by Darcy Woods
“Hello? Still talking here. Wil, you guys were totally into each other. The way you moved together on the dance floor…Let’s just say I could feel the heat from across the club.”
“Which ones?” I hold up two pairs—one set is the vintage birthday earrings, the other small and simple.
She taps the dangly sapphire pair and puffs out a breath. “Honestly, I thought this chart thing might be the push you needed into the dating world. Something that would get you past this hang-up you have about being romantically cursed. But now…I don’t know. Maybe it was a mistake.”
“Mistake? You’re waaaay overreacting. And I think you worry more than Gram. Which means the earth might’ve started spinning in reverse.”
“And I don’t think you’re worrying enough. I know why you cling to this, dorogaya, I do.”
I flash a look of warning. “Let it go.”
She plows on undeterred. “Astrology won’t bring her back, Wil. Neither will living your life in perfect accordance with some ridiculous planetary chart.”
My anger flares like a struck match as I toss the extra earrings onto my dresser. “You think I don’t know that?” I bark. “My mom is gone, Iri, and how I choose to honor her is my business—mine.”
How dare she dismiss my charts and twist this completely into a mother issue! After all, I don’t bring up her mother!
“Okay,” Iri replies more calmly, “then why do you hide it from Gram? Why all the secrecy when it comes to astrology?”
“You know why.” My jaw clenches and unclenches.
Gram has strong opinions when it comes to astrology, or as she refers to it—that cosmological hooey. But hell, Gram has strong opinions about everything. And while she tolerates my occasional wearing of a star-themed T-shirt, I have an inkling every one of her atoms would split if she knew how deep my preoccupation really went.
“Wil, would you listen to…” Irina reaches for my arm and I pull away. Frustrated, she thrusts her hands to the ceiling. “You can’t force yourself to fall in love with someone! It doesn’t work that way! Love can’t be measured or quantified like stars. It’s messy and unpredictable. Hell, sometimes it’s even wrong. And sometimes wrong is right.”
I square my shoulders and fold my arms. “Really? Because wrong worked out so well for my mother? My dad abandoned her before I was born, remember?” Iri casts away my reasoning with a shake of her head, which only stokes my inner fire. “Well, what makes you the sudden authority on love? Because having your share of partners doesn’t make you any more of an expert.”
Iri’s lips part; her hand drifts to her stomach. And there’s no anger in her gray eyes, only pain. She turns her back to me and slowly tugs on her pants.
I’ve crossed a line.
Oh no. I can’t believe I just said that. I want to yank all those words back. I want to crush them, grind them, burn them, so they never hurt her again. “Iri,” I croak, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say…”
“That I’m a slut?” Her voice is small, but oh God—I am infinitely smaller. She unhooks her bra, letting the lace drop to the floor. My heart drops with it. “I know what people say when my back is turned.” She pulls on the silver tube top before turning around. “I just didn’t think you were one of them.”
“I’m not!” I place my hands on both sides of her face, forcing her gaze on me. “I’m not, Iri! I—I was…upset; I wasn’t thinking. Which is a crappy excuse for saying something so horrible and not at all true.” I brush my thumbs over her pale skin. “Listen to me; you’re the most courageous, beautiful, intelligent girl I know. And I’m honored—do you hear me—honored to have you as my best friend. Please…can you forgive me?”
Maybe I’ll never understand why Iri makes the choices she does. Maybe I’m not meant to. All I know is this: Irina Dmitriyev just…is. She transcends labels. She loves who she loves, and hates who she hates, with little that falls in the cracks between.
“Shit.” Her eyes glisten. “When you say it like that…” I wind my arms tight around her. She lets out a quiet sniffle and my heart breaks a little more. “But you’re more than my best friend, Wil. You’re my sister, too,” the indestructible girl whispers.
“Forever sisters,” I murmur. Squeezing her harder, I swallow. Which isn’t easy. My throat has shrunk to an eighth of its normal size. “Hey”—I stroke her hair—“I swear on Aquarius, I didn’t mean it. I was being a complete idiot.”
“S’okay.” We separate. “That wasn’t really about me.” Her glassy eyes search mine. “Was it?”
“No. It was about…” I struggle to pinpoint exactly what had set me off. “I guess I’m…scared. God! I was fine ten minutes ago!” I slump to my bed. “And it’s not like I’m afraid of the things I thought I’d be. The feelings, the desires I worried about? Well…they’re there.”
Irina sits beside me. “That’s great, Wil. See? I told you if you found the right gu—”
“No, it isn’t. Because yesterday I had this dream, and when I woke up, I was saying his name.” I grab a pillow to smother my flaming face as the vivid memories resurface.
“Must’ve been one helluva goodnight kiss.” She bumps my shoulder. “Careful, another one of those from Seth and you might spontaneously combust in your sleep.”
I release a frustrated groan, tossing the pillow and flopping on my back. I stare at my stucco ceiling, peaked like meringue. “Yeah, except I was saying Grant’s name. Not Seth.”
With the wind no longer in her sails, she deflates at my side. “Oh. That’s…”
“Exactly.” I push the heels of my hands to my eyes.
“Ah, ah, makeup,” she admonishes, pulling my hands down. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. People put way too much stock in dreams anyway.”
I prop up on my elbows. “Do you think I’m ridiculous?”
“Yes.” Iri pats my cheek. “Why do you think we get along so well?” We both laugh. “Hey, would you do something different with my hair tonight? I was thinking your specialty—old Hollywood glam.” She nestles on the floor at my feet. “What are those big rolls you sometimes do?”
“Victory rolls? No, those have to set overnight.” I slide my fingers through her silky platinum hair. “How about some waves? Large rolling ones like Veronica Lake?”
“Sounds fabulous. Yes, do it.” She stills my hand and peers up over her shoulder. “Everything will work out, Wil. You’ll see.”
I nod, dispelling the dark clouds of doubt. Seth will be here within the hour. Tonight will be perfect, I assure myself.
Because billions of stars cannot be wrong.
There was probably a time when the paper lanterns in Korean Seoul Restaurant didn’t have tears or a fine coat of dust. And I bet there were real plants before the silk ones came along. Even the booths are broken in like old saddles that mold to your butt.
The divide between the fancy French place and this hole-in-the-wall is as massive as the distance separating Western Europe from Asia. Am I surprised? Not really. Not when I’m supposed to expect the unexpected.
I get a whiff of the dish in front of me and wrinkle my nose. “Okay, how can I say this diplomatically?”
“Just say it,” Seth replies.
“It reeks.”
His brown eyes crinkle. “Well, yeah, it’s fermented cabbage.”
“I know. I mean, I’ve had kimchi before. I’ve just never acquired a taste for it.”
He slides over a bowl with neon-yellow slices. “Kimchi is seasoned a lot of different ways. Maybe you’ll like this one better—it’s sweeter than the others.”
“Sounds promising.” Balancing the glowing vegetable on my chopsticks, I pop it in my mouth before it has a chance to fly across the table. “Mmm, now that one’s actually decent.”
Seth cocks his head. “Actually?” he repeats with mock indignation. “Don’t you have any faith in me?”
I glance to the take-out counter on the other side of the restaurant, where a colorful dragon suspends like a
n Asian piñata. The cobwebs at the creature’s mouth look a lot like smoke. I bite back a smile.
“All right, I’ll grant you, this place isn’t much to look at—”
“Oh, on the contrary,” I say with a smirk, marveling at the awesomely tacky velvet tiger pictures on the wall, “I think it’s a lot to look at.”
Seth chuckles before picking at a bit of kimchi that resembles compost. “Wait till you try their bibimbap. They make some of the best I’ve had stateside.” He pops the yard waste in his mouth, chewing slowly.
“It’s been forever since I had good—”
“I thought I hear Seth. Seth, that you?” With her heavy accent, the h is silent, so it sounds like Set. A tiny Korean woman—voice bigger than her five-foot stature—appears at our table and sets down two more dishes. “More kimchi. Ah”—her dark eyes widen—“and you bring pretty girlfriend?”
Now my eyes widen. “Oh, I’m not…I mean…we’re…well, I’m just sort of…” You would never know English is my first language. Because it seems I’m suddenly fluent in gibberish.
Seth’s swallow threatens to pull a U-turn before he’s able to jump in. “Um, Soo-Jin, this is my date, Wil. Wil, Soo-Jin. She owns the restaurant.”
Soo-Jin shifts her adoring smile from Seth to me. “He never bring girl here. You must be very special.”
“I love your dragon,” I blurt. Because nothing creates a diversion like a mythical rainbow beast. But my comment doesn’t faze her.
Soo-Jin leans in conspiratorially and lowers her voice. “For how long he been going in you? Hmm?”
My eyes almost explode from their sockets. “I…what?”
“Uh, she means how long have you been going with me,” Seth hastily translates. “Not long, Soo-Jin. Thank you.” He bows his head. “I think we’re all good here.”
Soo-Jin’s cheeks plump more with her smile. “He even more handsome when his face go red, isn’t he?”
I choke back a laugh and nod. Which is lost on Seth because he’s preoccupied with feng shui-ing all the dishes on the table.
When Soo-Jin finally leaves, he shudders. “Well, that was only half as mortifying as it could’ve been.”
“True. You could’ve split your pants.”
He smirks, lifting the dented metal teapot and topping off our cups. “Give it time, the night’s still young.”
I take my cup, wrapping my hand around the warm porcelain. “Hey, I like that you took me somewhere that means something to you.”
“It does.” Seth raises his teacup. “So what should we toast to?”
“Fermented cabbage? Or…or maybe reinforced seams?” We laugh.
“What, and ignore the incredible velvet art on the wall?” He ponders for another second. “We could just toast to adventure. In food or…otherwise?”
I like the sound of that. “To adventure.”
Our cups clink.
“Mmm”—I swallow—“speaking of adventure, what are you doing after graduation next year?” My chopsticks fling apart, rolling across the table. “Oops. Jeez, you’d think I’d have a better command of these by now.”
He grins. “We just gotta tweak your technique. Here, hold the top one like this.” I feel a mini jolt as his hands slip around mine. He patiently curls my fingers around the sticks in a way that stabilizes them. “Long term? Not a clue. How about you? I could use some ideas.”
“I don’t know either,” I confess. “It’s not like I can make a viable career out of astrology. Plus, Gram would have a coronary. I’ve considered astronomy, but frankly, math isn’t my forte and the field is pretty saturated anyway. I guess what I’d really love is to travel.” I frown. “Not that that’s any more realistic.”
“Where would you go? If you could go anywhere.”
“Florence,” I gush, without hesitation. “You know it’s the cradle of the Renaissance.” Using my dipping sauce dribbles, I draw little clouds on my plate with the end of my chopstick. “Italy’s just so rich in culture and history—not to mention gelato. It’d be a dream come true for me.”
“Funny you say that. I’m toying with the idea of bumming around Europe for a few months after graduation. Italy would definitely be one of the stops.”
“Hold on.” I abandon the chopsticks, splaying my hands on the table. “I need a second to explode with jealousy.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe you should come.” His grin is sly. “You know, if you haven’t broken my nose or anything by then.”
“Ha-ha, funny. That would involve some very steep odds that require winning the lotto. Seriously, Seth, wouldn’t your parents pitch a fit?”
He finishes chewing. “Nah, won’t matter, really. I’ll be eighteen and have access to my trust fund.” He catches my raised brow. “Damn. Did that just sound as obnoxious as I think it did?”
“Yup. On a scale of one to ten on the Obnoxious Meter, I’d give it an eight.”
“Yeah, well, my grandpa Walker was a pretty heavy hitter in the stock market. Everything—I mean everything—the man touched turned to gold. My family inherited a pretty sizeable chunk of his fortune.”
That explains the spanking new Lexus. And expensive clothes. And Euro-bumming. I smirk. “Okay, ten, I give it a ten. Maybe even an eleven.”
He nudges my foot under the table.
Curiosity commandeers my tongue. “So, Grant’ll start college this fall? Or will he travel like you?”
“College. He’s headed out of state—University of Michigan. Guess they’ve got a good business program.”
“Business?” I croak. The dumpling plops to my plate shy of its destination. I pick it up again. “I…I would’ve thought music.”
Seth wipes his mouth. “Well, Grant’s a genius with numbers, just like Grandpa and Dad. And Mom has this thing about not living up to your potential, so she’d probably string Grant up by his nuts if he didn’t carry on Dad’s CPA firm.”
I snort.
“Yeah, and you thought the Greeks were bad.”
“She sounds terrifying.”
“I’m kidding. She’s actually pretty cool—when she’s not in overprotective-Mom mode. I swear, sometimes she still thinks I’m a little kid. I keep waiting for her to bust out a wet rag to scrub off my juice ’stache or something.”
I giggle. “Pretty sure they all do that. It’s a parental thing. Gram would’ve probably frozen me at ten if it weren’t for the sea-monkey incident.”
“You had a sea-monkey incident?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I maintain my straight face for all of three seconds before Seth’s grin causes me to crumble.
“Uhhh…no. Guess some of us have led deprived childhoods. But enough about that, let’s go back to talking about the future.” He peers up from his dark lashes. My heartbeat zigs and zags, unclear where this is going. “Wanna be my date to a party next Saturday? Tristan—lead singer from Grant’s band—always has this giant start-of-summer bash the week his parents leave town. DJ, caterers, keg—the works.”
I stop spearing the innocent dumpling and drop my hands to my lap. There isn’t a reason in the world to say no. Yet my vocal cords seem paralyzed by yes. Snap out of it!
“Come on, it’ll be fun. Some of the guys have even been known to wear loincloths and Viking helmets.”
I smile at this; my vocal cords loosen a smidge. “Are you one of them?”
“I prefer not to incriminate myself. Unless that’ll score me a yes?” Hope wavers in his expression. He runs a hand through his dark hair. “Look, no pressure—come, don’t come—I just thought you might have a good time.”
Deep down I know the true reason I hesitate. It’s the same reason I’m now shredding the napkin on my lap. What if Irina is right? What if I feel something for Grant? A big something?
Once again, I’m on the verge of screwing up the cornucopia of awesome the universe has generously placed before me. “I’ll come,” I say resolutely. “I want to come.”
“Yeah? Cool.” But the way he tugs at
his earlobe, there’s something else I’m missing.
I start to reach across the table for his hand, but feel pushy and lose my nerve. Instead, I redirect my fingers to the side of the battered teapot. “Was there something else?”
“Maybe.” He rests his fingers on mine. They’re as warm and soft as I remember them from our walk along the river. “That night at Absinthe, when you agreed to go out with me. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been—”
“Two bibimbap?” The server halts at our tableside. His tray is loaded with two heavy stone bowls of sizzling rice with meat and vegetables. A sunny-side-up egg tops the dish.
“That’s us. Thanks,” Seth says, relaxing back in the booth. He nods at me. “Better dig in, next stop is a good forty-minute drive.”
Taking my cue from Seth, I relax, too. “Can’t you give me one teensy clue?” I plead.
Steam rises from his bowl as he pokes at the mounded egg yolk, stirring it with the other ingredients. “Oh, I don’t know.” He leans forward, and lowers his voice. “I kinda like you breathless with anticipation.”
Seth’s right. I never would have guessed this in a million, trillion years. And…I love it. Even Iri won’t be able to dismiss the epicness of this surprise.
He runs his warm hands up and down my bare arms, making my skin seem chilled by contrast. We’re almost halfway into June, but it isn’t unusual for evening temperatures to have a touch of seasonal dyslexia. Tonight it feels more spring than summer.
“Warm enough?” Seth asks.
The pilot opens a valve. “Hold on, I’m taking us higher,” he calls out.
Propane burners roar overhead, raising our altitude. The city grows steadily smaller. Even the Opal River has shrunk to a thin vein of squiggling greenish blue.
“Who cares? I’m in a hot-air balloon!” I squeal. “This totally puts the view from the water tower to shame. I can see everything.”
