Chapter 41
Isomehow managed to make it through the rest of the meeting, but only because at no further point was I required to contribute anything, which was convenient, as I was too busy mentally spiralling to be able to structure a single coherent thought.
I felt like the pendulum inside some grand, old clock, swinging from side to side in ponderous waves from emotional highs to utter despair, and my stomach seemed to follow every swing.
I was going to cover the MCAs! My journalistic star had never shined so bright!
I was going to a press junket for my ex-boyfriend's group, and I vacillated between quiet determination and wanting to throw up.
I was going to be on the red carpet doing drive-by interviews with some of the biggest names in the industry!
I didn’t know if I could keep it together if I made eye contact with Jihoon.
By midday, I was feeling seasick.
Eventually, the nervous thrum under my skin got to be too much.
I pushed up from my desk, startling my coworker opposite me, and told my editor that I was going to work from home for the rest of the day. She barely looked up from her laptop and waved me off.
My new flat wasn’t far from the office, but I opted to take a meandering route to give myself the time to think.
London in early October was a different city from the one we got in the summer.
The air that breezed over the Thames was cool, clearing out the left over pockets of heat from the warmer months.
While London exploded in green during summer, in autumn it seemed to shroud itself in browns and golds.
It felt like the exhale after a breath you’ve been holding.
Of course, in a couple of weeks, all those aesthetic piles of crunchy, brown leaves that seemed so charming now, would be squished into a wet, messy pulp by the end of the month. The whole city would be damp, the rain would be sideways, and Spring would seem like a lifetime away.
But, for now, I was free to enjoy the way the mid-afternoon sun shone through the burnished gold of the last leaves desperately clinging to the branches of the trees lining the Embankment.
I sat on one of the benches and was content to people watch for a time as I collected my thoughts – or more accurately, my feelings.
My head was a jumble of contradictions. I kept arguing with myself in some sort of vain attempt to rationalise whatever the fuck was happening with my nervous system.
Was I anxious at the thought of seeing him?
No! Because not only was I bloody over him, but I was a proper, bloody professional!
But then, surely it was normal, and okay to still feel however I felt about going?
No, it bloody wasn’t, get a grip!
He had dumped me!
Yes, but I never got closure.
He’s ignored my existence for nearly three years!
Yes, but I did change my number, and what about that song he put up on his social media, and that photo of Halloween?
He had dated Hyejin!
I had dated Patrick!
I went back and forth for so long that I started muttering under my breath, until finally I threw up my arms, startling some nearby pigeons and the young woman who’d been photographing them.
“Sorry,” I said, sheepishly.
Getting up from the bench, I took myself home, where I could mutter and flail about in peace.
Needing to hear a voice of reason, I called Becka as soon as I got in. I was making a coffee when the call connected.
“Hi!” I trilled, only slightly hysterically, “hang on, I just need to attach you to–ah, that’ll do.”
With possibly more force than was necessary, I slapped my phone onto the cupboard door where I kept the plates.
“Babes, that was a bit violent.”
I grunted. “You have to be quite firm with it, or the suckers won’t stick.”
“Is your definition of ‘firm’ slamming your cellphone against your cabinet so hard I heard the dishes rattle?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have any spare counter space to put my phone down while I talk to you. Moving on from hands-free phone accessories,” I said hurriedly, seeing Becka gearing up for another comment.
“And back to your ongoing crisis about your famous ex-boyfriend,” she interrupted, steepling her hands on her desk, like we were discussing world-domination plans, and not my travel plans for November.
I’d already filled her in on the events from the meeting, sending increasingly more frantic WhatsApp messages until she’d eventually replied, telling me to stop blowing up her phone because she was trying to sleep.
I’d forgotten about the time difference.
“I’m not having a crisis,” I protested, crossing my arms.
“Sure, sure,” she agreed readily, “so what are we talking about, then?”
“Whether or not I should… I dunno,” I shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit weird. “Warn him I’m going to be there?”
Becka frowned. “Why the fuck would you warn him?”
I toed the faded laminate flooring. The idea had seemed pretty reasonable in my head. Considerate even, but saying the words aloud had made them take on a different meaning.
“Babes,” Becka’s tone was firm, and I looked up to see that hard expression on her face, the one I did my best to avoid having aimed at me.
“He broke up with you. If seeing you in a professional capacity is all it takes to make him a little uncomfortable, then I say let him feel that way. He’s a big boy, he can either deal with it or… ” she shrugged.
“Fuck him?” I suggested.
“Well, I mean, you could,” Becka said, her expression changing immediately from righteous indignation to thoughtful contemplation.
“Becka!” I gasped, even as I tried not to laugh.
My shoulders felt like they were relaxing for the first time all day.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding” She waved a hand through the air. “But yes, fuck him in the sense that he can deal with his discomfort. You do not need to apologise for being there.”
“I wasn’t going to apologise,” I grumbled.
“Good! Because you earned your place at this table, so sit down and eat up!”
I snorted. “Speaking of tables, how’s work?”
“Okay first of all, that was a terrible segue, but secondly,” she sighed deeply, briefly closing her eyes before saying, “honestly, it sucks. I really believe they think that operating with half the team we had pre-pandemic and expecting the same workload to get done is doable. It isn’t!
” She leaned back in her chair, and I saw the strain on her face.
“I don’t know what they expect.” Her jaw tightened before barking out a laugh that had no resemblance to humour.
“Actually, I do. They expect us to suck it up, because they keep reminding us that we still have jobs, when so many people lost theirs. I swear to God, Ky, I could run a better business with my eyes closed and my ass out.”
I gave her the courtesy of a couple beats of sympathetic silence before-
“Okay, but why is your arse out in that scenario?”
“Kaiya!” She exploded, but couldn’t disguise the twitch at the corner of her lips. “It’s an expression!”
“Are you sure? Because I’ve never heard it before.”
“Everyone says it. Anyway, that wasn’t the point!”
“Was the point about your arse?”
“I’m hanging up, I hope your boyfriend trips over you-”
“Ex,” I corrected automatically .
“I hope he trips over you twice then,” she snapped through a half smile.
“I’m sorry,” I laughed, “don’t hang up.”
Becka’s hand hovered over the phone screen before pausing and backing up.
“I need to go anyway,” she admitted. “I want to finish writing up my resume.”
“You should just do it, y’know?” I pushed off the wall and went over to my small fridge to pull out the ingredients for dinner.
Becka eyed me suspiciously. “Do what?”
“Do it yourself,” I said, ripping open the plastic containing the colourful peppers. “Start up your own PR company.”
Becka laughed, a burst that was half-snort, half-gasp, all incredulous. “Yeah, and maybe I’ll win the Powerball while I’m at it.”
I shrugged, turning my attention back to the spice drawer I was rifling through.
“Think about it.”
Her whole face scrunched, but whether in thought, or disbelief, I couldn’t tell.
“Yeah, sure,” she said doubtfully. “Tell me when you have some confirmed travel plans. Later, babes.”
“Later,” I said, but she was already gone.
In the end, I rolled the idea around in my head for days.
I came to the conclusion that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t warn Jihoon that I was coming in November. He’d disconnected his number, and it was unlikely his social media settings would allow a direct message.
I considered reaching out to Ace. I could easily message him, but something about how Becka had likened it to ‘apologising’ kept repeating in my mind.
I could rationalise it as giving Jihoon a heads up, a professional courtesy, but going through Ace felt too much. It felt like at that point, I might as well send an official notice to ENT.
So, screw it. If I had to be constantly bombarded with images of my ex-boyfriend splashed all over the internet, my favourite K-Mart, and the London bloody Underground, then he could deal with seeing my face at the back of a crowded room.