All I want for Christmas is Yoon

by Shyla Colt

  “I should get to sleep now then.” I disconnect. The small act of rebellion fuels something inside of me that feels good. I crave more of it.

  HART: How are you settling in at home?

  The message makes me smile. She hasn’t forgotten about me or asked me for anything else fan-related for her sister.

  Yoon: It’d be better if I had more downtime to try new recipes.

  It turned out we both had a love for cooking. We’d taken to exchanging recipes.

  Hart: About that. I did a thing. ...

  I stare at the screen of forming dots.

  Hart: I know you’re on a strict diet, so I revamped one of my cookie recipes.

  Yoon: You didn’t have to do that.

  Hart: I wanted to. It’s the next best thing to baking them for you personally. I think they’d be stale by the time they arrived at your place.

  I laugh. Heads turn, and I clear my throat, embarrassed.

  “Are you ready to go on?” Sang asks, frowning.

  “Yes.” I place my phone in my pocket.

  “You’ve spent a lot of time on your phone recently. I don’t think your head is in the right place.”

  “Have any of my appearances or filmings been lacking?” The young boy I once was trembles on the inside, anxious for talking back.

  “Not yet.” Sang narrows his eyes.

  “And they won’t.”

  He holds out his hand. “Give it to me. I don’t want you distracted.”

  I tense. This isn’t the K-Pop days. “I’ll keep it on silent.”

  His lips purse. “Now,” he snaps. “Are you questioning my judgment?”

  I shake my head. “Then you remember my rules. To do what I ask without question.”

  When I was too young and new to know what was best for myself. I hand the phone over, fuming.

  “Time to take our places.” The show’s assistant says with a smile. I follow her out and lose myself in the role I’m meant to play. The moment I return, I see the fury in Sang’s eyes.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  “About what?” I ask.

  “Your little American waiting in the wings to ruin everything we’ve worked so hard to accomplish.”

  “What?”

  “This is how it starts. They pretend to be your friend. Gain your trust and exploit you. Do you remember what happened before?”

  Shame sends heat to my cheeks and neck. “Hart is not Chung.”

  “Because you’re such a great judge of character now? Huh? I keep you safe. I make the decisions for you and guide you. How can I do that if you no longer stick to the script I create, huh?” He kicks my shin, and I wince and duck my head.

  “We’re friends.” I grit my teeth. Hart brings a bit of joy to every day. I don’t want to go without that.

  “For now.” Sang scowls. “I have plans for you and Jiwoo.”

  “What are you talking about?” This is the first time I’ve heard of this new scheme.

  “The fans want to see you together. We need to give them that.”

  “No. I don’t feel that way about her.” I shake my head. She’s like a sister at best.

  “No one is asking you to. We make sure you’re pictured out together for non-work-related things. The fans will draw their own conclusions.”

  “Why do we need to do that?”

  “To keep them interested.” He tsks. “This will sell.”

  “The show’s doing well.”

  “It can always do better.”

  “And she agreed to do this?”

  “ Unlike you, she knows what her manager plans is best.” The manipulative techniques are the same. My chest tightens, and my palms sweat. I back away, desperate for air. Ignoring his command to come back, I rush outside, breathing hard as my mind grows fuzzy. I walk the streets, turning on a whim as I try to escape the ugly voice in my head that sounds unmistakably like Sang. If you want this as badly as you claim to, you’ll work harder. Push through the pain. To be number one, you must be willing to give up everything else.

  I dig my fingernails into my palms and breathe deeply. I am in control now. I left the band to move away from that. Muscles tense, I spot a park. Moving to sit down on a bench, I stare into nothing. I focus on my breathing, inhaling for three counts, and exhaling for three more. I’m spiraling. I’ve come to recognize the signs. Too much more, and I’ll breakdown. Leaning down, I rest my elbows on my knees. I should be happy. I have everything I once dreamt of plus more, and yet I’m miserable. Things have to change.

  Admitting it to myself loosens a tension I’ve held inside for too long. It’s time to come up with a plan and make my move. I need to talk to someone. I remove my phone.

  “Yoon?” Her voice is husky and sleep worn. I soak up her soft tone.

  “Have you ever realized you’re in a toxic situation and knew it needed to change, but still found yourself afraid to take the first step?”

  “Yes. Are you okay?” I hear the rustle of sheets.

  “No. I’m really not.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Listen.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  I take a leap of faith and unload. “I’ve been with Sang since the very start of my career. He was the one who got me into the K-Pop training camp and got me through the intense training. They weighed us weekly and at times daily. We’d eat eggs, a few slices of yams, and if we were being rewarded, we might get fruit. The lessons were relentless. Dancing, acting, singing, and etiquette.”

  “This sounds awful, Yoon.” There’s compassion in her voice, but I don’t feel pitied.

  “It allowed me to be creative, and it gave my family a better life. Especially my sister,” I answer honestly.

  “Because she has CP?”

  She remembered. Warmth spreads through me.

  “Yes, and my parents weren’t able to afford the therapy and better equipment that would improve her life and freedom.”

  “I understand sacrificing for your family, but she’s in a good place now, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. My sister takes care of herself and me on most days.” I chuckle.

  “I’m glad to hear it. The question you need to ask yourself is, why are you still allowing your manager to treat you this way?”

  “Guilt? Gratitude?”

  “He found you the opportunities, but you were the one who put in the hard work.”

  “Why does it make so much sense when you say it?”

  Her laughter is light and airy. “Because I’m removed from the situation.”

  “I know it’s late there. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Hey. You’ve listened to me vent as well.”

  There’s a magic buffer that exists when we’re talking on the phone on two opposite ends of the world. I say things I never would’ve to anyone else. A strange sense of intimacy and trust has formed between us. I don’t want it to stop here. The thought startles. Instead of pulling away, I decide to lean into it because I want more with Hartley. At nearly thirty, I’m not getting any younger, and she has a beautiful soul I want to know inside and out.

  Chapter Three

  Hart

  “Hartley. I need you to stay late today.”

  “What?” I look up from the counter. I’ve been here since the opening. “Why?”

  “Emma is sick.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. I want to tell him to screw himself. A nephew of the mall’s CEO, he gets off on ordering the girls working at the counters around. The need for money effectively snatches my voice. Last week’s check went to catch up on the energy bill and water bill. If I stay later, this check will handle the trash and keep the hospital at bay. Dad has continued to skulk around the house, rarely seen, and when spotted is continuously in a foul mood.

  I haven’t seen him as bad as the night we returned from our trip, but I know he’s still drinking. I see the empty bottles appearing in the garbage bags and the recycling bin. The extra hours could start repairi
ng the dent in my savings.

  “How long?”

  “Two hours until Stacy gets here after her last class.”

  “Okay.” I swallow my pride, shove my weariness down, and remember the reason I came here in the first place. This is for Fiona.

  “I need to update my plans.”

  “Go ahead and take a fifteen-minute break. I’ll cover the counter for you.” He smiles. His white teeth clash with the false tan that contrasts with his dirty blond hair with its golden highlights. “I take care of my girls.”

  “I’m not your girl, Chet,” I remind him sweetly.

  “Not yet.” He gives me a slow once over. “But you could be.”

  “I’ll pass. I don’t date where I work.” I shrug.

  “You should reconsider that stance.” He steps closer, invading my space. “I know you’re working hard to help your Dad out. I could help you with that.” He trails his fingers down my arm.

  I jerk away. My stomach turns. I’ll never be that desperate, you sleazy bastard. I give him a fake smile. “We’re getting by just fine.”

  He hums. “Just keep my offer in mind.”

  I make a non-committal sound and squeeze passed him, doubling my pace as I stride away, head held high. I stop at the coffee shop and call Ava.

  “Hey, babe. Are you on your way?” Ava asks cheerfully

  “No. I have to postpone our coffee date.”

  “Why? Is Fiona okay?” The worry in her voice makes me smile.

  “She’s fine. I’m stuck at work for another hour and a half. We had a girl call in sick.”

  “Ugh. This job.”

  “Girl, trust me, I know.” I rub my temple.

  “How’s your Dad been this week?” I told her about the incident, unable to keep the horrific event to myself.

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure if he’s actually better or hiding it.”

  “You know it is not your job to clean up after his mess, right? You’re doing enough. He needs help beyond what you can give.” The truth in her words hurts.

  “I know, Av. But what can I do?” I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I wait in the long line of workers also here for the caffeine fix.

  “Force the issue.” I envy the certainty in her tone.

  “Maybe.”

  “If it gets any worse ...” She trails off.

  “Then I’ll step in.”

  “Good. Why don’t you and Fiona come over my place for dinner tonight? Give yourself a break and me some company?”

  “I’d love that.”

  “I’ll see you around seven?”

  Beep. Beep. An unknown number pops up.

  “Yes. Gotta go. I have another call.” I switch over. “Hello?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for Hartley Warren.”

  “This is she.”

  “Ms. Warren, this is Holy Ryan from Netflix. We’re calling to let you know you’ve earned a spot on the Secret Heiress contest.”

  My heart pounds. “A-Are you serious?”

  “Yes. Are you accepting our offer?”

  “Yes.” The people in front of me turn to stare.

  “Excellent. I’m emailing you the terms to you. I’ll need it returned to me tonight. Filming will start in two weeks. We’ll shoot it all at once and then air it weekly leading up to Christmas. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure contract, of course, agreeing to keep the information about the show under wraps until it airs.”

  “Of course.”

  “Give it a look over and get back to me. We want to get the editing finished soon.”

  “I understand. You’ll have it tonight.” This was the good news I needed to salvage my day. Coffee forgotten, I call Fiona and Ava in a three-way conversation and walk outside so I can jump up and down and squeal. They celebrate with me, and I start to make plans. I need to ask for time off and figure out what to do with Fiona while I’m gone. I don’t trust her alone in the house with Dad. If he goes on a bender, and she sees it, her heart will be broken. Maybe a visit with her honorary sister, Ava, is past due.

  Scanning the PDF the moment I get it, I make a note of the dates. I return to work, walking on cloud nine.

  “Chet.”

  “Yes?”

  “I need to request time off.”

  “For what?”

  “To film a show in LA.”

  His eyes widen. “One of our employees is going to work on an industry gig? This will be great for business. Who will you be working for?”

  I swallow. “I’ll actually be in front of the screen for once.”

  “What? I didn’t realize you were interested in acting.”

  “I’m not. It’s a contest for Netflix.” I explain everything, and he looks thoughtful.

  “I’ll give you all the time you need as long as you agree to push the store.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is a major selling point. In this small town, this is huge news. I want everyone to know the woman competing is one of our own.”

  “I have to sign a non-disclosure, so I can’t give you any information.”

  He waves his hand dismissively. “No, you’re going to be our golden girl.”

  Why do I feel like I’m signing my soul over to the devil?

  THIS IS NEW. I WAS hired this weekend for a slumber party. It’s a sweet sixteen, and I’ll be instructing a group of five girls who need to learn the basics. I like the concept. This is something every girl should know how to do, whether they choose to wear make-up often or not. Knowing what works best for you gives you confidence and skills you’ll use later in life. I’ve crammed everything I can into this week to make up for the one I’ll be spending in Los Angeles.

  Pulling up in front of the massive, two-story mansion, I whistle. Their electricity bill must be through the roof. After parking, I gather my kit and hike up the long walk. I knock on the door, and a petite blonde in a sky-blue velour jogging suit answers.

  “Hello, you must be Hart.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I nod.

  “Please call me Judy, and come on in. The girls are so excited to see you, and I’m all about supporting our local girl.”

  I smile bashfully. “You’ve seen the ads.”

  “Yes. It’s exciting. I saw your audition clip. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” It’s insanely invasive when people you’ve never met know this much about you. I get continuously stopped at the counter in the mall by people who want to wish me luck or talk about my story. Fiona has become something of a celebrity at her school because of it. I don’t know how Yoon lives like this daily, and it’s much more intense. I’ve gotten plenty of unflattering messages from super fans who are upset I got to touch their beautiful K-Drama prince. Luckily, I have the block thing down to a science.

  “It’s such a sweet thing for you to do,” she continues on.

  I cringe mentally as I nod my head and fix an appreciative expression on my face. I miss my anonymity.

  “Girls! Hart is here.”

  Footsteps thunder down the stairs. A group of giggly girls ranging in skin tones and hair colors appears in their pajamas.

  “Hi, girls.” I wave.

  “Do you know Yoon?”

  “Do you still talk?”

  “What was he like in real life?”

  “Is he as handsome as he looks on screen?”

  I’m bombarded by questions.

  “Ladies. Why don’t we let her get settled into the bathroom down here first?” Judy asks with a laugh. She leads me to a spacious bathroom that has a director’s chair set up.

  “Is it okay if we take pictures and post them on social media?” Judy asks.

  “Yes. Please tag me when you do. It helps me more than you can imagine.” My Instagram account is exploding, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s for the right reasons. There are so many girls out there thirsty for the slightest hint of Yoon.

  “This is my daughter, Jane, the birthday girl.” A mini replica of
her mother, the wavy-haired blonde grins and steps forward.

  “Happy birthday, Jane. Thank you for having me over today to help make your day special. Let me get set up, and we’ll start.”

  I quickly match their base tones and pick a few staple shades for eye shadow, blush, and lips. I’ll do a casual look, and from there add a few pops to take it to nighttime. In an appropriate, adult approved way. Jane takes the chair first, and the questions start. I answer them with precise, brief answers. I feel strangely protective of my new friend. My lips form into a genuine smile as I think about our conversations. He peels back another layer with every interaction we have. By the time I leave the house, I’m utterly drained.

  Hart: I don’t know how you do this every day.

  Yoon: What happened?

  Hart: I had a freelance job at a slumber party, and all they wanted to ask me about was you.

  Yoon: Sorry?

  I laugh. The phone rings. Hearing his voice is rare.

  “Hey.” I smile.

  “I really am sorry. I know I’ve brought chaos into your life.”

  “You’re worth it.”

  He’s quiet. “Do you really mean that?”

  “Can’t you tell?” I whisper.

  “I didn’t want to assume.”

  “Consider this me confirming my interest.” I bite my bottom lip. It’s a bold statement, but I want to know where I stand before I see him in person next week.

  “I ... feel the same.”

  Relief floods me. He can be hard to read.

  “You do?” I whisper.

  “Yes.”

  “What do we do next?” I lick my lips, unsure of the next step culturally speaking. Their dating etiquette is different. I know because I’ve researched it.

  “Make things official. I would like to date you, Hart.”

  Hearing the words makes my heart soar. “I want the same thing.”

  “Then it’s done.”

  I close my eyes. For the first time in years, I have a man to call my own. A stupidly attractive, sweet, thoughtful man who makes my lady parts tingle.

  “You’re mine now.” The possessive tone in his voice makes me shiver. I like this side of him.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Next week, we’ll go on a real date.”