High Hopes

by Jaclyn Jhin

  “Hello, Mr. Anderson,” Sophia said with a deferential smile.

  I blinked. She knows him?

  “Hi Sophia, good to see you.” He nodded to her, then smiled at me. “Ready?”

  Sophia’s mouth gaped open. She looked at Ian. Then looked at me. Then back at Ian. She was putting two and two together and couldn’t believe they were making four. Composing herself, she grabbed a take-out menu from the display and handed it to me. “Memorize this. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I detected something different in her face. What was it? Jealousy? Respect? I didn’t want to do anything stupid that might upset her, especially after she just said she had no problem firing me. “I’ll try to be more on my game tomorrow, Sophia.”

  She nodded, then Ian took my hand and led us out of the restaurant. I couldn’t help but smirk inwardly when I saw Sophia’s incredulous expression through the restaurant window.

  “You saved me.” I wrapped my jacket closer around my waist and then got in the car’s passenger side.

  “Oh, good.” He warmed up the car, putting his hands in front of the heater. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I could see my breath, but already the vents were blasting hot air.

  He shifted into drive, and we pulled into traffic. “I have a surprise.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “We’re going ice skating.”

  This was not the kind of surprise I had been hoping for. Although I loved to watch figure skating competitions on TV, growing up in L.A., I had never seen a real ice rink in my entire life. Sure, had I loved watching pair skating in the Winter Olympics—the couples were like ballet dancers on ice—but the physical skill necessary to execute those amazing jumps, spins, and leaps seemed, to me, virtually super-human. I figured I had as much chance of being an ice skater as I did playing professional basketball.

  I started to shiver as soon as we entered the ice rink. I wasn’t sure if this was because it was cold or because I was terrified I was going to embarrass myself.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it,” Ian promised. As I sat on a hard wooden bench, he slipped the skates he had brought for me onto my feet like Prince Charming fitting Cinderella with her glass slippers, then looped their laces around my ankles for extra support. Then we both put on black gloves, and I squeezed his hand in a death grip as we approached the rink.

  Ian opened the door as I waddled to the edge, feeling uncertain on my feet. It felt weird walking in skates—like stumbling around in the most precarious high heels you ever wore. And if you made one wrong false move, you’d land flat on your butt.

  Once on the rink, the biting air cut right through me, making my fingers stiffen in Ian’s grip. Passing through the swing gate, I hesitantly put my skates on the ice, fearful my legs might give out on me at any second. I clung to the metal railing. Be positive. Concentrate. Remember what B.B. would say, “Believe in yourself.”

  Ian tried to suppress a smile. “You’re doing fantastic.”

  I glared up at him in mock anger. “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

  “Sarcasm? Me?” He laughed, gliding past with ease. The adorable show off had the gall to skate backwards toward me.

  I looked around. Everyone our age made it look easy, circling around with their friends or dates. The only people on the railing were seven or eight year olds and their parents, and they already looked more confident than me.

  After trudging a couple laps looking like I had a hernia problem, I finally ventured a few feet from the rail. When I began wobbling, Ian put his arm around my waist.

  “Thanks.”

  He scooted us out a little further, leaned down, and drew me in for a kiss. We could’ve been in the middle of Madison Square Garden or in the middle of a cornfield in Iowa, I didn’t care. I pulled at his jacket, hungry for another kiss, for the first time not caring if I slipped and fell. It would’ve been worth the bruised knees.

  After I lost the feeling in my feet and Ian reminded me it had only been 30 minutes, we sat outside the rink. I yanked my skates off, almost taking Ian out with a blade to the face.

  He ducked, taking them from me. “How about I return these?”

  I covered my mouth, laughing. “Okay.”

  I looked around as I sat back on the bench. Ice shavings sprinkled the blue carpet beneath my socks. A few feet away, middle schoolers crowded around an air hockey machine, shouting at each other as Mariah Carey sang in the background. Past the ice rink, passing headlight beams from nearby cars lit up the cloudy night.

  Ian approached the rental stand with our skates. It was interesting to watch him, unobserved. He walked with such relaxed confidence. Not exactly a swagger, but you could tell he felt comfortable with himself. After dropping off his skates to a teenage girl with spiky orange hair, he walked over to the café. When I saw him get in line, I shook my head, but he didn’t notice. He was always getting us something—spoiling me.

  He returned with two hot chocolates steaming from Styrofoam cups. He let me stretch out my sore feet on his lap and put his hand on mine.

  “They’re already preparing.” Ian pointed to a half-decorated Christmas tree. String lights were wrapped around fakes leaves, but they hadn’t been turned on. “We haven’t even had Thanksgiving yet. Can’t they let us celebrate one holiday at a time?”

  “Yeah. Always a good time for hot chocolate, though. Thank you, by the way.” Sometimes he gave me so much stuff I forgot to say thank you.

  “After I dragged you here, I thought I could at least defrost you.”

  “You never drag me anywhere.”

  He put his fingers around his cup. “So ... speaking of dragging you places and Thanksgiving, do you have any plans for Turkey Day?”

  Ugh. This answer would inevitably involve money. I didn’t want him to think he had to help me pay for anything more than he already had. I took a long sip. “I need to talk to Sophia about picking up some shifts so I can fly home and see my grandma.” If she still even wants to see me.

  “Oh. Are your parents out of the country or something?”

  I took my feet back from Ian, glancing at two pre-teen boys disputing an air hockey goal. One of them threw the puck at the other and missed.

  “Actually, my mom and dad passed away when I was 15.”

  I could feel Ian staring, but I didn’t dare look in his eyes. For some reason, I felt bad, like sharing this information would be too much for the moment.

  “Kelly, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have ... you didn’t say anything.”

  “I know.”

  We both sat in silence for a moment. I stared at my black socks, thankful he didn’t say anything—that he wasn’t trying to fill the silence, because the silence wasn’t awkward. For the first time, I actually wanted to tell someone about what had happened.

  Faint 90s music played in the background. I guessed it was the Backstreet Boys. In the rink, they turned on the strobe lights. Kids raced each other, and a couple who skated well enough to be professionals did intricate figure eights under the glowing neon green and yellow.

  I tightened my grip on the bench. “I remember the day they died,” I said, unsure how the words would feel on my tongue. Ian put his cup down beside him and leaned his elbows on the knees, listening. I was grateful he wasn’t looking at me. “I was in biology class. I got called into the principal’s office and remember being worried and confused because I’d never been in trouble before. When I got there, I realized something was really, really wrong. I thought maybe something had happened to Halmuni. But then the principal said, ‘I don’t know how to tell you this. Someone burglarized your mother’s store. Your father was visiting. They were both shot. Paramedics came, but there was nothing they could do. I’m sorry.’”

  I stayed quiet for a few moments. When I looked up, I saw Ian slowly shaking his hand, staring at the floor.

  “I can’t imagine,” he finally said.

  “I feel like you can, though.”

  “I don’
t know. And you were so young.”

  “But Halmuni and I are ... close.” I didn’t know whether to make the “are” a “were.”

  “That’s good.” Ian came closer, putting his arm around me. I quickly melted into his chest. Whenever I laid there, I forgot about everything else. “I wish I could thank them,” Ian said with gentleness in his voice.

  “Who? My parents?”

  “Yeah. For you.” He pulled me even closer.

  Some of the kids from inside the rink poured out, almost falling as they adjusted to walking on carpet. They went over to the café and begged their parents for hot chocolate. An exhausted-looking dad pulled a crumpled $5 from his wallet and gave it to his badgering son.

  “My father was never really around because of work,” Ian said slowly. “When he was, he was always super stressed and yelled at me all the time. I was closer to my grandfather, Jack. He was kinder. Calmer.”

  “Jack. I like that name.”

  “You, too? I always thought if I had a son, I’d want to call him Jack. After him.”

  We both turned our heads so we were facing each other. “So, my mom is actually inviting some guests to our house for Thanksgiving. Would you want to come? Then you could fly back to L.A. for Christmas.”

  I leaned back on the bench. “I don’t know.”

  “Trust me, you’ll be fine. It’s just canapés, cocktails, and dinner.”

  “Canapes?”

  “Like hors d’œuvres. And everyone will be nice to you because you’ll be with me.” He smiled, but it didn’t make me feel much better.

  “What about your mom? I don’t want to intrude.”

  “She’ll be fine. I’ve brought friends over before. Although ... this will be the first time I’m bringing my girlfriend.”

  I almost spit up the hot chocolate in my mouth. “Your girlfriend?”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  “No, no. I mean, yes. Sorry. I was just surprised.” I laced my fingers back in his. “I like that.”

  He relaxed. “So ... does that mean you’ll come?”

  “Only if you promise to stay with me the whole time.”

  He held out his pinky finger. “Promise.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Maybe if I stood in front of my closet long enough, new clothes would magically appear. Or maybe I could find a secret portal in the doorway, one that would transport me to an alternate reality where I could actually afford designer brand clothing. Unfortunately, neither occurred, so I paced my dorm room, fiddling with a hanger as I tried to decide what I could possibly wear to meet Ian’s mother.

  I thought I felt okay about my limited wardrobe until Ian invited me to Thanksgiving in Connecticut. Today, we were scheduled to drive out to meet his family, and I desperately wanted to look like one of those women on the rooftop of Merci, Amour. Like I belonged. But browsing through my collection of worn jeans, hoodies, and a couple of dresses from Topshop, I realized this would be a challenge worthy of Hercules.

  Buzz. Buzz. My phone almost fell off the nightstand from the vibrations. I reached over my “no” pile of denim and plaid shirts and picked it up. Melissa’s contact photo popped up, the one she secretly took when I wasn’t paying attention. All I could see was her purposely widened eyes and the corners of a facetiously large smile. I slid the bar over and put the phone to my ear.

  “I forgot about Waldo.”

  I looked over to her nightstand, recently adorned with a small, round fishbowl. An orange-and-white clownfish looking just like Pixar’s Nemo swam to the gravel bottom beside a little castle. This fish was a gift from a boy in her study group, intended to make a romantic impression but now just represented unwanted responsibility. Poor guy, I thought. There was no way she would ever date that boy now.

  “I’m looking right at him.”

  “No, not forgot him, forgot about him.”

  I circled my finger on the glass edge, waving hello. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him die.”

  “But I forgot to feed him before I left yesterday. Can you do it? His food’s in the drawer of my nightstand.”

  “Sure.” I shook out the container, watching as Waldo eagerly swam to the surface to nibble up the sparkly granules. “Okay, done. He looks happier already.”

  “Phew. Thank you. So how’s the dorm? Is it a ghost town? You miss me already?”

  “Yeah, but I, um, actually better go.”

  There was a pause, then she squealed into the phone. “Oh yeah! You’re going to Connecticut today. The big family reunion. You nervous? Don’t worry. I mean, his mom’s gonna love you.”

  “I’m not nervous,” I lied.

  “Let me guess. You’re stressing about what to wear?”

  I put down the hanger, sinking into bed.

  “Maybe a little ...”

  “Well, don’t be. You have two closets to choose from.”

  I looked over at Melissa’s side, brimming with possibilities. “That’s okay, I already wore some of your stuff already. I don’t want you to think—”

  “Girl, I don’t care. Try some of my stuff on and take selfies. Send ‘em to me. I’ll tell you what’s best.”

  “Really?”

  “Seriously. Do it. I’m about ready to lose my mind watching my little brother play video games. It would give me something to do. Anything to do.”

  “Uh. Okay.” I did as told, changing into Melissa’s dresses, blazers, and skirts, sending her pictures of each option. I hated taking photos of myself in the mirror. I felt like one of those middle school girls who got an Instagram account way too early. I tried picturing this holiday get-together as a job interview instead. I had to be prepared—and look the part. Melissa, of course, played a role too: the highly opinionated style coach. After I sent her a photo, she would immediately text back her feedback.

  “No!”

  “Yes X1.”

  “Yes X2.”

  “8.5.”

  I became more and more confused by her complex rating system.

  “No. I don’t even know why I have that.”

  “72 percent.”

  “4X10.”

  “OMG! YESS! THAT ONE!”

  I smiled, put down my phone, and looked back in the mirror. I wore a black skirt with a white blouse and one of her grey jackets. My phone buzzed again. Melissa’s slightly terrifying face covered the screen.

  “That’s it. With the Alice + Olivia jacket, you’ll fit right in.”

  I breathed relief. “Thanks. You solved, well, one of my problems.”

  “You’re freaked about his mom. I’ve read up on her. Seems like a bitch if you ask me.”

  Then how did she end up with such a nice son?

  “Look. Even if she turns out to be a heinous bitch, you gotta be super positive. People like positive people, you know? Play up your whole Columbia thing if she gets all snooty. How you got a major scholarship to the same elite place her son goes. Or how much you love it here, with your AWESOME roommate, that kind of stuff.”

  “Well, I mean, I’m nervous to meet her, but there’s a bigger problem.”

  She paused. “What? You allergic to turkey?”

  I put my hand to my forehead and resumed pacing. “I’m spending the night there.” I didn’t know why I was whispering. I turned away from Waldo as if he could hear me.

  “Oh. My. God. K. I get it now. It’s going to be fine. Remember where you just got the fish food? In the back, I have this travel-sized bottle of lube, a few condoms. Just don’t use the Crown brand. Those suck. They were free from the health center but—”

  “Melissa! Please. Stop.”

  “Sorry, I just want you to be prepared. I mean, you are spending the night.”

  “But that could mean anything.” I left my hand frozen on the drawer handle. “Right?”

  “Sure.” She elongated the word to two syllables.

  I wasn’t convinced. Taking the mismatched clothes from my bed, I scooping them up, placing them on hangers. “And this is his f
amily’s house. That’d be weird, right? If anything did happen?”

  “Only if the walls are thin.”

  “Okay, I’m going. Bye.” I started to hang up.

  “Wait! It’s going to be fine. Just ... maybe don’t pack the pajamas you usually wear. You know, the ones with the penguins on them?”

  Goodbye, Melissa.” I tossed the phone my bed, then looked at my duffel bag on the floor, so far packed with a Ziploc bag containing my toothbrush, toothpaste, and my blue, penguin-themed pajama pants. I looked back at Waldo, then at Melissa’s nightstand drawer, then back at the bag. I took out the pajamas and threw them back in the closet.

  * * *

  “Kelly, you look amazing.”

  Ian and I had met outside the entrance of the dorm halls. I held my duffel bag in my right hand and brushed out Melissa’s skirt, sending her a silent prayer of gratitude.

  As usual, my handsome boyfriend (it still felt weird to call him that) looked like he stepped out a page from an Abercrombie catalog, though slightly more dressed up in his tan slacks and dress shoes. “Ready?”

  I exhaled. Was I? “Uh-huh.”

  He tossed my bag in his trunk, while I cozied up in the front seat. I was more comfortable in his car now and immediately plugged in his iPod to the aux cord so we could start my Road Trip playlist I had created especially for our ride. We sang along to Bruno Mars’ Versace On The Floor while flying down half-empty streets, heading out of the city. A few minutes in, he lowered the volume and turned to me. “Sorry, gotta go to the bathroom, and we’re right by my apartment anyway. You mind?”

  “Sure.” I hadn’t actually been in Ian’s apartment yet. We always went out places or came back to my dorm, and I would never be so forward as to invite myself over.

  Ian’s apartment building was not what I expected. It looked—well, normal. Nothing outrageously opulent or over-the-top like you might expect from a guy whose family could officially be counted in the 0.1 percent. We pulled into an underground garage beside the three-story brownstone he pointed out as his. Street level, the block teemed with other similar early 20th century buildings, all painted a honey graham cracker hue with wrought-iron staircases leading up to double doors.