Chapter 36 #2
“-but a long distance relationship is serious, fucking work. When you broke up, I–I kinda wasn’t surprised. Stop with the eyes!” She pointed a finger at me.
“These are just my eyes!” I protested.
“No, those are the sad eyes, stop that. Anyway, what I meant was, your lives were so different that I always wondered how that would work if you weren’t, y’know, in the trenches together.”
“In the trenches?” I raised an eyebrow.
“In the trenches.” She nodded firmly. “Doing life together, you and him, against the world, fighting the good fight.”
I sighed, rubbing a finger across my forehead. “Mixed metaphors, but I’ll allow it.”
“So when you did… y’know, break up,” Becka said the words like she was picking up broken bits of ceramic, trying to avoid the sharp edges, “it wasn’t surprising.
It felt like this whole, huge thing – your relationship – but it hadn’t been that long, right?
Barely six months. I was always worried about that.
” She looked away again, biting the inside of her cheek.
“When you left, I was worried because you’d only just gotten comfortable with your relationship dynamic, and suddenly you were following him to Korea. I was worried you’d lose yourself in his world.”
I nodded. I’d had time to consider that, aswell.
“I don’t think I lost myself,” I said slowly, choosing my words, “but I do think I didn’t allow myself the grace to be anything else.
I think I kept trying to be the same because it was comfortable.
But I want to be very clear.” I narrowed my eyes at Becka.
“That wasn’t his fault. He would have helped me be anything, do anything.
Yes, there was a time where he put me up there, in a castle in the clouds,” I allowed myself a wry grin at saying the description I’d only ever used in my mind.
“but when I was serious about making my own way, he listened to me. He believed me, and he supported me. He would have followed me down any path I had tried to make for myself, but I didn’t try.
That’s on me. I’m a big girl, and it’s on me for boxing myself in, not him. ”
Becka raised her hands in surrender.
“Message received; but you do realise you’ve just reinforced my point, right?”
I frowned. “What point?”
“That it makes no fucking sense that he’d break up with you over a little distance. I was wrong – it happens from time to time. I’m with Taeyang on this. Something else happened.”
I leaned back against the cushions.
After a moment, I said, “I don’t–I don’t think I can consider that. I don’t think I can put that out there, because if I do, then all this…” I waved around, indicating everything and nothing all at once. I paused, throat tightening.
“No,” I said thickly, “I’m not falling down that rabbit hole. I can’t put thoughts in his head that I can’t confirm.”
Because if I let myself consider the alternative, I think I’d break. Even after all this time. Maybe especially after all this time.
Becka watched in that way she did when she was thinking hard. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, she said, “Babes, I don’t think I ever noticed, but just now I realised something. Have you… have you even said his name?”
My head swung to hers, and it felt like my whole face scrunched in confusion.
“What?”
“I’m serious. I don’t think I’ve heard you say his name. Not this week, not any time we’ve ever spoken about him – not that we really have in the past two years, admittedly. Have you even said Jihoon’s name since you broke up?”
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, because now that I was presented with the question, I had to think about it.
And no… I couldn’t be sure that I had.
I knew I’d avoided it in the beginning, it had been self preservation, like when you had an ulcer in your mouth so you only chewed on one side. A kind of avoidance to promote healing. But since then?
“I-I don’t know,” I stammered.
“Oh, babes.” Becka leaned forward and drew me into her arms, pulling me against her so tightly I could feel her heartbeat against mine.
“Tell me about Patrick,” Becka said, holding her hand out for the small pack of spices I’d just pulled out of the meal kit.
We were making dinner. Hours had passed since we’d gotten weepy on the sofa, and we’d since realised the only food we had in the apartment were snacks, cakes, a wilted head of lettuce, endless bottles of condiments, and ice cream.
Since I refused to spike my blood sugar that high, or disrespect my taste buds with artificial sauce, I’d forced Becka to walk with me down the road to the 7-Eleven.
It wouldn’t be gourmet, but it would contain some form of nutrition.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, passing her the little packet.
Becka shrugged.
“Anything would be an improvement on the big, ole’ pile of nothing you’ve told me.”
“So dramatic,” I sighed. “Well, his name is Patrick-”
“-Got that, thanks.”
“-He’s a freelance photographer. We’ve never worked together, but he sometimes comes into the Frequency offices. He’s really talented, he won this award last year for photographing a protest-”
“I asked about him,” Becka interrupted, “not his credentials.”
“I was getting there,” I said, crossly. “Anyway. He’s really nice. Tall, gorgeous smile. Really clever. He’s really close with his family. Raised by a bunch of women, so you know he’s quality material.”
“And?”
She wasn’t looking at me, but I stared at the side of her face as she stirred the pan.
“What, ‘and’?” I prompted, putting my hands on my hips.
“You’re dating the guy, and the best you can come up with is a list of his surface level attributes and that he’s ‘really nice’?” She threw me a look over her shoulder.
“We’ve only been dating a couple months,” I grumbled.
“And yet you’re stuck on ‘really nice’,” she scoffed. “Where’s the fireworks? Where’s the honeymoon stage? What does he like to do on his days off? What does he think about your degree? Does he know you hate mushrooms?”
Actually no. He’d brought me a mushroom risotto once on a surprise office lunch date. I’d choked it down to be polite. The memory made my lip curl. I really hated mushrooms.
“There’s fireworks,” I protested. “But they’re the silent type that won’t upset the neighbour’s dog.”
Becka laughed.
“Okay, fine, you’ve not opened up all that much, that’s fine, you’ve been through a lot,” she conceded. “What about him? What do you like about him?”
I opened my mouth to reply, to tell her about… what? Shit.
“He’s funny!” I exhaled in relief, but Becka only huffed.
“Everyone’s funny. Try again.”
“Did I mention he’s gorgeous?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he is. And kind.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me about that.”
“What?” I asked distractedly.
“The kindness.”
“Oh. Well, he’s really nice-”
“-You’ve said that.”
“-and he’s sweet.”
“Yeah? How?”
The way Becka was firing questions at me made me so flustered that I knocked over the wine bottle I was opening.
“Fuck! Look, who’s the journalist here?” I bit out, grabbing a tea towel to wipe up the mess.
Becka moved the pan off the heat and turned to me, folding her arms across her chest.
“Babes, none of these are difficult questions. These are first date questions. Are you telling me you know nothing about your boyfriend?”
I almost choked. I’d just taken a sip from my glass after tossing the soiled towel in the sink. I coughed and Becka moved to slap me on the back.
“I’m fine,” I wheezed, wiping my mouth across my sleeve, “I’m fine, stop thumping me.”
“I know his Dad died when he was a kid. I know he has a ton of family in London. I know he’s in a photography club called the ‘Shutter Nutters’.
I know he hates olives – but only the green ones, he doesn’t mind the other ones.
I know he wants to move into current affairs photography, and I know he’s secretly terrified of flying! ” I silently tacked on an ‘ah ha!’
Becka leaned against the sink, arms folded.
“Okay. Now what does he know about you? Does he know about Korea?”
“Jesus Christ, Becka!” I threw my hands up.
“I don’t understand what you want. It’s been weeks, not years.
He’s nice! Nice is fine! It’s fine to not know every single, goddamn thing about the person you’ve only just started dating!
He doesn’t need to know everything about me, or is this about him?
You want me to tell him about how I got dumped by a celebrity?
How I was emotionally carved out like a fucking pumpkin? Would that be the bench mark?”
“Whoa, whoa,” Becka held up her hands. “You’re right, and I’m sorry.” She sighed and rubbed a hand across her forehead. “I know, I’m doing the thing again where I butt in and offer my unsolicited advice.” She bit her lip, and looked down, fiddling with the hem of her jumper.
“I guess I just expected you to do the whole dating thing sooner, you know? Since Jihoon, you’ve not wanted to, and now you are – which is great! I just hope you’re doing it because Patrick is a person you see romantically, and not someone you think you should.”
I was starting to feel a throb in my temple.
“It’s okay to not be ready yet, Ky.”
She reached for me, a line creased across her brow.
I tried to relax my fingers from where they’d clenched in my shirt.
“I want to be,” I said, all my righteous indignation evaporating.
“I know. I just think you should give yourself permission to not be, instead of forcing yourself, because that’s not fair on you, or him.”
My stomach twisted, and my eyes fell to the floor.
Becka rubbed a hand up my arm.
“It happened babes. You’re allowed to feel how you feel, for as long as you feel it.”
I nodded.
“Come on, let’s eat.”
She moved away to grab some plates out of the cupboard, setting them down on the island, while I got the cutlery.
The two of us moved around each other with the ease of two people used to living together, moving in each other’s grooves.
“But really, babes – carved out like a fucking pumpkin? Bit dramatic.” She winked at me.
“Oh, shut up,” I groused, bumping her with my hip.
The next morning, Becka waited outside with me until my Uber arrived to take me to the airport.
She was sniffling quietly beside me when a light blue Toyota Corolla rolled up beside us.
“Hey,” I said, turning to her. “This isn’t like last time. It won’t be years again, alright?”
Impulsively, I grabbed her, pulling her towards me so tight that she had to take a step forward or risk falling.
“I love you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with all the tears I refused to shed. The memory of the last time we’d done this so vivid in my mind.
“I love you, too.” She rubbed my back and for a time, we just stood there in each other’s embrace, until the driver rolled down his window.
“Kaiya Thompson?” He asked, and I turned around.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Get in,” Becka said nudging me with her elbow. “I’m not standing out here all morning.” She jerked her chin towards the car door.
I obliged, barely hesitating before I slid onto the back seat, bringing my one rucksack with me, having returned my years ago borrowed duffle back to it’s rightful owner. I felt a rush of déjà vu.
Becka closed the car door, leaning into the open window.
“Did you ever know that you’re my hero?” She said with a straight face, and my heart soared with love, even as my chin trembled.
“You’re everything I would like to be,” I said, nodding.
“I can fly higher than an eagle,” she said tremulously.
“And you are the wind beneath my wings,” I finished, voice barely a whisper over the lump in my throat.
“Let’s not leave it years next time, okay, babes?”
“You could always come to London,” I suggested.
“Maybe one day we’ll travel the world together,” she laughed.
“Why the fuck not,” I agreed.
“Go,” Becka urged, hitting the top of the car twice. And she was right. I would never leave unless she told me to.
The driver, not waiting on my instruction, pulled out into the morning traffic, as quiet as it ever was in the City of Angels.
I did not look back.