Chapter 23 #2
Bus ticket stubs from West Hollywood, a copy of the photo strip from the Photo Booth, my ticket from the Jingle Bell Ball, a walking map I’d picked up from Myeongdong. A pressed sprig of rosemary from the rooftop garden the night we’d first kissed. I’d kept it all.
Becka had called me a magpie, and with good reason. The little book was bulging with scraps of memories. And on the final page, a pressed rose from my garden, carefully preserved.
Everything was annotated, pages littered with doodles, anecdotes, or phrases I’d learnt.
It had taken me weeks.
Jihoon flipped through the pages carefully, occasionally laughing, or pulling a face that gave me a good idea of what he was looking at.
“I love this,” he murmured, “gomawo”.
He closed the album, glancing at me before quickly looking away and clearing his throat.
“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling wider to hide the slight tremble in my lips.
He took his time fiddling with various bits on his desk, not looking at the camera. I waited patiently, sensing he needed a moment.
Part of me was pleased he’d had some kind of emotional reaction to the scrapbook, but I was confused that it didn’t all seem to be the good kind of nostalgia I’d planned. Some of it looked sad.
I opened my mouth to ask if he was okay, but he beat me to it by resuming his dig through the box, picking out items with renewed enthusiasm.
I’d tucked little bits and pieces into the box, a mix-tape CD of the playlist we’d made together – reasoning that if a scrap book was good enough, a CD at least fit the retro theme.
“Your muffins!” He cried in delight, pulling out the container I’d carefully placed in there, filled with my famous banana muffins.
“I put enough in there for you to share with the others,” I said, quietly pleased to see the light back in his eyes.
Jihoon scoffed. “They do not deserve your muffins. I will eat them all.”
“Joon!” I laughed, “you’ll be sick.”
“But very happy.” He grinned, and my toes curled.
The last item I’d packed was perhaps a little much. I’d filled a tiny travel bottle with some of my favourite perfume. I’d gotten the idea from watching an old movie, and it had seemed like a romantic idea at the time. I’d felt silly doing it, but I knew it was the kind of thing he’d like.
He pulled out the little glass container, carefully inspecting it before pulling off the cap and bringing it to his nose.
Instantly, his eyes slid closed, and his head dropped forward.
From the set of his shoulders, I thought he was upset, but after the briefest moment, he jerked his head up and fixed a grin on his lips that somehow made his eyes seem darker.
“I will carry this with me,” he affirmed, voice husky. “It’ll be like having you with me.”
“Only until I really will be,” I promised.
He nodded but didn’t reply.
“Just one more thing,” I warned, indicating the box.
Dutifully, Jihoon put his hand in, swirling it, packing peanuts rustling, until he fished out the last item. A letter. I watched with ever-reddening cheeks as he unfolded the paper. He read the first couple of lines before he refolded it and tucked it carefully into his pocket.
“I will read that later,” he said.
I admit, I’d gotten a bit soppy. I wrote about how being with him had changed my life and how much the past year meant to me. I told him I missed him, but that our separation wouldn’t be forever.
Honestly, I’d probably rambled a bit much. I’d gotten the idea from the same movie that gave me the idea about the perfume.
It felt silly now.
“I love it, jagiya. Everything. I…” He looked away, and I watched a pulse flit across his jaw.
“I am grateful for you, Kaiya,” he said the words slowly, as if he was choosing them carefully.
I blushed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
Posting that box to Korea had cost me a King’s ransom, especially when I’d factored in how quickly I needed it to get there – for muffin related reasons.
But it had been worth it to see his face as he opened it, discovering each new item.
I just wish I knew why he seemed so sad. I wish I knew how to help.
Was it me?
October 31st
Joon
Happy Halloween, jagiya.
[Sent 0822]
I looked down at the message on my phone and smiled.
Just seeing his name was enough to make me happy, but the memories of the day all but ensured it.
Not least of which was because this time last year we’d gone out into West Hollywood and joined the thousands of other revellers, anonymous in our costumes, and wrung every bit of joy out of the day that we could.
It was also the night we’d headed back home and taken our relationship to the next level.
It had been my first time. It had also been the first time Joon had said he loved me, and though I’d suspected how I’d felt for some time, it had been the first time I’d said it to him. The first time I’d said it to anyone.
‘I love you’. The words weren’t enough to convey what I felt.
That day had been the kind you could live inside of, again and again.
Even as I smiled at those happy memories, there was a bittersweet sort of realisation that this year the streets would be free of revellers.
This Halloween felt very different.
Before I’d moved to London, every year my folks and I would go into the village for dinner on just so we could watch the little ghoulies and beasties run around, hopped up on Haribos as all the grown ups pretended to be spooked.
None of that this year.
I was upstairs working on an article, and trying not to feel sad about missing little kids gleefully running through the village, knocking on doors demanding sweets, when–
“Kaiya,” Dad called up the stairs, “there’s a delivery here for you, love.”
Frowning, I rolled off the bed and padded out into the hallway, peering over the banisters.
“Me?” I called down, redundantly.
“Yes, you,” he replied “unless there’s another Kaiya Thompson in this house that might consider paying rent?”
I bit back my retort and headed downstairs.
Closer to the bottom, my steps slowed, finally seeing the delivery Dad had mentioned.
“What is that?” I gaped, taking in the pile of boxes taking up space on the black and white checker tile.
Dad shrugged. “Since they’re for you, I’d have thought you’d remember.”
“I didn’t order any of this,” I insisted, waving a hand at the boxes.
“Well, someone did, and they’re taking up half my front hall,” Mum pointed out, coming up from behind me, drying her hands on a terry cloth.
I moved towards the pile, now able to see it was seven, or eight boxes, ranging in size from one long, thin box, to several much smaller ones.
Wondering if I’d blacked out and gone on a spending spree, I began piling boxes into my arms and heading towards the kitchen.
“I’ll just get the rest of these, shall I?” Dad called from behind me.
I grinned. “Thanks, Dad!”
“Cheeky…” Whatever else he’d been about to say was swallowed by a dramatic sigh, followed by the shuffle of cardboard scraping against tile, and a few moments later, Dad shuffled into the kitchen, struggling to balance the pile.
I’d dumped my few boxes onto the large kitchen island, and Dad followed. Most of the boxes fit on the granite counter top, but the largest had to go on the floor.
Wiping his hands off on his jumper before shoving them in to his pockets, Dad stood there, rocking on the balls of his feet.
“Are you just gonna stand there and watch?” I raised a brow at him, but he shrugged.
“If they’re full of anthrax, you’ll need someone to pull you out of harm’s way.”
I snorted and reached for a pair of scissors just as Mum came in, and propped a hip against the island.
“You too?” I asked, exasperatedly.
She only shrugged. “I’m not doing anything else at the moment.”
“And to be clear, you’re both just going to stand there watching? Not help?”
Mum and Dad shared a look for a moment before turning to me.
“Yes.”
“Yup.”
I sighed.
Some time and three papercuts later
Me
Did you do this?
I sent a photo of the haul laid out on the kitchen island.
1 large, rolled up projector screen
1 HD USB projector
2x Dolby Surround remote play speakers
2x Speaker stands
1x Large picnic blanket
3x Plastic pumpkin shaped popcorn buckets
1x USB – Loaded with assorted Horror movies
1X Variety box of assorted popping corn
Joon
Remember the park?
[Sent 12:03]
I smiled, but it was tremulous, because I did remember. And it made me miss him so fiercely that he wanted me to re-live it, even without him.
The three of us – and really that meant me and Dad – spent an hour setting up our impromptu movie night in the garden. He insisted on reading the instructions for the projector, but eventually I got fed up and plugged it in. It had literally been as simple as that.
“The box quite literally says ‘plug and play’, Dad.”
I waved the aforementioned box at him once again, but he only grumbled disapprovingly, having been robbed of his moment.
Mum was sat on the porch, sunglasses on, sipping a very small white wine, clearly enjoying the show.
Eventually, we’d got it all set up, the corn was popped and we huddled together on the picnic blanket just as the sun was starting to set over the fence, painting the sky in dramatic swathes of pink and gold.
The opening theme tune played, and I grinned, munching happily on my popcorn, taken back to another picnic blanket, another night.
“What’s your favourite scary movie?”