by Jaclyn Jhin
Also, Melissa came over yesterday. (Had to remind her again that Kevin and Roy were taken, LOL.) By the way, they say hi. I hoped they would be able to get through to your mom, but she’s not answering their calls, either. I really hope you know we’re all trying.
Anyway, Melissa came over, and I lost it in front of her. She was trying to cheer me up, making fun of the boyish stuff in your room, but it’s all too hard. She stayed with me for a while, hugging me on the bed, but all I could think about was the comfort of your arms. You always knew exactly what to say.
And I love Melissa. She’s a good friend. She even promised to be there at the hospital when Jack is born (I think I told you this in my last email—we are having a boy!!!). But right now, the baby and I need you.
Ugh. Here I go, crying again. This isn’t right. You’re supposed to be here. I know in my heart that we are meant to be together, and you are meant to be the father of this child. Please, please, please, just reply. Anything! My thoughts go back and forth from you being completely gone (I seriously check the news every day), to you trapped in your mom’s basement somewhere, to you really meaning that you don’t want to be together anymore. But I have a hard time believing any of those. We were happy. I don’t understand. Please help me understand.
Love you. Always.
* * *
To: Ian Anderson
From: Kelly Hopkins
Subject: I’m Leaving NY; Please Reply
April 28, 1:37pm
I’m packing my bags. It’s been two months since I’ve heard from you, two more months of Jack growing bigger and bigger. I can’t concentrate in school. I owe Kevin and Roy $1,600 for rent. BTW, I refuse to use the 50K that you wired me because I am not getting rid of the baby. They’ve been nice to cover me, but I can’t keep doing that to them. B.B. said he’d let me live with him, so I’m heading back to L.A. tonight. I’m not going to tell Melissa. I can’t handle her reaction.
I walked around Columbia one last time today. Everywhere I went reminded me of you. I kept looking around like I might suddenly see you. How dumb is that?
These past few months I kept hoping you would come back and everything will return to normal, but now I realize that will never happen. You are not here. You will not be back. Everything in New York makes me think of you. Anything and everything. I can’t stay in your room, can’t stay with your friends, can’t even see my own friends because they ask about you.
I can’t afford tuition anymore, even with my scholarship. And there’s no way I can still go to Columbia and try to be a lawyer while raising a kid alone. When you’re ready to talk, I will be here. But otherwise I need to try to accept the fact that you are completely done with me. So, that means I need to move across the country and try to build a life on my own again.
You can send me back a blank email. Anything. Something so I know that you got this and that you know where your fiancé and son are.
* * *
To: Kelly Hopkins
From: Ian Anderson
Subject: Please Stop Emailing Me
May 1, 4:05pm
Please, do yourself a favor and stop contacting me. I just want to be alone. I think we rushed into the engagement without thinking things through. Please use the $50,000. I told you to abort the baby and now it is too late. At least consider putting him up for adoption. I won’t be the father of this child. I want to start anew and I can’t if you keep him. I hope you are not doing this in order for me to pay you child support. Then you will become exactly what my mother said you were, which is a gold digger. Perhaps she was right? If you have the child, it will be an embarrassment for both of us. It will tarnish my family’s reputation and yours. So please do the right thing. Start your future without me. And for both of our sakes, please do not contact me ever again.
* * *
To: Ian Anderson
From: Kelly Hopkins
Subject: Re: Please Stop Emailing Me
May 1, 4:25pm
I have no idea what to say. For months, I have emailed you and tried to call you with no response and finally you reply with this ridiculous message. I can barely see the screen right now I’m crying so hard. Never in a million years would I get rid of our child. And I don’t want your filthy money. So don’t worry, I will not be asking you for child support. I will make sure that Jack doesn’t even know who his father is.
All I wanted was to be a lawyer. To be independent. Have a beautiful child together, as a family. You took that away from me. I thought you were different. I loved you. But you disgust me even more than your mother. I should have ended it when I went back to L.A. for my grandmother’s funeral, but you begged me to take you back. You swore you would always be there for me. How can you be such a liar?
How could I have been so wrong?
* * *
To: Ian Anderson
From: Kelly Hopkins
Subject: Update
June 8, 2:34pm
I don’t know why I’m updating you. Why do I feel the need to? Why do I still miss you so badly? Why do I still think about you? Maybe it’s more for me. A way to write things down, a way to pretend you’re still listening. Even if you delete this account, I don’t care, I just need to pretend for a minute that the Ian I knew still exists somewhere. Because he would care.
Sometimes, when B.B. is feeling bad for me, he takes me out to lunch at Halmuni’s favorite place. Everyone can tell I’m pregnant now and you should hear what these people say in Korean about me. They think they’re whispering. Look at that girl. So heavy. So fat. I heard she’s having a baby on her own. A disgrace. I’m surprised her friend even still associates with her. I’m a freak show to them. Sometimes I am to myself, too.
I had another doctor’s visit today. Jack is healthy. Kicking a lot. I started crying in front of a nurse while I was on the chair after the ultrasound. I was embarrassed even though I’m pretty sure every nurse at that hospital has seen me cry by now. It’s not easy carrying a child by yourself—trying to grab things when you feel like you can barely move; when you’re crying in pain and no one knows; when the doctors and staff ask you where your husband is. They’ve tried to walk me through the delivery process a few times, but I couldn’t handle it. It seems too scary to deal with on my own.
“Do you know who’s going to drive you home?” they ask. “Do you want to take this info home to your partner?”
Every time I have to say no. I have to explain it’s just me.
Imagining these moments used to make me so happy: you smiling at the ultrasound pictures, nodding over the brochures, calming me down at the end of the day. You would’ve been the perfect coach, the perfect hand to squeeze.
Jack wakes me up in the middle of the night a lot with his kicking. Reminding me he’s there and he’s coming. Whether I’m ready or not. I watch Halmuni’s favorite Korean dramas to try not to feel so alone. To try to think about her and not you. To try to forget what it ever felt like to touch your hand. Remembering is too painful.
* * *
To: Ian Anderson
From: Kelly Hopkins
Subject: Update 2
July 20, 8:09pm
I had my 22nd birthday on July 16, and you weren’t there to celebrate it with me. How different things can be after only one year. Do you remember last year when you came back from work and you brought all my favorite Korean food and a bottle of wine to celebrate I’d reached the legal drinking age? We were so happy then. I still can’t understand what’s happened to us.
I also can’t believe my due date is in a few weeks. I cry every day. I have no idea what to do. B.B. can only help me out so much financially. I’m going to use the 50K you wired me. I haven’t yet because I’ve been hoping this is some sort of bad dream. But I need the money now. It’s not for me,
it’s for Jack. That’s what I keep telling myself. Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for child support. Your mom always thought I was after your money, so that the last thing I want to do because then she will think she was always right. But you know that isn’t the truth. Right, Ian? But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.
I was going to pawn the engagement ring, too. I was standing outside the pawn shop, ready to get rid of it forever. Get rid of you. But I couldn’t. I guess a tiny part of me still hopes you’ll show up at my door like you showed up at Halmuni’s funeral and smile that mischievous little grin and tell me it’s okay. Giving away the ring would be like finally giving up all hope for you. And I’m still not ready—don’t know when I’ll ever be ready—to do that.
Part of me still just doesn’t know what happened. It’s like falling off the swing set when you’re a kid. One minute you’re up in the air and the next you’re eating wood chips. You don’t remember the space in between. One minute you were kissing me on top of the head, determined to get me something to eat, then the next you disappeared forever.
I still love you, but I guess you don’t.
I wish I didn’t.
* * *
To: Ian Anderson
From: Kelly Hopkins
Subject: Welcomed Jack Hopkins into The World Today
August 4, 6:30am
Ian,
Our son was born today. I couldn’t get a hold of B.B., so my Uber driver had to deal with my screaming. I know I told you I was going to try to have a natural birth, but they’re right; you ask for all the drugs in the world once the contractions get closer together. The nurses and doctors were amazing, trying to make up for the heavy absence in the room. After about eight hours of pain I thought would never end, Jack made his way into the world. He was born at 5:05 am at 19 inches, 7lbs, 8oz. He is absolutely beautiful. I never thought I could love something this much. Looking at his eyes (blue!!) with black hair.
This is the last email that I will send you. Since you haven’t replied, I will just assume you really didn’t love me and I will let you go. But I still can’t help going back to the night of the accident. Perhaps you do blame me for it. If you do, I’m sooooo sorry. I wish I could go back in time and tell you not to leave for that stupid Kimbap, or insist that you take an Uber.
B.B. has been telling me to be strong and let go. He said that you are a complete jerk and asshole and that he hopes you rot in hell. He also said that you don’t deserve me and that I will have a much better life without you. I guess he is right that I need to let you go. I have to start a new life for Jack. I have to look forward, rather than backwards. I don’t know what the future will bring and I’m scared. But like B.B. said, I have to stay positive, and he keeps reminding me about my dad telling me to have “high hopes.” I don’t even sing that song anymore. An ant can’t move a rubber tree plant, so that song is just stupid and unrealistic. Life is hard and just having high hopes doesn’t make it better. It’s best to have lower expectations. But, I have Jack now, so I will try to remain positive for him.
I loved you, Ian Anderson, with all my heart. I’m sorry that I wasn’t good enough for you and your family. I will miss you.
IAN
THREE YEARS LATER
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Ian. So good to finally meet you in person.”
Craig Harrington, a 40-something hotshot investor, shook my hand firmly. He had become a billionaire ten years earlier when his first investment, a startup tech company, went public with a big splash. I had only ever heard his voice over the phone, but it matched his large, muscular frame and sharp features.
“Likewise,” I replied.
We stood beside a table in a fancy-enough restaurant in downtown Los Angeles. I was surprised Craig hadn’t made a bigger effort to impress me. But then again, he did reserve the entire back room, so we were one of the only parties on this side of the restaurant. The empty space made the waiters in the corner more noticeable; in fact, they looked practically eager to pounce on us in hopes of getting a large tip. Julia, Craig’s wife, shook my hand. Like Craig, she was all smiles for this meeting. She wore a conservative black dress, and her hair appeared to be modeled after my mother’s. I had to hand it to Craig; he was doing his damnedest to ingratiate himself with us.
I was just turning to introduce my fiancé when she stuck out her arm. “I’m Camy,” she practically shouted. She wore a skintight orange dress, completely inappropriate for this casual dinner. But I hadn’t said anything earlier. Why bother? I knew by now not to challenge her wardrobe selections. Why is she even here again? Oh, right. My mother invited her.
“And I’m sorry again it’s been so long.” Craig sat down, motioning for us to do the same. He shook his head at himself, doing the whole self-deprecating act. “I’m the guy who calls you on Thanksgiving five years ago, interrupts family time, then disappears for a couple of years. Well, at least we’re finally getting this done.”
More disarming smiles from the Harringtons filled the pause between breaths.
“It’s just that, with my CFO calling it quits back then,” Craig continued, “we went into reorganization mode. That’s why I didn’t contact you for a while. But I can assure you, Ian, we are very much back on our feet, ready to make this deal happen. And I just want you to know...”
Craig blathered on some more, piling on platitudes and compliments about my mother, my late father, and, of course, the investment company he founded. The more he bloviated, the more I checked out.
The paper lamps bathed the private room in a warm light. We sat in the cozy glow, shadows dancing off Craig’s bushy eyebrows. I remembered to nod my head, doing my best not to let my eyes glaze over. Craig seemed nice enough, but his eagerness—bordering on desperation —made me uncomfortable. To buy our company, he would probably shine my shoes right now if I asked him to.
I stretched my right leg out to the side so I could keep it straight—the only way the dull, throbbing ache below my kneecap would abate. Noticing Craig’s lips had stopped moving, I threw in a “Sounds great.”
Honestly, I used to care. I really did. I enjoyed working a room and was good at it. It was a joy to make mental calculations, to detect which personalities I might get along with best. The volleying give-and-take of conversation was an art form I excelled at. Not only could I resuscitate dying chitchat, I helped shy people feel comfortable. I liked the challenge, to see if I could get others to have a good time. My mother always called it my “natural charm,” but I was genuinely interested in learning about others.
Plus, all those people are right about how near-death experiences force you to reevaluate your life. Ever since my accident, I had one plan of action: sell my dad’s company, take the money, and start my own law firm. Despite the excruciating physical therapy sessions I had endured and all the missed coursework, I was finally close to earning my juris doctorate. Then I could move onto my goal of creating a firm giving a voice to the voiceless. Yes, this meeting was part of that plan, extricating me from the family business, but it was also a colossal bore. All my life, I’ve done the social dance with the Craigs of the world. Summoning the will to pretend like he wasn’t a big fat phony, even to get what I wanted, well, it felt just too exhausting to attempt.
“So, how’s the leg?” Craig topped off my wine glass with Pinot Noir.
“Still doing rehab. Guess The Nutcracker will have to go on without me.”
Camy laughed, a little too hard.
“Ah, well, I’m sure with your work ethic, you’ll be running a marathon in no time,” Craig said. Julia nodded beside him.
“I’ll be alright,” I said with a grin.
Camy leaned into me, brushing her finger along my scar, which traveled from my temple to my jawline. “Too bad we can’t rehab that out.”
I smiled at Craig and Julia. Isn’t she hilarious!
Julia chuckled politely. “It makes him look tough.”
Camy squeezed my arm, her manicured fingers almost stabbing through my sports jacket. “He is my little muscle man.”
I stared off at nothing, trying to suppress the scream building in back of my throat.
“So, Ian, where’d you meet this beautiful young woman?” Julia took a piece of molasses bread and dipped it in a plate swimming with oil and balsamic vinegar.
Camy cut in. “Oh, we’ve known each other since high school. And our mothers are friends. They were always trying to set us up.” Cute as a button, Camy laid her head on my shoulder. I wanted to pick off the strands of that chemically straightened and colored blonde hair with a lint roller.
“Ah, Beverly the matchmaker.” Craig turned to his wife, still chewing her bread. “Sounds like B.B.’s mom.”
“You know someone named B.B.?” asked Camy. “Like the gun?”
“Yeah. Lawyer friend of mine. Real name’s Brian. He likes to use ‘B.B. Chu’ because he thinks people will remember his name better—like BBQ.”
“His mom’s a hoot, too,” Julia chimed in. “She’s always trying to set him up with someone new.”
“Never seems to stick, though.” Craig nodded to Camy, using the piece of bread in his hand to point at her ring finger. “Ian, looks like she will stick with you, though!” He said with a knowing wink.
Camy held up her hand, scrunching her nose. She liked to make sure no one forgot to notice the rock on her finger. “We are so excited.”
I hated when she said “we.”
Julia’s mouth went agape at the huge emerald-shaped Harry Winston monstrosity my mother had picked out.
“It was just meant to be.” Camy took my arm again.
Removing it, I took a long gulp of wine and poured another. I didn’t have to worry about saying anything; Camy would take over this part of the conversation. She always did.
“It’s easier when you know the same people,” Camy explained. “You just really understand each other.”