by Dahlia Adler
“And that’s good, because it’s where you’ll be going next semester,” my mother says flatly. “The time has come for this hobby to end. You’re eighteen now, and you cannot keep pushing off the future.”
“I’m not pushing off anything! This is my future!” My mother’s frown lines tighten at my outburst, and I force a deep breath to help me rein in my rage. Yelling has never gotten anywhere with my parents, and I know it won’t now either. “Mom. Dad. I have a job, and it pays well, and I’m good at it. If I were a doctor—”
My mother snorts, and I wince. God, it’s amazing how much disappointment I can see on both their faces right now. And even more amazing how quickly it drains the fight out of me.
“You can’t even imagine how many people dream of being me,” I tell them, quieter now. “Why can’t you understand that? Why can’t you understand that what I’m doing is important? Even if you don’t think my show is, the fact that I’m doing it is amazing. The fact that a Korean-American actress has a starring role on a primetime network show is amazing. How can that not mean anything to you? It means everything to me.”
Tears stream down my face, but they’re not moved at all; they never have been. Even when they allowed me to audition, it wasn’t with any hope or pride; at best, they saw it as a potential résumé-builder, maybe something to improve my confidence and public speaking. My mother didn’t even watch me try out; she brought a crossword puzzle.
“It’s a television show,” my father says, still quiet, still stony. “Do not make it more than it is.”
I couldn’t possibly, I think, but I already know he doesn’t understand. Neither of them do. And it breaks my heart. Because I do love it more than anything. I love it enough that I chose it over the first person I’ve ever had real, strong feelings for. If the fact that I passed on being with Bri for this life doesn’t convey how much it matters to me, nothing will.
But of course, I can’t tell them that. Because as disappointed as they are in me right now, I can’t even imagine how much it would compound it to tell them their only daughter is not going to marry a nice Korean boy. Is probably not going to marry a boy at all.
“You can’t make me stop,” I say, forcing my voice above the whisper it desperately wants to be. “You can’t. I have a contract.”
“Your uncle is looking into that,” my mother says proudly, as if her brother, a real estate lawyer, knows anything about entertainment contracts. I bite my tongue, though, because the only thing my parents hate more than yelling is sarcasm.
“It doesn’t matter.” I try to keep my voice respectful, but I know there’s no way I’m caving on this. Especially not after what I’ve just given up. “I’m not going to quit. This is my life now. I wish you would respect it, and I understand that you don’t. But I’m not quitting. And I’m not going to UCLA next semester.”
“Then you are not living in this house.” My father’s voice is firm. “If you insist on keeping this job and this lifestyle, you’re not doing it under our roof. You think you’re an adult, earning your own money? Use that money to buy yourself a respectable apartment.”
I should’ve known that was coming. In a sense, I think I did. And looking back on my conversations with Ally, I think she knew it, too. So there’s nothing to do but nod and stand. “I will.”
I think the steadiness in my voice surprises all of us, but for the first time in forever, I have no shred of doubt about the decision I’m making. They’re the only two words I can manage to get out, though; if I try any others, I’ll crack. So instead, I turn, walk up the stairs, and pull up the e-mail Ally sent me months ago with listings for brokers.
I’ve been ignoring it forever because it’s so freaking overwhelming, but all it takes is closing my eyes and imagining the anger in my father’s eyes to force me to push through. For I don’t even know how long, I make myself look at listings and e-mail to set up appointments. Eventually, my exhaustion—physical and emotional—catches up with me, and I pass out right on my keyboard.
When I wake up, it’s to the sound of a familiar, grating voice coming from my doorway and saying, “Rise and shine, K-drama.”
I pick my head up slowly and wipe the sleep from my eyes and the drool from my keyboard. Seeing Josh Chester in my bedroom at my house—my parents’ house—does not compute. “What are you doing here? My parents are gonna kill you. After they kill me.”
“Oh, I’ve already been through the Park family wringer. They told me to make sure you’re packing. After yelling at me for ten minutes.”
Oof, well that’s embarrassing. And yet I’m sort of sorry I missed it. “And you stood through that? Why?”
“Because I needed to talk to you, and it couldn’t wait. But what the hell is going on here?”
“Oh, nothing big. Just my parents trying to get me to quit acting and then kicking me out because I won’t.” The words sound so crazy coming out of my mouth, I’d laugh if I didn’t feel so much like crying. “And what’s up with you?”
He scratches the back of his neck, looking sort of…nervous? If that’s a thing Josh Chester ever gets, anyway. He closes my bedroom door and takes a seat on my princess bed, shoving one of the canopy ties out of his face. “This is weird, and I don’t know how to say this kinda shit, so I’m just gonna say it, okay?”
Suddenly, I’m wide awake. I have no idea what he’s about to say, but he’s nervously picking at a nail and refusing to meet my eyes and I feel like I have no idea who I’m looking at right now.
And it’s strangely comforting to see someone who looks just as screwed up inside as I feel.
“Go for it.”
He takes a deep breath…and then mutters something I can’t even hear. So much for a grand announcement. But for a second, the tiniest part of me wonders if—maybe even hopes—he’s having the same kind of internal struggle that I am. I mean, Josh is one of the most notorious ladies’ men in Hollywood, but hey, most people think I was with Liam, and Zander, and am now hooking up with Josh, so.
I don’t even realize he thinks I did hear until he looks up at me with red cheeks, obviously awaiting a response, and I have to admit that I didn’t.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re just doing this to torture me, aren’t you.”
“For once, no. I really didn’t hear you.”
This seems to chill out his anxiety, and this time, he just says it. “I said I think I might be…into you. Which is weird, I know. And trust me, I wish I wasn’t. But I’m feeling weird about a whole lot of shit right now, and I just needed to know if you felt the same. At all. Or something.”
I’m so floored by his admission, I have no words. Zero. Which is awful, because he’s just sitting there, waiting, and nothing’s coming.
And then, I do the worst thing humanly possible.
I laugh.
It’s terrible, and I clap my hand over my mouth the second it comes out, but all I can think is that of all times for a guy to actually like me—like; not date me because of a publicity plan, or to get a purity pledge ring on my finger, or fantasize about dating me just because I’m famous and they have some absurd image of what that’ll be like—it has to be when my head and heart have finally realized I don’t want a guy at all.
When I pull my hand away to apologize, though, the laughter just comes out again, and I have to clap it back.
“Wow,” says Josh, a dark-red flush creeping up his neck, “tell me how you really feel.”
That finally gets me to stop. “I’m sorry,” I say, hoping it’s clear I mean it. “It’s just…your timing…” I shake my head. “There’s just some weird stuff going on now, and I didn’t expect that. I’m sorry.”
To my surprise, the corners of his lips tug up in a know-it-all little smirk. “You really do like her, don’t you?”
My entire body goes cold. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t freak out, okay? But I saw you, uh, with Mini-Ja—um, with Brianna. I wasn’t sure if that was a one-time kiss thing
or—”
“Shh!” Before I know it, I’m jumping out of my desk chair and clapping my hand over his mouth. “Josh, please. You can’t tell anyone about that ever, okay? If my parents heard you say that—”
He pries my fingers off his face. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he says, keeping his voice low. “It was more than a one-time thing, huh?”
I swallow hard and nod.
“You like her?”
I nod again, feeling the lump in my throat grow.
“And it’s pretty clear that’s mutual.”
I nod again.
“But…” He spreads out his hands, as if the fact that that hasn’t translated into us being together right now is incomprehensible.
“But she’s a girl,” I whisper. “And so am I.”
“So you’re a lesbian, K-drama, not an axe murderer. Why do you say that like it’s the most horrible confession on earth?”
“Because it may as well be, and you know it!” My voice heightens a little as I blurt that out, and I drop it back down to a whisper. “I have enough stacked against me as an actress, and enough stacked against me with my parents, too. I can’t add this on top of everything else. I’d never work again—”
“Come on, that’s not true. We’ve seen plenty of actors come out and continue to get work.”
“Oh, please—they almost never get as much as they did before. And when they do, it’s always some white guy or girl who already has so many acting credits that no one gives a shit. I mean, I don’t think they’ll kick me off Daylight or anything, but what if they do? What if fans are so pissed that they revolt and I get tossed off?”
“Then they’re assholes, K-drama! What do you want me to say? Anyone who doesn’t want you to be happy with who you are is an asshole. Fuck pleasing everyone else. You only live once. Who are you gonna do it for?”
“It’s not that easy, Josh. I want to keep acting. I want my career. I want to make it here. Maybe I can say screw it and get Bri back—which at this point is a big maybe—but if I lose what I wanna do with my life, then I’ll just be unhappy in a different way. And how long would Bri even wanna be around that?”
He sighs heavily. “So, basically, no one gets what they want—not me, not you, not her, not your parents. We’re all just fucked.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true. Liam seems to be doing A-OK.”
We both laugh. “Fucking Holloway,” Josh says, but there isn’t any anger behind it; I take that to mean that at least things between them are better now. “Well, I really hope you figure things out.” He flicks one of the ribbons tying my canopy to a post. “She seems like a cool girl, especially considering what a train wreck she could’ve been, with those genes. And it’s nice to see you happy.”
I lean over and peck him on the cheek. “Thanks, Josh. That’s really sweet. Especially considering…” I gesture between us.
He laughs. “Yeah, well, I had a feeling what your answer was gonna be, but I’m making some changes and I just didn’t want to leave any loose ends.” He braces his palms on his thighs and stands. “And on that note, I should head out and let you finish dealing with this crap.” He glances at my computer screen. “Hell, I should probably go do the same thing. But until then…” He pulls a keyring from his pocket, jiggles a single key from it, and presses it into my hand. “The guest house. Don’t know how much longer I’ll have it, but it’s yours while I do. Not like anyone else really uses it, anyway.”
“Josh—”
“It’s a temporary solution, but it’s something,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll see you around, K-drama.”
“Thank you.”
He nods and walks out, leaving me staring down at the imprint of the jagged metal in my hand and wondering when Josh Chester became the on-site best friend substitute I’d been looking for.
I don’t end up using the key. It just feels wrong, now that I know Josh’s feelings and he knows mine. I do, however, find a place that week—a temporary thing, while I look for something that feels a little more like home—and move in the next. It’s exhausting, doing it all around filming the show, and obviously my parents don’t help, but it’s got some basic furniture and Carly and Jamal help me bring over some clothing and pictures and stuff.
At least it’s something to focus on while the press analyzes my life. I’ve made as many statements as possible that Josh and I are just friends and that Zander and I are on very different schedules with all that’s going on in our careers and blah blah blah, but I have no idea if it’s helping.
The one thing I have done is break things off with Zander behind the scenes. It’s glaringly obvious that “relationship” was never going anywhere, and while there’s plenty I’m confused about right now, my feelings for him aren’t in that category. Nor are my feelings on that purity pledge. I wish I could say I did it the mature way I’d originally planned to, with an in-depth conversation to discuss our feelings and goals and whatever, but the truth is, I sent a lame-ass I can’t date you anymore text and then deleted every one of his responses. The only reason Jade hasn’t ripped me a new one yet is because I haven’t told her, and I’m guessing Zander hasn’t either. Like, he thinks I’m just on my period and will come to my senses eventually or something.
No, seriously. He actually said that. In a text.
Meanwhile, I haven’t spoken to Bri since that day at Josh’s house. I’d desperately hoped some time apart would help me forget about her, but if anything, it’s only made getting my own place even lonelier.
By Thursday of that week, I’m feeling lower than low. I’m off, but the thought of leaving the house, even for a spa day or something, fills me with anxiety. Plus, I’m feeling a little gross and sluglike, especially after non-stop takeout. Finally, the idea of going to yoga pops into my head. I haven’t been in weeks, and I could definitely use a night of losing myself to meditation.
I check the time on my phone. If I change and head out right now, I should be able to make the five o’clock session. I usually prefer to go at night, when it’s cooler outside and traffic is less crazy, but if I don’t get out of my house soon, I’ll go nuts. Plus, at this hour, at least I’m guaranteed Bri won’t be there.
The simple act of changing into my yoga clothes makes me feel better already, and when I get to the studio, I know I’ve made the right choice. This is exactly what I need right now, for both my mind and body. This is perfect. This is—
A huge mistake. Because the first person I see when I walk inside is none other than Bri. And she’s talking to a tall, athletic-looking blonde I know is her ex-girlfriend within two seconds of seeing them interact. The blonde flicks Bri’s ponytail in a way that makes it clear she’s done it a million times before, and Bri laughs. God, I’ve missed the sound of that laugh.
I so badly want to run, but too many people have already spotted me, and they’re already whispering. I can only imagine how much worse it would be if I left. Then Raoul calls everyone to attention, and everyone, including Bri and her Amazonian ex, get into place; I have no choice but to do the same.
He gives me a little smile and nod of recognition, and that’s when Bri looks up into the mirror and spots me. The smile on her face drops, but she doesn’t look away—not immediately, at least. I try to smile at her, but my lips won’t curve, and eventually we both give up the half-ass effort and begin our deep breathing.
It’s too late, though. Now that I’ve seen her, I can’t clear my head. I can’t think of anything else. All I can do is move into position after position while sneaking looks at her in the mirror. She never catches my eye, though; unlike me, she’s focused. Peaceful.
Her ex, though…she seems to be doing the same thing I am. I can’t help wondering why they broke up and just how permanent it is. It hadn’t occurred to me that Bri might be here to reunite with her, that she could be over everything that happened with us so quickly, but really, what reason did I give her to do otherwise? Why shouldn’t she find happiness with someone who can
give it to her?
And if I won’t, why does the idea of seeing her with someone else make me feel like there’s a tornado swirling around my insides?
God, watching her hurts. I try to stop, and I can’t. I can’t pull my eyes from the drop of sweat rolling over her tattoo and down the back of her blue Radiohead tee. I can’t not follow her graceful limbs shifting from pose to pose. Even when I close my eyes, I see her behind my lids.
Like I said to Josh, I know choosing her is just choosing one happiness over another. But when I’m with her—laughing, talking, kissing, dancing, even just swirling our hands in the sand on the beach—I never feel like I need anything else in the world. If acting’s just as fulfilling, why is there such a huge hole in my heart at the sight of her?
Class is over before I know it, and as I chug my water, I watch the blonde turn to Bri. She says something to her and gives her a hug, and I hold my breath as I think, Please don’t leave together. Please don’t leave together. The blonde walks out herself, thankfully, and I release a sigh as soon as she’s gone.
But my relief is short-lived when I see that Bri’s just about ready to leave, too. And I know then that watching her walk out the door without a word will kill me. Even though I shouldn’t, I say, “Bri, wait. Please.”
She does, but she looks pretty pissed about it. We’re both silent as everyone else files out, and only when we’re alone does she speak.
“What are you even doing here?” she asks, her voice taking on an edge she’s never used with me.
“I didn’t think you’d be here,” I admit. “I needed to do some yoga to clear my head, and I’m off today, and I know you don’t usually come to the five o’clock because…” I flip a hand toward the door. “So, um, does that mean you and she are, um…” I can’t even say it, but I know she knows what I mean.
“Vanessa, we really shouldn’t be talking about this.”