All I want for Christmas is Yoon

by Shyla Colt

  This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Editing: There For you Editing

  ©Text Copyright 2020 Shyla Colt

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  All I want for Christmas is Yoon | Shyla Colt

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  All I want for Christmas is Yoon

  Shyla Colt

  Prologue

  Hart

  There are days engraved into everyone’s minds where life takes a turn you know you’ll never fully recover from. This is one of mine. They say it’s natural for a child to bury their parents because it’s the correct order of things. Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t make things easier to handle. Seeing my mother deteriorate before my eyes was more than I could bear. So, I’d set off to make my mark on the world, returning often, but never for too long. It was cowardly. Cancer slowly stole away her energy and the one passion she lived for outside of her family—painting. When the chemo prevented her from making steady brush strokes, she withered. An artist, Mom made her living expressing herself through multiple types of media. Taking away that ability silenced her soul. Dad tried to be there for us as much as possible while working to combat the bills. But too often, it left Fiona, the youngest, fending for herself.

  I skim my hands over the riot of dark curls spilling down Fiona’s back as I rest my head against her headboard. Today we laid our mother to rest. Yet, peace continues to elude us. My vivacious firecracker has been deadened. Her eyes are dull and sad, and she’d turned inward where no one could reach her.

  I should’ve been around more for my baby sister. Mom insisted I chase my dreams. When I landed a position as a make-up artist for an up-and-coming singer, she forced me to take it and go on tour. Selfishly, I used her enthusiasm as justification for my absence. Guilt sits heavy in my stomach like an indigestible foreign matter. Movement in the doorway attracts my attention. My father stands there, dark eyes red-rimmed, and his tie undone, a living ghost still clad in the suit he wore to the graveyard. He looks rumpled and defeated. Seeing the man who’s always seemed larger than life laid so low cuts me at a soul-deep level.

  “She finally asleep?” Dad whispers.

  I nod. “Yeah. I think rest is the best thing for her.”

  He rubs his face. “It’s probably what we all need.”

  “You can go to sleep, Dad. I’ve got her.”

  His shoulders shake, and I long to go to him and give him comfort. “I have something for you.” His voice breaks.

  I frown, confused and wary. We’re reading the will with the lawyer tomorrow.

  “Your mother wanted me to give it to you. After.” He reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a white envelope. Walking into the room, he hands me the letter and backs out like a criminal afraid to set off an alarm. Hartley is scrawled across it in the fancy handwriting I’ve admired my entire life. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the study.” Turning, he gives me his back.

  He’s aged before my eyes this last year. I hardly recognize the graying man lumbering down the hall and out of my line of vision. Careful not to wake the small being holding me hostage with her weight draped over my lap, I take a deep breath and carefully open the white rectangle in my hand. I can smell her floral fragrance. My hands shake as I hold my breath and open the letter. A purple geode broken up with gold in the corner greets me from her personalized stationery. The words blur as I begin to read.

  My first-born little star,

  You were the X chromosome that first made me a mother—one of my two most significant accomplishments. You’ve always marched to the beat of a different drummer. I see so much of myself in you. You’re passionate, giving, and vibrant. I admire how brightly you shine. Never let anyone dull that. It’s harder to get back than you can comprehend.

  I know right now you’re second-guessing your decision to go on tour. Don’t. It was a privilege to see you living your dream. It’s all your father and I have ever really wanted. For you and Fiona to find your purpose and live to the fullest. I’ll miss that and so many other moments with Fiona. It breaks my heart. You always think you have time until you don’t.

  Thank you for sharing your journey from the road. The pictures, emails, and gifts helped me through the tough days. I vowed to do everything I could to get as much time as possible with our family. I believe I did that to the best of my ability. There comes a time when one must not stop fighting but accept the inevitability of one’s situation.

  Fiona is becoming a young woman who’ll need a female she can trust and look up to for guidance. I am asking you to be that person. I never wanted to clip your wings, but your father will be lost, and I cannot let Fiona get misplaced in the shuffle while he figures things out. They’ll both require your help no matter how much they protest or insist otherwise.

  Be there for them since I can’t. See Fiona through her senior year. Make up for the ruin of her sixteenth birthday, do all the things you know I would’ve. Never forget how proud I am of the woman you’ve become. You were meant to bring the world beauty and compassion. Your heart is as big as the ocean. I’ll be watching over you, protecting, guiding, and loving.

  Your Mother

  Tears splatter onto the page as the dam holding back my volatile emotions breaks. Crying silently, I begin to make a mental checklist of the things I need to do to get back to town.

  Chapter One

  Hart

  The sound of laughter rings out in the empty house. My heart skips a beat as I follow the jubilant sound. My sister is on the couch, tears rolling down her round cheeks as she holds her stomach, her entire body vibrating with mirth. I glance past her to the screen, where I recognize her current obsession, K-Dramas. I’ve never been this grateful for a form of entertainment. These series have brought her back to life in a way nothing else could. Mom’s death hit her the hardest out of the three of us. We both lost the one parent who completely understood us, but she lost her less than three days before her birthday. We delayed the funeral to avoid having it become a memory she could never escape.

  I remain hidden in the hall, enjoying her face. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my sister. Working in a department store, peddling make-up, and occasionally preparing others for elegant occasions is climbing down the ladder of success backward. But the work I do on the side helps keep my soul from starving and allows me to flex my creative muscle. Freelance is building my portfolio, and the downtime at home is allowing me to perfect my all-natural facial products. Seeing her look like herself makes everything I’ve done worth it. Pushing off the wall, I enter the living room.

  Glancing up, she grins and removes her headphone.

  “Hartley! You’re home early.”

  “We were slow.” I shrug. “What are you watching?” Fiona sits up, and I sink down in the empty space beside her.

  “Oh, this is Hidden Heiress. I’ve watched it a million times before, but I want to be ready for the second season that’ll start in November. Look.” Pausing the show, she points to the attractive man on screen. “That’s Yoon Kim. He’s my favorite actor right now.” She places a hand over her heart and sighs.

  “Okay, he’s hot.” I admire the tall man with large, brown eyes and black hair ar
tfully falling over his forehead. Usually, her crushes are too young for me, but that’s not the case with Mr. Kim.

  “Right?” She grins. “He’s been in the industry for a long time. He started off as an idol.”

  I frown. “Isn’t that against our religion?”

  She rolls her eyes. “That’s what they call their pop stars. He was in a really successful K-Pop band when he was younger.”

  “Well, fill me in. Don’t let me look old and not in the know.”

  Her eyes light up. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  Turning toward me, she grins. “In Secret Heiress, Moon Son is an orphan who has no clue her family is actually extremely wealthy. Her mother ran off with a boy who had no money, so she was disowned. Then they were both killed in a car accident. Her grandfather has always regretted it. And when he goes looking for his daughter and discovers what happened, he arranges it, so Moon is hired at his mall.”

  I listen, nodding as she weaves the intricate plot. It’s impressive how many plot twists are involved.

  “I didn’t realize the stories were so intricate.”

  “They’re so good, Hart.”

  “Why do you like him so much?”

  “Because his acting range is incredible. He’s played all kinds of characters, and the fact that he sings in some of them doesn’t hurt.” Grabbing the computer, she places it on her lap and switches her tab.

  “Look at this! The first season was created by Netflix. It was so successful the company has started an American-based campaign.”

  “Smart on their part. A wider audience means more views.”

  “It also means they’re here.” She squeals, creating high-pitched sound I swear could break glass.

  “In Texas?” I ask, shocked.

  “No,” she huffs. “I wish. Right now, it’s limited to the big cities like New York City, Los Angeles.” She pouts. “Even Atlanta, Georgia.” She pulls up an ad. “They’re currently filming the second season and collecting contestants for a competition they’re going to be running.”

  I skim the ad. “Wait. They’re competing for a spot on the show?”

  “And a meet and greet with the cast. The winner will be announced on Christmas Eve. That has to be the gift of a lifetime.”

  I’m intrigued. “How are they picking the contestants?”

  “I’ve seen the highlights from other cities. It’s an interview process, sort of like American Idol. They’re coming to Austin this weekend. I was tempted to ask if I could go just to see the others compete.” Sighing, she plops back against the couch cushions. “It’s going to be epic, I’m sure.”

  “You’re not going to enter?” I ask, shocked.

  She scowls. “Dad would never let me miss a week of school to compete, and I’m sure the show will be filmed in LA or something like that.”

  “What do you think they’ll have people do to win?”

  “Probably answer questions about the show and actors. If it’s anything like the Korean variety shows, it’s going to be a wild ride.”

  “Why?” I swallow hard, knowing I’m already committed to trying out. After the year she has had, she deserves this.

  “Because the games are wild. Here, let me show you.”

  My eyes must be the size of dinner plates after watching the variety shows. The contests feel like something off Fear Factor or the old show MXC.

  “Wow. That’s intense.” Images of giant fake boulders mowing people down flash in my mind.

  “I know.”

  I study her face. “I guess we should get started.”

  “With what?” She furrows her brows.

  “Filling my head with K-Drama information, so I can place in the contest.”

  “What?” Her dark brown eyes gleam with hope.

  “You want to meet Yoon Kim, right?”

  “Yes.” She rises onto her knees. “Hartley, if you can pull this off, you’ll be a legend. Seriously, all I want for Christmas is Yoon. There’s no other gifts that can measure up.”

  “I won’t promise you I can get him, but I’ll try my best.” She tackles me in a hug, and I hold her close, praying to the powers above for a guide to helping her start to heal. If this is the path, I’ll happily forge forward.

  “We have to give you a crash course. Think of it as K-Dramas for beginners.” Jerking back, she casts the video from her computer to the television. “Sit back, relax, and be ready to soak everything up like a sponge.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I salute. I watch as a website appears on the screen. “To fully understand and appreciate K-Drama, there are a few things you need to know about the culture. Like their social structure and some of the phrases you’ll hear frequently.”

  “What do you mean by social structure?”

  “They show their elders respect and rarely call them by their first name. So, whoever is born first is referred to by the name oopa, which means older brother for a female, or unnie, which is older sister for a woman. For a male, noona means older sister, and hyung means older brother. It’s a sign of respect.”

  “That’s a lot to keep straight.”

  “Oh, yes.” She nods happily. “Which makes for some humorous situations in the shows.”

  “What if you’re the same age? Do you have to ask them when their birthday is?”

  “No, it only matters if the age difference is one year or more.”

  “So, if they’re you’re the same age, you can call them by their first name?”

  She frowns. “It takes a level of familiarity before you can use each other’s first name. If this was a new to you person, I would suggest an honorific that matches. Like agasshi for a young or unmarried woman. It’s like saying miss.”

  “How long do I have for this?” I ask teasingly.

  She makes a peace sign. “Two days.”

  “I think I’m going to brew coffee.”

  She laughs. “This is going to be so much fun. You’ll see why I’m totally hooked on K-Drama now. Am I going with you to the audition?”

  “You’d better.”

  She claps her hands. “I’ve always loved road trips with you.”

  “Me too, agasshi.”

  “Yes.”

  The excitement in her voice makes me laugh out loud.

  “WAIT. WHY ARE WE PACKING right now?” Ava asks.

  “Because you love me.” I fold my tank top and turn to face the leggy blonde with doll-like features. With her wide, blue eyes, little, upturned nose, and thin lips, she seems delicate. In truth, she’s a powerhouse vocalist of a local rock band. Teaching guitar and working at the local instrument shop during the day, she spends her nights rocking out with the same bassist, lead guitarist, and drummer she’s had since high school.

  “That is a given. Give me more details.”

  “As long as you promise not to laugh.”

  “Oh, I can’t do that with as worried as you look.”

  I sneer, and she giggles. “I’m auditioning for a contest.”

  “Oh my God. Like Face-Off? I’ve been telling you for years to try out—”

  “No.” I shake my head and laugh, exasperated by her intense energy. “For a Korean K-Drama.”

  She quirks an eyebrow up. “Wait. To do make-up for them?”

  “More like, to compete to win a meet and greet and a roll on the show.”

  “Wow. I thought behind the lens was more your thing, but if you want to branch into acting, that’s cool.”

  I roll my eyes. “We all know my face needs deliverance too much when I feel a certain way to ever be an actress.”

  “You said that, not me.” She points at me.

  “This is for Fiona. She loves K-Drama, and her favorite actor is on the show, Secret Heiress.”

  “That’s incredibly sweet.”

  “Her entire face lights up when she’s watching, Ava. For that hour, I have my sister back. I know grief is a process that looks different for everyone, but I want to end this year on a better note for he
r.”

  Ava wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. “It’s been a tough year for you, too. I think what you’re doing is amazing. Fiona is lucky to have you as a big sister.”

  “Thank you.” The words are the encouragement I need.

  “Now that I know what you’re packing for ...” Ava picks up my duffle bag and turns it upside down.

  “Hey.”

  “I can’t let you go like this.” Rolling her eyes, she points at me. “You want to catch their eye and tell a story with your clothing.”

  “What story am I trying to tell?”

  “I’m interesting, chic.” She strikes a pose and then bats her eyelashes. “And doing this for my baby sister.”

  “And you know how to tell all of that with clothing?” I ask skeptically.

  “You may be a magician with a make-up brush, but I’m a surgeon with articles of clothing.” She skips over to my closet, and I feel a spike of fear. I’ve never been as daring as my eldest friend. When it comes to my face, I’m fearless. I enjoy trying bold colors, putting sparkles on everything when I’m in the mood. Distorting or accentuating different features is a challenge I strive to reach. I don’t limit myself to fashion beauty, I enjoy theatrical and horror looks as well. It’s where I express myself and purge the good and bad vibes that come out of me.

  Clothes drift onto my bed as Ava turns into a mad scientist, mixing and matching to create a vision only she sees. She shakes a sheer, white dress with white polka dots overlaying the white dress.

  “I haven’t worn that in years.”

  “Mmhmm.” She holds it up to me. “Hold this.” I press it to my body, and she pulls down my hat boxes. Resting the pink and white striped bins on the bed, she riffles through them. She chooses a straw hat with a ruffled edge and a pink strip of leather around it with a buckle. Plopping it on my head, she gathers my hair in two fists. “With pigtails and light, fresh make-up, but highlighted freckles.” She hums. “Shoes. Shoes. Shoes.” Turning, she moves to the bottom of my closet. She holds up a pair of white canvas shoes. “This is it.”