by Jessica Jung
“Aigoo! They haven’t been feeding you properly over there!” I startle at the sound of someone speaking Korean behind me, and I turn toward the voice. But they’re not speaking to me.
They’re speaking to Jason.
He’s standing with a group of three older women, all with curly pama hair who are taking turns hugging him and patting his face. As if sensing my stare, one of the women turns and looks right at me. She’s wearing a lightweight neon jacket and vest over hiking pants like she’s just come back from hitting the trails. I quickly look away, but it’s too late. She waves me over. I take a step back as if to say, No, it’s okay; I don’t want to intrude, but before I know it, she’s by my side and grabbing my hands. “Hello, friend of Jason! I’d recognize you anywhere from your music video! Come, come, say hello,” she says, guiding me to the others.
Jason smiles sheepishly. “Rachel, these are my aunts. You’ve met Chaerin Eemo, and this is Saerin Eemo, and Yaerin Eemo. Eemos, this is Rachel. She’s my…”
His voice trails off and my cheeks warm. There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence, and then he finally settles on “Co-singer. She’s my co-singer. One-third of our singing trio.”
Jason’s aunts all glance at each other, raising their eyebrows as the two of us laugh awkwardly. I’m cringing on the inside.
“You will have dinner with us after the show, yes?” Chaerin Eemo says, grasping my hands again.
I’m about to politely decline when Mr. Han appears. “Jason, Rachel! You’re up next.”
Jason hugs his aunts goodbye, and they disappear to find their seats.
“You know, you don’t have to come to dinner,” Jason says as we walk toward the stage.
“Oh, okay.”
“My eemos are just excited to see me. They can be a little… overly welcoming.”
“Right,” I say. Something pinches inside my chest, but I push it away as we reach the backstage area. Mina is twirling in my orange dress and heels. She smiles at me and I smile back.
“Okay, my stars! Time to make DB proud!” Mr. Han wishes us all luck as we take the stage. The lights are down as Jason sings the first line of the song a cappella, and a hush falls over the crowd, his velvety voice weaving its way through the room like a magic spell, taking everyone with it.
Suddenly, the stage is lit up in white light and music as the spotlights come on and the band behind us starts playing. As Mina and I both join Jason in singing the chorus, I spot Jason’s aunts dancing and cheering in the front row. And they’re not the only ones. The entire crowd has come alive, waving their glowsticks in the air and chanting our names.
Mina’s solo comes up, and for a split second as I watch her, I completely forget where I am. She glides effortlessly across the stage, her moves perfectly in time to the music, her voice full and throaty as she belts out her lines. She approaches me and winks, grabbing my hand and pulling me down into a silly little shimmy move with her. The crowd eats it up. I can feel the stress of this day melting off me. Even our improvised outfits don’t seem like such a disaster. Aside from Jason’s eemos, the crowd is mostly white people. But they love us. As I look out into the audience, I can see most of them mouthing along the words to the song—even the ones in Korean. The crowd is full of people filming our performance with their phones, but for the first time, I feel myself relaxing in front of all the cameras. A rush of warmth fills my body as I remember why I love K-pop so much. How special it is to be able to share my language and my culture with people all over the world and have them truly see it. Understand it. Love it. I feel my smile stretch on my face and my heart feels light and free for the first time since this tour started. I remember why I’m here. Why I love this.
Mina’s across the stage from me as we start the final verse. She starts off strong, singing as she spins into Jason’s waiting arms. But just as he reaches out to grab her waist, I see one of her heels wobble. I barely have time to register what’s happening when the heel snaps off the shoe, and Mina goes tumbling down, her palms scraping against the stage. The crowd lets out a collective gasp, but Mina rolls over onto her side and strikes a pose. The audience cheers, and she leaps back up to her feet, kicking off her heels. She doesn’t stop smiling, but there’s pain flashing in her eyes and I can see her favoring her right leg as we take our bows to a roaring crowd.
Backstage, she whirls toward me, pushing my shoulders. “You bitch! You did this on purpose!”
“What?” My voice catches in my throat.
“You gave me your broken heels. You tried to sabotage me!”
“I didn’t!” I say, stunned. “Mina, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”
She pushes me again, and I stumble backward. Jason jumps in, holding her back.
“Mina, chill,” he says.
“Get the fuck off me!” She pushes him away, seething, turning to me again, fury sparking in her eyes. “I should have known you would pull something like this.”
“Mina, are you all right?” Mr. Han rushes toward us, putting an arm around Mina for support. His eyes widen at the sight of her ankle, which is now swelling rapidly. “That looks serious.”
She winces, her anger ebbing away to the pain. “It—it hurts.” She chokes out the words like she can’t stand to admit it. “But I’m okay,” she adds. “I just need an ice pack.”
“I think we should go to the hospital,” Mr. Han says grimly, already guiding her toward the door.
“No! It’s fine!” Mina argues. “I just need to… walk it off or something.” She straightens her back and attempts to walk a few steps, stumbling as soon as she puts any weight on her right foot.
“Hospital. Now,” Mr. Han says firmly. She shoots me one last glare as he guides her toward the stage door.
Inside I’m spiraling. Why did I give her those shoes? Or why didn’t I check them before putting them in my bag this morning? Or just wear them myself? It should be me headed to the hospital right now.… But before I can fall deeper into my rabbit hole, Jason’s aunts appear backstage, pulling us both into tight hugs.
“What an amazing performance!” Chaerin Eemo says. “We must celebrate you both over dinner!!”
“Oh, please go ahead,” I say. I glance over at Jason, who refuses to meet my eyes. “I don’t want to interrupt your family time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yaerin Eemo says, adjusting her black velvet headband with the signature Chanel double Cs outlined in diamonds. “Jason never comes to visit us anymore these days. We must take advantage of it and feed you two—you’re both skin and bones!”
“Plus, I know the perfect restaurant,” Saerin Eemo agrees, holding up her iPad to snap a quick selfie with me. “Five stars. Best restaurant in all of Brantwood.”
I’m swept up in a classic whirlwind of Korean aunts, their guilt-tripping mixing seamlessly with their genuine compassion and reminding me of every single Kim family get-together. I glance at Jason, and this time he’s looking right at me, shrugging helplessly.
“If my aunts say eat,” he says with a small but pained smile, “there’s nothing to do but to eat.”
* * *
Downtown Brantwood may be the cutest place I’ve ever seen. The streets are all cobblestone and the buildings look like candied gingerbread houses. Even the most ordinary shops look delightfully quaint, like something straight out of a fairy-tale picture book. Chaerin Eemo tells me how in the winter, the snow makes everything look even more like a magical wonderland.
As we walk toward dinner, Jason’s aunts seem to know everyone we pass, stopping every few feet to call out a name or have a quick chat with someone. When we arrive at the restaurant (“Best Caesar in all of Canada! They make them extra spicy!” says Yaerin Eemo), we’re immediately ushered to what seems like the best spot in the house, a cozy mahogany table with high-backed leather chairs. All around us are windows that give way to a sweeping view overlooking the mountains.
I glance over at Jason, impressed by the VIP treatment, but he doesn’t seem
to even notice it. A wave of annoyance washes over me. Typical. I roll my eyes and at the last second he looks over at me, confusion flashing on his face.
“What’s your problem?” he whispers, leaning away from his eemos.
“I don’t have a problem. I guess I’m just not used to being doted on by adoring fans wherever I go.”
His eyes narrow at me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Now it’s my turn to act confused. “What do you mean I have—”
Suddenly, the waiter sweeps over with a bottle of white wine. “So good to see you all!” he says to Jason’s aunts, pouring them each a glass. “Good timing, too. We just got in a new shipment from our wine supplier and we’ve been saving this bottle for you. We know you’re all partial to the 2001 vintage.”
Saerin Eemo giggles, picking up her glass. “Of course! All the best things were made in 2001.” She winks over at Jason, and he blushes. I smile to myself as I realize Jason was born in 2001.
“She’s right!” Yaerin Eemo chimes in before taking a sip. “This is absolutely wonderful.”
“Only the best for you ladies,” the waiter says, pleased as punch.
My eyebrows knit as I try to fit the pieces together. Maybe they’re not fans of Jason but fans of Jason’s aunts. Are his aunts famous too?
“So, Rachel,” Yaerin Eemo says after we order. “What’s it like working with Jason? Does he hog the spotlight? He would always cry as a kid when he wasn’t the center of attention.”
“Please, Eemo, when did I do that?” Jason says, his cheeks turning pink.
“Our Jason is handsome, isn’t he?” Chaerin Eemo says, looking at him with fondness. She gives me a hearty wink. “He got the good family genes.”
I smile politely, this time successfully resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, he’s very popular in Korea.”
Saerin Eemo leans forward, looking at me. “Tell us about you, Rachel. What do your parents do?”
“Eemo.” Jason groans.
“What? I’m just trying to get to know your friend.”
I smile hesitantly and start telling them about my family and our old life in New York, but truthfully, I’m relieved when the food comes. Up until a few weeks ago, meeting Jason’s family would have felt like a dream come true, but now it’s just another reminder of everything I’ve lost.
Not that his aunts seem to realize that, with all the heart eyes they keep shooting at us.
“You spoil us!” Saerin Eemo says when the waiter returns with more wine and five plates of free tiramisu.
“Nothing but the best for the Lees,” the waiter says cheerfully.
My fork stops in midair as suddenly the pieces click together. The Lees. I think back to walking down the sidewalk earlier and all the picturesque shops we passed: Lee’s Pharmacy, Lee’s Grocery, Lee’s Dry Cleaners. The special treatment we’re getting at this restaurant. How Jason’s aunts knew everybody we walked by. They’re his mom’s sisters, and everyone knows Jason changed his last name after his mom died, so their last names must be Lee as well.… I turn to Jason, lowering my voice.
“Does your mom’s family own this town or something?” I whisper, half expecting him to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of my question.
“No.”
“Oh right, sorry, I just thought—”
He looks over at me and sighs. “I mean, not that it’s any business of yours. But if you must know, it’s not the whole town. Just… most of it.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously? But how come you’ve never—”
“A toast!” Chaerin Eemo says, interrupting me. She raises her glass. “To Jason and Rachel and a fantastic performance!” Her eyes mist over. “Your mother would have been so proud of you, Jason.”
“Hey, hey, party pooper. No tears,” Yaerin Eemo says, grabbing her sister’s glass. “You’ve had too much to drink. You’re getting weepy.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Chaerin Eemo says, dabbing at her eyes.
“Cheers!” Saerin Eemo says. She looks at me and smiles. “Rachel, please come back and visit us anytime.”
Jason and I lift our glasses, and I see that his eyes are a little misty too. “Cheers!”
* * *
Jason and I sit in silence on the back steps of the concert venue as the DB crew loads up the tour vans. Each of us has a huge bag of leftovers from the restaurant, which his aunts insisted we take to have something to “snack on” during the ride. Part of me wants to ask Jason more about Brantwood and his family, but I don’t—and he doesn’t say anything. It’s like we’re both trying to put a little distance between us after that dinner.
“Looks like they’re back from the hospital,” Jason says, standing.
Mr. Han is walking toward us, and Mina follows slowly behind him, propped up on a pair of crutches. My heart sinks as we rush over to meet them.
“She twisted her ankle,” Mr. Han says tiredly. “Which means she won’t be able to join you for the New York leg of the tour. We’ll be sending her back to Korea tonight so she can rest at home.” He walks away to supervise the crew.
Mina turns her head slowly to look at me, her eyes shining with angry tears. “I hope you got what you wanted,” she says.
It’s like a hammer to my heart. How could she think this is what I wanted?
“Mina, I never meant for this to happen—” I start to say, but I’m interrupted by her phone ringing.
At first she ignores it, but it rings again and again and again until she finally gives in and picks up. She barely says hello when Mr. Choo’s voice comes bellowing through the other end.
“Shameful! Absolutely shameful! You can’t even finish one song without tripping over your own feet? Are you stupid? Because that must be the only explanation for this level of disgrace. You are not a Choo. You are not my daughter.” Mina just listens, her head hanging heavily over her chest, tears streaming down her face. Jason and I look away, but inside, my heart feels like it’s breaking. When she finally hangs up, she turns her phone off and shoves it deep into her bag, rapidly blinking back her tears.
“Mina,” I venture again. But it’s no use. She lifts her chin, ignoring me, as she pivots and heads over to get a seat in one of the tour vans.
“Hey,” Jason says as I start to follow her. “You can ride with me in the rental car. You know, if you want some distance between you and Mina.”
I pause. It’s tempting. But Jason is unpredictable right now. And there are too many unpredictable things in my life to pile on one more. Mina may hate me, but at least I know exactly what I’m going to get when I’m with her.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll go with the vans,” I say. “See you back in Toronto?”
“Okay.” He nods and lifts his hand in a wave. “See you.”
I walk to the vans and climb in. When I twist around to buckle my seat belt, I see Jason is still standing there, watching me.
Twenty-One
“So what’s the big deal about this place?” Jason asks. Our faces are almost touching as we sit on the edge of Bethesda Fountain. Behind us, pigeons perch on the Angel of the Waters statue, watching us with a disturbing amount of interest.
“Well…,” I say, “it’s a beautiful historic landmark at Central Park.” I wrap one of my arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Also, it’s perfect for Instagram photos. You can even check your reflection in the water before you take a selfie. Say cheese!”
I whip out my phone and snap a picture of the two of us sitting at the fountain, holding up peace signs.
“Cut!!”
Jason and I freeze in place, as the director and camera crew reframe the shot. “Let’s go again, people! And this time, please, a little tighter on Jason’s face—let’s use what works, people!”
I lower my phone, grimacing. I’m not sure what I thought our time in New York would be like, but this certainly wasn’t it. It’s noon on our first day here, and I’ve been in front of the cameras for eight hours alre
ady, filming a promo video DB decided they wanted at the last minute, where I show Jason around the city and take him to all my favorite spots.
Only we’re not going to any of my actual favorite spots. They entire day has been scripted for us, including where we go and what we say. The only upside of this whole day is that between my exhaustion and my starvation, I don’t even have the energy to feel nervous in front of the cameras.
“Let’s get her in another outfit for brunch,” the director says.
Another outfit? Argh. Every time we move to a new spot, they have me in hair and makeup all over again. I’m all for carefully curated outfits, but this is ridiculous. Meanwhile, Jason’s been wearing the same pair of jeans all day. The only thing he has on rotation is his sunglasses. And no one got into a twenty-minute argument on whether a topknot or a fishtail braid goes better with aviators.
After they curl my hair and put me in an ice-blue wrap dress (“Perfect for a casual brunch!”), we head to what is supposed to be my favorite childhood restaurant—but what is actually a French restaurant that’s so fancy I can’t even pronounce its name.
“Remember, you’ll take a long time staring at the menu and settle on the onion soup,” the director says, looking at me. “Jason, get whatever you want. And action!”
I would have much preferred the duck confit waffles—or even better, Alice’s Tea Cup, this amazing old Alice in Wonderland–themed tea shop where Leah and I used to celebrate our birthdays, eating scones and drinking tea with our pinkies up and feeling like princesses. I’m usually too busy to feel anything but tired these days, but suddenly a pang of homesickness hits me so hard that I almost fall off my chair. I grip my legs to the seat and pretend to peruse the French brunch items for an unnecessary amount of time as Jason goes ahead and orders the duck confit waffles. Of course. I’m almost tempted to ask him for a bite, but after dinner in Brantwood, things between us are weirder than they’ve ever been.