Chapter 15
Their first full day was long. The second day was even longer, and the third felt interminable.
This was the last desperate scramble to get the set camera-ready, every chair and salt shaker and coffee mug arranged to the producers’ satisfaction before the soft opening next week.
While Apollo recorded interviews and posed for promotional photos, Jiyeon divided her time between prepping the diner…
and spending hours sequestered in a trailer with Eric.
On Monday afternoon, they went through her personalized Prism handbook, page by excruciating page.
Analysts had also prepared a list of posts across Emma Han’s social media platforms, all of which had been deemed ‘tangential to the desired narrative arc and updated brand imagery.’ Jiyeon archived each of these offending posts by hand, trapped in Eric’s office for most of Tuesday morning.
Wednesday’s meeting began with an overhaul of her various profiles and ended with a lecture on Prism’s content approval process.
It came with a visual guide printed on shimmering, pearlescent cardstock, like a wedding invitation gone wrong.
She much preferred working at the diner.
Consulting for the production, Jiyeon had pored over countless emails, restaurant supply catalogs, and interior design journals.
She’d also seen enough vinyl swatches for one lifetime.
But there was a sense of fulfillment in watching everything come together, even if entering Sunshine Diner was like stepping into a strange, alternate reality. Wanna Waffle, but not quite.
Denny was often there as well, training staff, sorting out the logistical details of opening for business.
She'd hear her brother in the kitchen and feel a little less homesick.
Once, he happened to walk by while the set designer scratched some random initials into a few of the tables; the production wanted that lived-in look, but on short notice.
Jiyeon thought she might have to pop Denny's eyeballs back into their sockets afterward.
As expected, she rarely crossed paths with Eunjae.
The film crew kept the guys on a packed schedule: a tour of Monroe, a day helping out in the citrus groves, several excursions into the countryside to film ad segments for sponsors.
They were recorded playing tennis and splashing in the pool.
Eunjae sent messages that Jiyeon waited to read until she was alone, but someone was always hovering nearby, close enough to read over her shoulder. One of the Erics, usually.
Case in point, she had an Eric at her heels all the way out the door on Thursday evening.
It was the same Eric they’d met on Sunday.
Jiyeon told no one except Eunjae, but this was the Eric she liked the least. He didn’t give her the creeps, like Tuesday Eric, and he didn’t monologue about algorithms and data like Wednesday Eric, and yet he was still the worst. She couldn’t explain why.
“Don’t forget,” he said, trotting after Jiyeon as she left the diner.
“We’ll want to make this switch as soon as possible.
And I know changing your handle is a big deal, Miss Han, but trust me when I say that this is for the best. Not just for the show, or for Apollo, but for you and your evolving brand. ”
He called Denny and the Apollo members by their first names, but she was always Miss Han. It was a way of keeping her at a safe remove, a benign and manageable distance.
“The new username is memorable and ultra professional. I think it’ll be perfect.” Eric grinned. Today his glasses had teal frames to match his teal Prism fleece. “Have a wonderful night, Miss Han. See you tomorrow!”
Jiyeon didn’t want to see him tomorrow. She didn’t want to see him ever. It was good to finally leave, headlights cleaving the dark on that one-lane road out of Monroe. As soon as she made it through the gate, Jiyeon turned away from the great, shadowy bulk of Langley House and went to find Eunjae.
The guesthouse glowed, string lights dancing gently, every window shining.
Jiyeon hunched her shoulders against the cold.
It really felt like October out here, the kind of October she’d only seldom experienced in California.
It was because of the cold that she endeavored to walk faster.
But Jiyeon slowed as she approached the ivy trellis, realizing that someone else was coming down the path: a woman who stepped gingerly from one stone flag to the next, avoiding the slivers of grass between each paver.
Her heels would sink into the soft earth if she wasn’t careful.
From the tennis court, the thwack of a ball; from the patio, scraps of a discussion conducted in low, cautious murmurs.
Apollo almost never interacted at such a controlled volume.
Meanwhile, the woman’s perfume floated over on the wind, something strong and floral that tickled Jiyeon’s nose.
She almost sneezed. This didn’t happen, but what a story: meeting Leila for the first time and immediately sneezing on her.
Because this was Leila, no question. Jiyeon could see it even in the dark.
Eunjae and Ezra had inherited echoes of her beauty.
She wore it with ease, fully aware of its power.
And it was a beauty that arrested the senses, a beauty that made you stop and stare, but nothing about it invited you to linger.
Perhaps that was the most discomfiting part of seeing Leila in the flesh.
Not the obvious similarities between mother and son, but the differences between them — the sight of a face Jiyeon loved so well, but devoid of any gentleness or warmth.
It hurt. Did Leila smile like this when she sent him off at the airport, all those years ago?
There was a moment when Jiyeon considered retreating.
She had no desire to meet Eunjae’s mother, not if she had to feign politeness the entire time, and definitely not at the end of a day that had exhausted her on so many levels.
This felt like the universe kicking her while she was down.
Her presence had been noticed, though. It was too late to back out now.
Leila extended a hand in greeting, and while her smile didn't warm more than a few degrees, the spark in those eyes was anything but dismissive.
It was a look of wordless appraisal, of curiosity and calculation.
But it was nothing Jiyeon hadn't endured before, so she clasped Leila’s hand in return and didn't flinch.
“What a surprise,” said Leila. “I didn’t know you’d be here. Ari never mentioned it, of course. How lucky that I ran into you. Are you just visiting?”
She weighed the merits of lying. How might Leila’s demeanor change after learning that Jiyeon would be around, involved in the show, for the full duration of filming?
She wasn't likely to approve. And yet, it was even less likely that they could avoid each other for long.
Ezra was required to have a parent or legal guardian on set, since he was still a minor, and Jiyeon would be forced to interact with Leila many more times in the future. It was inevitable.
“They hired me as a creative consultant, part time,” she answered, at last, “and I help my brother with the diner management.”
“Oh, I see. Behind the scenes. It makes sense that they'd want to involve you.” Leila’s brow furrowed. “But Emma, this probably takes up so much of your time. Don't tell me you’ve put your life on hold for a man. You’ll regret that. Take it from me, love.”
“I haven't—”
“Good. Never do that, okay? A talented girl like you.
So much potential! You can't always let his career be more important than yours.” The smile softened.
Now it conveyed sympathy and was somehow worse to behold.
“Weren't you planning to open your own salon?
I heard that's been your dream since you were little.”
Jiyeon didn't know how to respond. The lady hasn't said anything malicious, and opening her own salon was certainly the dream she’d chosen for herself in third grade. There was no crime to report, no lie to call out. So why did it feel like she'd been wronged?
A strong gust whistled through the trees. The moon emerged from behind a bank of clouds, thin and sharp as a sickle. Leila squeezed Jiyeon's hand in farewell. “How lovely to meet you. Let’s talk longer, next time.”
Yes, so lovely. “Goodnight,” said Jiyeon. “Take care on the road, it gets pretty dark out here.”
“It does. This is truly the back of beyond.” Leila turned to add one more thing, moonlight painting the strands of her silver-blonde hair.
“Maybe you can help, Emma. I’m sure Ari would rather listen to you than me.
He’s angry, you see, because he thinks I forced Ezra into doing this.
I didn’t. His brother wanted to be here.
” Wry laughter. “Ezra’s more like me. He knows a golden opportunity when he sees one. ”
An opportunity. Was that all? Did Ezra really go to so much effort just for a few guest appearances on Apollo’s reality show? Jiyeon couldn’t bring herself to believe it.
Footsteps caught her attention. Eunjae cut across the lawn, his gaze flickering from Jiyeon to Leila and then back to Jiyeon again.
His mother paused beneath the trellis. Framed by the arch and its tendrils of green vines, she said, “Don't look so horrified, Ari. I didn’t tell her any embarrassing stories about you.”
He gave a curt nod, coming to stand beside Jiyeon on the path. “Okay.”
“I’m so glad I came by. I’ve been dying to meet Emma. Have a wonderful night, you two.”
A minute passed, then two and three, before Leila’s rental car vanished around the bend.
Eunjae and Jiyeon were long gone by then.
There were cameras mounted under the eaves, but none were aimed at the right side of the guesthouse, so that was where they went.
“Are you okay?” they asked each other at the same time.
Eunjae launched into an apology. Jiyeon insisted that she was fine.
“Are you okay?” she repeated, bringing her hand up to his cheek.
His fingers closed around hers. “I'm okay.” And then he pulled her in, held her tight. It had been days since the last hurried embrace. Jiyeon leaned into it with everything she had.
“I should've walked her out,” said Eunjae. “Then you wouldn't have met her on your own like that. I'm sorry.”
“Not your fault,” she replied. “And anyway, I'm fine.”
“What did she say to you?”
Ezra’s more like me.
Weren't you planning to open your own salon?
But how did Leila even know about that? Somewhere in Emma’s posts, maybe? Jiyeon felt for the hair tie on her wrist, worrying at the stitches holding it together. “I think I ruined her night,” she said. “She didn’t know I’d be here.”
Eunjae sighed, sounding defeated already. “It was better when she didn't.”