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“I honestly don’t think she would have let me back out,” I say, “if she didn’t need my help.”
I tell him about the deal with my mother. I have an inkling of unease as I explain how Hyemi’s debut is tied to her father’s financial support, which is undeniably transactional in nature, but Sun doesn’t bat an eyelash. Since our childhood, we’ve witnessed our parents make questionable deals in the name of business, and I feel a rush of gratitude for him, that I can confide in him about this, without fear that he might judge my mother. Or me, for going along with her.
“I’m excited,” I say. “More so than when I thought I was going to debut. I think it’ll be a fun challenge, and IlikeWoo Hyemi. I want to help her.”
Yesterday after leaving my mother’s office, I’d gone back to the meeting room, interrupting Youngmin who’d been in the middle of doing a handstand. I got to know a little more about Hyemi—she has an older sister who lives in Canada with her partner, her favorite movie isKiki’s Delivery Service, and she’s wanted to be anidol for as long as she can remember. We’d planned to meet after her first rehearsal to go over the choreography.
“So...,” Sun says, “in exchange for helping Hyemi, your mother will tear up your contract and let you walk free?”
“Maybe not as dramatically, but that’s the gist of it.”
“Didn’t you have a dating clause in your contract?” he asks absently.
“No, I didn’t. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to go out on this date with Haneul.”
“Ah, of course.”
I never had a dating clause in my contract, even the new one I signed shortly after my scandal with Nathaniel two years ago. The promise I made to my mother was never written in words.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” Sun says, with a smile. “I look forward to seeing what you can do with Woo Hyemi in two weeks.”
After we’ve finished our food, I peek over the divider toward the windows. “Haneul-ssi is still with your date. I think they’re really hitting it off. You might have inadvertently set up a love match.”
“Do you think they’ll send me an invitation to the wedding?” Sun quips.
As we’re walking out of the restaurant, my phone buzzes with an unknown number.
“It’s international,” Sun says from over my shoulder.
My stomach sinks as I realize who it is. “It must be Nadine. Why do you think she’s calling?”
“Probably to scold you for dragging her into this mess.”
“Really?”
“Pick it up. The call’s going to drop.” He’s ruthless.
I open the phone and bring it hesitantly to my ear. “Nadine-eonni?”
“Sori?” I remember the way she greeted me in the pizza shop, friendly and warm. All warmth is stripped from her voice when she says, “We need to talk.”
Twelve
Nadine hasn’t yet arrived when I exit the subway station. I check my phone to see that I’m five minutes early. A few middle school students mill about the station area, recognizable by their uniforms—gray sweater vests over white shirts tucked into ankle-length skirts. A woman walks by hand in hand with a small boy wearing a Pororo backpack. There’s a little garden area, so I walk over and sit on one of the benches to wait for Nadine.
Though Sun had teased, he’d assured me after Nadine had hung up that she wasn’t angry, though how can he be sure? I would be angry if my sibling and his ex-girlfriend dragged me into their business.
“Psst, Sori!” I look at the large planter in the garden that just spoke. “Sori, over here!”
Standing, I walk around the planter to find Nadine crouched on the ground. “Nadine-eonni?”
“Hurry! Get down.” She grabs my hand and pulls me so that I’m also crouched behind the planter.
“What are we doing?” I whisper.
“See those girls?”
I look around the planter toward the exit of the subway station. “The middle school students?”
