyped, misrepresented, and mocked in mainstream culture. It took me some time to reconcile how we’re often perceived with the work we do at the inn, but ultimately, I take pride in it. We’re doing our small part and helping people when we can.”

“You are,” I say. “Your work is important.”

Chryssy twists a strawberry around on her plate like a top toy. “Thank you. And more than ever before, I feel more connected to my culture and to my ancestors, especially my great-great-great-great-grandfather. If this nickname helps get more eyes on TCM and its benefits, I view that as a good thing.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Hey, how do you heal heartbreak as the Heartbreak Herbalist?”

I give it five seconds to be polite. “Just tell me,” I finally say. “I don’t like guessing punch lines.”

“You don’t like guessing punch lines ?” Chryssy asks, laughing.

“I thrive under pressure, but not that kind.”

Her mouth curves into a smile. “Fine. It’s only a matter of thyme.” Chryssy makes a face as she holds up a sprig of thyme from her plate. “You can thank Mike in Props for that one.”

I groan, shaking my head.

“I’ll leave you with that gem,” she says, tucking the herb behind my ear. “Oh! Auntie Violet wants a photo for socials. Our photo from clamming got ten thousand likes.” Chryssy holds out her phone in front of us. “Let’s hold up our cups, and we can share in the caption what we’re drinking. Can you smile?”

“No one likes to be told to smile, Chrysalis,” I say.

That makes her laugh as she snaps a few photos, capturing our heads pressed close together and the city skyline in the background. In the image, she looks happy. I’m smiling, too, despite myself.

“I knew, deep down, we’d eventually become the couple that gives each other nicknames,” she says.

Her use of we makes my heart beat in double time.

“It was only a matter of thyme ,” I say, straight-faced.

Chryssy rolls her eyes before laughing again. She types into her phone when it lights up. “Okay, I need to respond to some messages. I somehow have over twenty thousand followers on Instagram now. A magazine reached out about an interview, and the evening show Sweet Dreams, Seattle wants me on for a cooking segment.”

“Wow, that’s great,” I say. Chryssy’s busier than I’ve ever seen her.

“I didn’t realize there could be such a thing as too much exposure,” she says. “Our plan worked a little too well for me. Salty Stems hasn’t gotten back to us yet, so we need to keep looking for flower farm partners.” She takes a deep breath in and smiles. It’s one that doesn’t carry through to her eyes.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask.

“I appreciate you listening,” she says. “We’ll figure it out.”

I absentmindedly reach for her hand. It takes us both a few seconds to realize I’m stroking her thumb with mine.

Whether she’s aware of the touching or not, Chryssy allows it. “You know, I’m not friends with any of my exes, but I think I’d like to stay friends with you after all this,” she says. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Friends.” The word rings out like a jarring note, its squeak echoing in a concert hall. The word feels worse than the pain from my tendonitis. “If we can do a secret relationship, I think we can handle a secret friendship,” I say.

Chryssy nods. Then, like the hollow silence that follows the abrupt ending of a performance, she pulls her arm back and busies herself with a blueberry.

“Sorry,” I say, holding my hands up where she can see them. “Did not mean to get all romantic on you.”

Her cheeks turn rosy, but she waves it off. “I won’t hold it against you this time. Hey, can I ask you something? When you first proposed this plan,” she starts, gesturing between us, “you said you didn’t think anyone would believe us being together. What did you mean by that?”

She peers up at me under her thick lashes.

“I said that because I could tell that you’re this incredibly empathetic, caring woman. You deserve more than a heartbreaker like me,” I admit.

Chryssy squeezes the berry between her fingers. “You know, I only agreed with you when you said that because you’re this larger-than-life guy, and I’m just a cursed woman living on an island healing heartbreak. I didn’t think people would truly believe us being together.”

“You’re not just anything,” I tell her.

She blushes for a second time. “Here we are, getting the wrong idea about each other all over again, huh?”

“That does seem to be the trend.”

Getting the wrong idea. Catching the wrong feelings. None of this was part of the plan, and sticking to the plan is what I do best. I decide in this moment that I’ll get ahold of any emotions I have for Chryssy. They need to be put second to our arrangement.

It’s also the moment I know Leo is right.

I’m really good at lying to myself.