Chapter 21
My phone rang with an incoming call from an unknown number. Frowning, I stared at the screen as if expecting it to give up it’s secrets and reveal the name of the caller. Never trust an unknown caller, especially in this economy.
Apprehensively, I accepted the call.
“Hello?”
“Have you made a very short kiwi very mad?”
My brain short-circuited as it scrambled to decode the cryptic message, and to figure out why that voice was so familiar.
“Kaiya? Are you there?”
Surely it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Nah… because. What?
“Min Taeyang?” I hadn’t meant to whisper the words, but they were just so preposterous, because why the hell would Min Taeyang, member of Sol8, another group under ENT, and Jihoon’s sometimes-rival, be calling me?
“Yeah, Pom, it’s me, keep up.”
It was the word ‘pom’ that cemented it for me. Suddenly, the Australian accent and deep voice morphed from an abstract impossibility to the reality that Min Taeyang was on the other end of the call.
We’d met the night of the Christmas ball at ENT, both of us wearing masks, random faces in the crowd. He’d been friendly, and for a moment, it had been a relief to talk to someone. He’d immediately recognised my ‘otherness’ in a room full of celebrities, and important people.
“A pom! What brings you all the way to Korea?”
“Oh, this and that.”
“Very mysterious. I like it.”
He’d held his hand out, as if I was someone worth knowing. “Taeyang, but most people call me Tae.”
“Kaiya, but most people call me Ky.”
“Good to meet you, Ky, who’s here doing ‘this and that.’”
It was the same every time we’d run into each other. He’d always treated me like we were already friends, but knowing how Jihoon seemed to feel about him, I’d always kept my distance. Even if it would have been nice to have a friend in Korea.
I couldn’t see his face now, but I could tell he was laughing at me. I mentally, and physically, gave myself a shake, trying to recall what he’d said a moment ago.
“Taeyang, why the f– sorry. Hold on, do you mean… Hana?”
“Tiny, short haired New Zealand chick, kind of reminiscent of a crocodile?”
“I always thought piranha suited her,” I said weakly.
“Both will bite you,” he replied cheerfully.
“Anyway, I got your number from her. I know you used to go around with her, so I thought it would be okay to ask if you’d left.
She was very weird about it though. She seemed delighted to give me your number.
That’s why I asked if you’d pissed her off.
Don’t ask me exactly how to describe it, but she gave off the vibe she was doing it to get you in the shit. ”
Yeah, I’ll bet she did, I thought but didn’t say.
I turned the information over in my mind, trying to see how Hana might spin this, but before I could run through the mental gauntlet of Hana’s possible motivations, my brain snagged on the part where he even wanted to speak to me.
“Why did you want my number?” I asked warily.
“Can’t a guy check in on his absent friend?” His tone had all the showmanship of a circus ringmaster.
Uh huh.
“What’s my surname?”
“Sorry, what?”
“We’re friends. What’s my surname?”
The line fell silent. I could practically hear the cogs turning in his brain.
“Yeah, okay, you got me. I have no clue.”
“I’m sure. What can I do for you, Min Taeyang?”
“So formal,” he teased, his deep voice seemed to give the impression he was grinning, if that was even possible.
“Yeah well, you’re the talent, I was just worker ant.” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“Was?” he said, “so it’s official then, you’re not coming back?”
“So concerned about my career, buddy?”
“Of course! We’re friends. Which means you can just call me Tae.”
“Right. So, allow me to ask again; what can I do for you, Tae?”
He laughed, the sound so unaffected, so infectious, that I couldn’t help but smile in response. Just a little.
“Okay, okay,” he relented, “I do have something specific I wanted to ask you, but can’t we just shoot the shit for a while? I’ve had a hell of a day and I’d love to just… not for a while.”
“Not what?” I asked.
“Y’know, not be ‘on’. Not perform for a while.”
“What makes you think I don’t expect you to perform? Dance, monkey boy, dance.” I deadpanned.
Tae laughed, a loud and raucous sound that made me pull the phone away from my ear, even as I grinned.
I don’t know what it was about Min Taeyang, but there had always been this element of ease with him.
From our first accidental meeting, to each subsequent run-in.
He was an artist. One did not just casually strike up a friendship with a celebrity.
I couldn’t put my finger on it. He was just… approachable.
“I knew I was right about you,” he said cryptically, interrupting my confusing train of thought, but before I had a chance to ask what he was on about, he went on. “Okay, so the real reason for my call is that I want to know what your boyfriend’s problem with me is.”
Again, my brain short-circuited. It was a double whammy – the reference to my boyfriend, and the wider question of Jihoon’s problem with him.
He wasn’t supposed to know about us, but I had already guessed he’d figured it out when he saw us together at the ball.
The way Joon had grabbed my hand and pulled me away, to say nothing of how possessive he’d acted hadn’t exactly been subtle.
Sighing, and deciding against playing dumb, I said, “What makes you think he has a problem with you?”
Jihoon absolutely did have a problem with Taeyang.
“He basically body slammed me out of the elevator today.”
I let out a bark of surprised laughter.
“It really wasn’t that funny,” he grumbled.
“It’s a little bit funny,” I chuckled, but attempted to ease my mirth for the sake of our ‘friendship’.
“Okay, okay,” I said, clearing my throat and pushing down residual giggles from the absolute absurdity of this whole conversation. “Honestly, Tae, I have no idea what that was about. I haven’t spoken to him today. What did you do to piss him off?”
“Nothing! I was just standing there, minding my own business when he gets on the elevator and scowls at me. We both go to get out, and he slams into me so hard that I nearly fell. Mega dick move.”
I grimaced, imagining the scene, a little less funny in the retelling.
“I really don’t know, Tae. I know… I know he doesn’t think too well of you,” I said tentatively, reluctant to speak about a feud I wasn’t fully informed about.
Joon had only really given me the impression that he thought Tae was bad news because of his playboy reputation.
But to me, it had seemed more personal than that.
“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Tae sighed. “I don’t wanna make this awkward for you, Pom. I’m not trying to get you to tattle on your boyfriend. I guess I was just hoping it was something obvious and easy to fix.”
“Yeah, you might have to actually talk to him to find out,” I teased.
“No way,” he protested, “he might throw me off the building next time!”
I bit my lip and opted to keep quiet.
“Ah shit,” Tae said suddenly. “I gotta go, Pom. Speak soon!”
I opened my mouth to say, ‘why?’ but the line disconnected before the word made its way to my tongue.
I didn’t mean to not tell Jihoon about the call from Taeyang, but every time I spoke to him, he was exhausted from working, or just feeling down.
I didn’t know why. He kept saying he was fine, but it was more than that. Something felt wrong. Every now and again, I’d catch him looking at me like he was trying to figure something out, but whenever I asked what he was thinking about, he’d always reply, “I’m always thinking about you.”
Somehow that sounded less like a cute thing to say, and more like he was working through a plan that involved me.
So, in the end, I just didn’t tell him. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to pile onto whatever he was going through, but if I was honest, it was also because I didn’t want to start a fight.
It was the last day of the month, and as promised, my bank account had slightly more money in it. I looked at the balance, seeing more than the numbers.
I’d received my first income from The Loop. It wasn’t much, but it was money I had earned from articles I had written. Payment from something I loved doing.
Seeing the monetary value of my article had a weird effect on me. It was like the time a few weeks before, when I’d been sat on the sofa, watching GVibes go through an training session. Then, it had been what I imagined a bolt of inspiration would feel like.
This felt like a kind of vindication. An understanding, and I swallowed hard, blinking furiously as I tried to process that this could turn into something. Maybe even something I could be good at.
“I’m so proud of you, love.” Mum’s hand reached out to run down my arm, gently clasping my wrist.
“Thanks, Mum.” I put my hand on hers, squeezing, careful not to grip her too hard. I was too conscious of the way I could feel her bones beneath her skin.
She smiled at me, but the effect was marred by the new sharpness in her cheeks. She’d lost weight recently, and it was most evident in her face.
The recent summer heatwave had been especially tough on her. What little appetite she’d had, had fled in the face of the long, bright days, and at night she struggled to sleep, despite being bone-weary.
We were approaching the end of her chemo treatments, and now that we were in the final weeks of it, time seemed to have the curious effect of both stretching and contracting.
While the chemo was bloody awful, there was a sense that we knew where we stood with it.
It had become routine, although perhaps ‘normal’ was the wrong word.
In a way, it was easy to pretend like everything was okay, because we were in the treatment stage.
Mum couldn’t get worse because we were doing everything we’d been told. That was the rules.
With the next stages of radiotherapy, and then tests to determine if the cancer had been defeated, we would move towards new, uncharted territory.