I woke with a start that morning. It was the insistent buzzing of my mobile that did it. My eyes had yet to fully adjust to the midday sun pouring in through the open blinds of my window, but I guess I should’ve known who it was before I even looked at the caller ID. Whenever he called, the vibration always seemed more aggressive than usual. I clamped my hand down atop the device before it rattled its way off the particle board top of my nightstand.

I brought the phone to my ear and croaked out a “Hello?”

“Still sleeping?” My father had this uncanny ability to make even the most mundane line of questioning sound like the Spanish Inquisition.

“Not anymore,” was my dry reply.

“Madelaine’s recital is at 1:00.”

I sat up in bed, regretted it immediately, as my head felt like it weighed about a ton. “You gonna be there?”

“I’m still in Shanghai,” he explained, matter of factly. “Contract talks are taking longer than expected.”

Funny how these contract talks abroad never seemed to stay on schedule. But I kept that observation to myself.

“The driver is picking you up in 20 minutes,” he went on. “Don’t forget a tie.”

A monotonous beep rang out as he hung up.

“Good morning to you too,” I muttered to no one in particular. As the call disconnected, I took note of the date displayed on my phone’s calendar. Yeah, I guess he had a reason to be crabbier than usual.

I spotted a half-empty bottle of Kirin lager near the lamp. To ease the scratchiness in my raspy throat, I took a sip, regretted it immediately as it tasted of warm dishwater. Immediate regret was quickly becoming the theme of the day.

The pitter-patter of bare feet against the hardwood floor caught my attention next. Victoria walked out of the bathroom. She had already gotten dressed again in her crimson satin blouse and black miniskirt. She was putting back on her earrings in the shape of crescent moons as she approached me.

“Your dad?” she asked.

“How’d you guess?”

“Whenever he calls, you always get that face.” She pointed her index finger at me. “Like you just poured yourself a bowl of Lucky Charms but then find out the milk is spoiled.”

I let a sly chuckle escape my mouth. “Yeah, he’s got that effect on people.”

“Well, I made some coffee, in case you think it’ll help.” She slipped her feet back into her Christian Louboutin patent leather pumps which had been left by the sofa.

“You’re taking off?”

“I’ve gotta get to Ginza. Playing a new venue tonight, and they need to do sound check.”

She worked as a singer. Most of the time it was at bars of swanky downtown hotels. Her audience was typically either native Japanese who wanted to rub shoulders with an exotic gaijin or foreigners who were seeking some familiar comforts of home. She had actually amassed quite a fanbase among the weirdly specific demographic of late forties traveling salarymen. I personally thought she was pretty talented in her own right, but I’m sure the experience of watching her on stage was enhanced all the more by a few Stoli Gibsons.

She hung her Kate Spade purse over her shoulder and walked back over to bedside. She sat down on the mattress next to me and let her emerald eyes linger on mine for a moment. After swiping away some errant blonde bangs from her brow, she placed a kiss on my forehead. She never kissed on the lips the mornings after.

“Happy birthday, babe.”

---

On this September afternoon, the illustrious Suntory Hall was buzzing with activity. The scene could be summed up in equal parts excitement, nerves, and flop sweat. In other words, the space was filled to the brim with early teens. 

One of them was my stepsister, Madelaine. I called her Mads for short, a nickname she appreciated as a fan of Casino Royale. She ran up to me as I was slipping my right arm into the sleeve of my navy suit jacket.

“You’re cutting it a little close,” she stated.

I swallowed the last bite of my salted salmon onigiri. “I had to stop for lunch.” I washed the food down with a gulp of orange Ramune. “Besides, the real stars are always fashionably late.”

“What fashion?” She regarded me with a cocked eyebrow. “You forgot your tie!”

I looked down to check my outfit. Black wingtips, check. Navy dress pants with matching jacket, check. Starched white dress shirt, check. But the tie?

“,” I mumbled.

“It’s fine,” said my stepmother Lorelei as she stepped toward us. “Your father told me to come prepared.” She retrieved a skinny black tie from her handbag.

Lorelei had been a tennis prodigy in her day. She went to Stanford on scholarship and was close to qualifying for the US Open before getting pregnant. The dad had left the picture a long time ago. When my father met her, she was a single mom trying to make ends meet as an instructor at the country club in Encino. All in all, I respected her very much. She wasn’t like most other women who married into money. She became even more dedicated to her family over time, was a faithful and diligent partner to my dad, an attentive parent to Mads and even tried her best to accommodate my own bumbling, disjointed self.

“Thanks.” I took the tie and tried my best to weave it around my neck. I turned my attention back to Mads. “Why are you so on edge anyway?”

She reached behind her head and pulled tighter her ponytail, her hair the color of New England leaves in autumn. “I’ve been listening to Hayashihara during rehearsals. She’s got a vibrato that sounds unbeatable.”

“Dude, I heard Hayashihara last year too. Girl’s all flash, no substance, doesn’t have a of believability in her lyrics.”

“Well, the judges aren’t just three clones of you, so I’d say there's still reason to worry.”

Lorelei felt it appropriate to step in with a gentle reminder. “Remember the most important thing is just to have fun.”

“Mom, I told you,” Mads protested with a roll of her olive-green eyes, “There’s a plan for everything. I win this today, get a scholarship to Julliard, headline Carnegie Hall, then ask Seo In-guk to marry me. Having fun doesn’t fit anywhere in there.”

Lorelei could only laugh quietly to herself.

Mads finally noticed my continued struggles with the tie, as I couldn’t manage to make both ends the same length. “Would you stop ing around? Come here.”

I shot her a sideways glance but eventually decided to do as she asked and knelt in front of her. With a shockingly deft hand did she tidily fold my tie into a neat Windsor knot.

“Do I have to do everything for you?” she asked, punctuating with a discontented groan.

The voice of a female stagehand rang through the hallway. “Five-minute warning! Curtains up in five minutes!”

Mads looked back to me. She held up her fist in our customary “pump up” ritual. “We got this?”

I clasp both hands sturdily over hers. “We got this.”

---

“The next performer,” the MC announced over the speaker system, “Representing Toyo Eiwa Jogakuin, Madelaine Reid.”

The attendees in the Blue Rose hall greeted Mads and myself with the perfunctory smattering of applause. I made the final adjustments to the tuning of the acoustic Gibson sitting across my lap, then started plucking the intro. As the warm glow of the spotlight settled on her, I could see her drawing a deep breath and holding it deep within her chest. It was her tried and true technique for handling stage jitters. She’d let the fear sink in, but only until the count of five.

One.

Two.

Long enough for her body to get acclimated to having it around, but not long enough for it to take over completely.

Three.

Four.

She released her breath at a slow, measured pace.

Five.

By the time she opened her eyes, she had started in on the opening lines.

“Meiyou you yi diandian fangbei, ye meiyou yisi gulu,

Ni jiu zheyang chuxian,”

Then came the voice that I knew had all the ability to win this competition. Soothing and harmonious yet firm in the conviction of its message.

“Zai wo de shijieli,

Dai gei wo jingxi,”

Looking out into the audience, I spotted Lorelei making a recording on her phone. I found myself wondering when my dad would start looking at our lives with his own eyes, not just through the lens of a camera.

“Qing bu ziyi.”

---

As Mads emerged from the backstage and into the general lobby, she was met with spirited applause, something more appropriate for the quality of performance she just put on. Carrying a bouquet of white roses in one arm and the first-place trophy in the other, she beamed with pride back at the crowd.

A photographer from the Yomiuri Shimbun snapped her picture, and famed TV personality Becky was making her introduction of “the first foreign-born student to win this contest in a decade.”

Becky asked Mads to give her feelings on the “hard-fought victory,” to which Mads tried her best at providing a statement which was both genuine and tempered. She fumbled a bit with her verb conjugation, but she had been stubborn about not using a translator. She was always the type to take on the full scale of a challenge, and all on her own. She could’ve gone to the American School in Chofu with all the other international students but opted instead for the girls’ academy. I had to admire her for that quality.

The more I think about it, I understand how grateful I am that both she and her mom joined the family. Had it just been my dad and I all these years, I’m sure I would’ve lost it long before I had the chance to meet her.

---

After the throng of admirers had finally dispersed, I accompanied Mads and Lorelei back to the Aston Martin which their driver had parked at the curb.

On the way, Mads spotted her classmate/rival Chihiro Hayashihara, who I noticed had traded her dual pigtails hairstyle from last year in favor of a close cropped asymmetric cut. Anyone who was a less dignified competitor, which is to say someone more like myself, would’ve taken this chance to gloat, but Mads took a classier route. She offered up her commemorative bouquet, to which Hayashihara responded with a jubilant squeal. The two set a date for going to get cupcakes and exchanged farewell hugs.

“You sure we can’t at least take you to dinner?” Lorelei proposed before stepping into the backseat of the car. “It’s your birthday after all.”

“Namjoon already invited me,” I explained, referring to my friend from childhood who, despite my concerted efforts, had managed to persist into my adulthood. I addressed Mads next, “I still want my air hockey rematch this weekend, though.

She grinned at me in mischief. “You got another 10,000 yen bill that needs to be free from your wallet?”

“I’m getting your college fund by the time we’re through, believe that.”

“Whatever you say, Roman Reigns,” she shot back without a hint of concern.

I shut the door behind her, and the car pulled away into the street, eventually rounding the corner at the traffic light and disappearing from view.

---

Truth be told, I actually had quite a bit of time left to kill before meeting Namjoon. I just didn’t want anyone making a big deal about my birthday. I only agreed to go out with him because this was solely for his benefit. There was this girl he’d been chatting with on his dating app, and she was finally visiting Tokyo. But since she wanted to bring a friend, Namjoon needed a wingman in order for the two of them to agree to come out. I could only hope tonight was one example of a good deed that would in fact go unpunished.

Like I said, I still had a bunch of daylight I needed to burn, but that was OK because the onigiri from lunch wasn’t sustaining me anymore. I hit up one of the ramen shops tucked away in Roppongi-itchome Station. It had the arrangement I liked. You put your money in the kiosk, punch the button for your order, the kiosk spits out a ticket, you put the ticket on the counter, and someone wordlessly brings your food. It was the kind of establishment which proved my point about how the more people you cram into an area, the greater lengths they’ll go to in order to avoid talking to each other. The noodles were a bit overcooked, and the gyoza came out greasy. I still had two servings anyway.

Afterwards I wanted something to get that rich taste out of my mouth, so I went to the Family Mart for a pack of Pianissimo Peche. With its mild peach flavor, it’s basically the tobacco equivalent of schnapps. Come for the candy taste, stay for the nicotine. 

But with all the country’s initiatives for clear air and cleaner sidewalks, it’s actually considered somewhat bad manners to be smoking outdoors, so I was forced to step into one of the few socially acceptable smoking spaces, the pachinko parlor. 

I was halfway through my fourth when a Czech tourist with dark hair and a Chelsea FC Women jersey (I think she mentioned that she was named after some film noir actress) sat at the adjacent machine and started regaling me with the tale of how pachinko was invented following World War II, when widespread shutdown of submarine manufacturing operations resulted in a surplus of ball bearings. 

“Pachinko was born from defeat,” she intoned. “That’s why it’s impossible to truly win.”

I hope Hallmark ended up hiring her eventually.

I nodded along, as her history lesson was more pleasant to listen to than the same three EDM tracks that were kept on endless loop.

I ended up losing several thousand yen, but I actually found myself curious about the Czech lady’s claims. I took the Toei Bus to Nagatcho and started poring through the resources of the National Diet Library. It turned out her version of events was largely apocryphal. The precursors to pachinko had in reality existed in the form of games like Corinthian bagatelle and Billard japonais. Come to think of it, I could’ve just looked everything up on my phone, but again, lots of time left to kill.

Since I was at the library anyway, I read through Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto, and that left me wanting katsudon. However, I had stayed too late to be able to eat and still make it to Shinjuku on time, so I just relented on my dinner plans.

---

As I walked up to the front entrance of WARP Nightclub, I already saw a pretty epic queue winding its way down the sidewalk. Like hell I was gonna wait in that, I thought to myself. But Namjoon had assured me we’d be able to get right in.

Namjoon worked as a translator of manga. I had no idea how he spun it on his resume, but let’s just say he’s developed a rather “specialized” vocabulary. He apparently had been able to bribe one of the club’s bouncers with an advance copy of the next issue to Amazon Knightess Tomoko in the Valley of Lust.

I plucked another cigarette from the pack and ignited the tip with my disposable lighter. Luckily at this time of night, the cops were more interested in breaking up motorcycle gangs than enforcing littering protocol. As I took my first puff, I looked to the other side of Kabukicho Ichiban-gai Street and caught sight of a girl strumming her Fender six-string in front of the Itamae Sushi. 

She wore her platinum blonde hair long and with bangs. Impressive, as I found very few girls could pull off that style. She was dressed in a plain white T-shirt with denim short overalls on top and classic black and white Adidas on her feet.

I made sure to exhale out the side of my mouth, so as to prevent the smoke from obscuring my vision. She was attractive, certainly enough so to elevate such a modest outfit. What might’ve been even more stunning than her looks was how her song compelled me to hone in my sense of hearing more and more. The sounds of traffic and chatter eventually faded away, all replaced by just her voice ringing out in the electric night.

“Don’t wanna see you, don’t wanna kiss you, don’t wanna love you,

But I don’t wanna say bye, don’t wanna say bye.”

Each syllable sprang lively from and dissipated into the neon lights of the various store facades.

“I got my reasons, but I get caught in my feelings,

And I don’t wanna say bye, don’t wanna say bye bye.”

She sang with her eyes closed, seemingly not noticing the various passersby who dropped 100 yen coins into her open guitar case.  

“Don’t wanna say bye.”

And yet, even if it didn’t look like she could take note of your presence, there was something about her words which felt like a painstakingly personalized entreaty.

“I got my reasons, but I get caught in my feelings,

And I don’t wanna say bye, don’t wanna say...”

Surely this song was one of pain. And from listening to it, I felt my own heart sag inside my own chest. Her pain was becoming mine too.

“I know I need to let you go.

We need to cut these ties.”

I felt this kind of bond with her in this pain. For these brief few moments, we were sharing a space that only we could know.

“But tell me that if I let you go,”

But what if I could heal her of this pain?

“You’d still be mine.”

Could I heal myself too?

“Yo, Kookie Monster!” A familiar voice cried out. Instinctively jerking my head toward the exclamation, Namjoon’s bleach blonde pompadour was what I first noticed, as always.

“What's with the getup?” He motioned toward my suit and tie combo like he was telling some moving people to haul away unwanted furniture. “I told you to wear something chic and y.” In contrast, he highlighted his own outfit: a bomber jacket with a pattern of tiger stripes atop a cherry blossom pink dress shirt, accented with linen trousers featuring a print of water lilies, and finally turquoise moccasins. “You come here looking like you’re trying to sell me a life insurance policy!”

I scowled at him. “I’m not taking fashion advice from somebody whose dress code seems to be ‘What if a peacock threw up on me?’”

“Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.” He popped the collar of his shirt.

“I don’t need any more reasons to hate you.”

“Why you in such a bad mood? You know I got a lot riding on tonight. I only got this one shot!”

“OK, Mr. Eight Mile, calm down. I’ll just follow your lead.”

“Oppa!” a giddy female voice called out with unwieldy glee.

If the peacock had vomited on Namjoon, this other girl must’ve been hit with some of the extraneous splatter. She was wearing a long-sleeve top the same orange color as a creamsicle. This was tied in a ribbon below the bust and exposed her midriff. White culottes with prints of nautical flags and cowgirl boots the color of Mississippi River mud completed her ensemble. She bounded toward Namjoon and leaped into his arms. The couple spun together in a twirling frenzy. Her bubblegum pink hair was sent whipping around.

“I can’t believe it, finally we’re together!” Her accent was distinctively Kiwi.

“It’s been worth the wait. You’re even more beautiful in person,” Namjoon crooned.

I had to blink a few times just to make sure I was still witnessing real life. By then, I was feeling more like Otacon: “What’s with these guys? It’s like one of my Japanese animes.” But at least he had the spectacle of a genetically enhanced super soldier and a cyborg ninja dueling to the death.

“I’m Lisa,” an additional voice spoke to me.

The pink-haired girl had hogged all the attention, I hadn’t even recalled there was supposed to be another guest joining us this evening. When I finally brought my attention over to her, I realized it was the girl who had been singing across the street. The guitar was slung across her shoulder.

The only reaction I could hope to muster was to stare at her agape.

“Lisa,” she repeated. This time she tried holding out her hand to me. Her nails were painted black.

I forced a few more blinks, hoping to shake my senses back to the present reality. The girl from across the street was now within arm’s reach. For some reason, it felt like this spectacular occurrence that she’d traveled this distance.

“I...” I lifted my hand to shake hers, but this lone gesture seemed to drain me of all my cognition because I couldn’t even finish introducing my own name.

“Where are my manners?” Namjoon interjected.

I turned to look at him. 

His arm was already s around the slim waist of the pink-haired girl, who he addressed as “Rosé.” Pointing over to me, he went on, “This is my best friend Jungkook.”

“Charmed.” Rosé directed an airy giggle at me. “And this...” Rosé walked over to Lisa and embraced her around the shoulders, “Is my sister in arms, the Thelma to my Louise, the straw that stirs my drink--”

“Just Lisa,” Lisa stated with a bemused roll of her eyes.

“She’s so modest,” Rosé added.

“Hey, let’s not waste any more time,” Namjoon insisted. “Let's get our drink on, get our dance on!”

Rosé cackled in delight as she took his hand and the two rushed for the front doors.

“Jungkook.” I could finally lift my voice above a whisper. “I’m Jungkook.”

“I heard,” Lisa replied as she returned a gentle smile to me. “Nice to meet you.”

A pretty simple line. One that I believe ordinary people deliver to each other every ordinary day. But for some reason, even this simple a line, a humble acknowledgement from her, it was enough to catch my breath in my throat.

---

In terms of Namjoon’s proclamation to “get our drink on, get our dance on,” it was mission accomplished, at least for him and Rosé.

They dashed out to the Universe Floor with reckless abandon and immediately began synchronizing their bodies to the thudding bass line. They took breaks to grab the odd fluorescent colored cocktail from the bar, but otherwise they lived out on that dancefloor.

Lisa, on the other hand, seemed content to sit in the booth, one leg folded over the other at an angle alluring in its precision. It looked as though she were watching the proceedings in front of her, but it also felt like she was somehow at a higher plane of understanding, seeing things the rest of us couldn’t.

I conjured up some will to break the silence between us. “You’re not having your drink?” I pointed to the still untouched Manhattan sitting on the glass tabletop before her.

“Oh.” She shook her head. “No, I’m feeling a little woozy actually. Didn’t get a chance to eat before this.”

“You were busy playing music.”

“You saw?” Even in the dim lighting, I could tell her eyes had lit up.

“Yeah for sure. You sounded amazing.”

“Thanks.” She smiled again, only this time it came from a genuine reflex of joy, rather than a programmed gesture of basic courtesy.

“I didn’t have dinner either,” I explained to her. “I thought Namjoon would at least treat us to kebab.”

“If he’s like Rosé, it’s not that surprising to me. She’s always been a Red Bull for breakfast, vodka for dinner kinda gal.”

“Then they really are perfect for each other.”

She laughed. She did so with her entire face. Lips, eyes, cheekbones, everything.

I continued, “If you're also hungry, I know this great place around here.”

“What about our friends?” she inquired in concern.

“They’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Look at ‘em.”

Surely enough, Namjoon and Rosé were still practically glued to each other, reveling in one another’s motions.

“They look like they’re shooting a commercial,” Lisa remarked.

“That sells fragrances to tweens?” I added.

She laughed again, even louder this time. She playfully slapped my knee. “You’re funny.” She picked up her Manhattan and drained it in a graceful gulp. “I might have to keep you around.”

Now it was me who couldn’t resist a grin from spreading ear to ear.

---

“Mm!” Lisa chewed with relish. The combination of basil, tomato, and olive oil must’ve had her taste buds dancing like Namjoon and Rosé back at WARP. She had thrown back three slices of Margherita while I was just a few bites into my first.

Not that I wasn’t hungry myself, it’s just I got inexplicably captivated by her engaging in this simple task of eating a pizza.

She swallowed that last bite, allowing herself a thoroughly satisfied sigh afterward. Once her glance settled on mine, she started up with another fit of laughter.

“What is it?” I couldn’t help but join in myself.

“I am so sorry,” she replied. “I’m here stuffing my face. Not very dignified.”

“What? No worries, come on, it’s meant to be enjoyed,” I insisted.

“Did you take me for this kind of girl?”

“I don’t think I've known you long enough to take you for any ‘kind.’”

“No judgements then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hey, hey!” exclaimed the owner of the restaurant, Paolo. A portly man whose hairline was receding at the same rate that his belly was swelling with wine and pasta, he never failed to notice his customers enjoying the food, for this merely offered him further license for self-promotion. “This girl eats like a campione, no?”

Lisa smiled back at him with all 32 of her teeth.

“Everyone’s like that when they have your food for the first time,” I replied to him.

“Hope you’re not full yet, then.”

“No way, bring it on!” Lisa exhorted.

“I got quattro formaggi just coming out the oven,” Paolo announced.

Lisa rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

“And another round of Peroni?” Paolo offered.

“Yes please!”

Paolo gave a firm nod, then was off to his kitchen again.

As Lisa took the final sip of her beer, the look of tranquil contentment that settled on her face made me feel entitled to a small smirk of self-satisfaction. It felt like such an achievement to bring some measure of joy to this girl.

“I'm having a really good time,” she announced in affirmation.

That small smirk of mine grew just a little wider.

“This night turned out way better than I thought.”

My confidence felt bolstered by her compliments, so I was emboldened enough to broach this next topic. “That song you were playing. Did you write it?”

“I did.”

“Is it about someone you know?”

Her gaze immediately darted away. She brushed back the strands of her hair behind her ears. The girl sighed hugely. “It’s not exactly ‘getting to know you’ type conversation,” she finally explained.

“OK,” I nodded to affirm my understanding. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright.” She waved her hand to further signify no harm done.

Paolo’s booming baritone came barreling into the conversation “Taunti auguri a te!”

I whipped my head around in time to see Paolo carrying that four-cheese pizza, with the twist that 23 candles were sitting atop it.

“Oh, .” I buried my face in my palm.

“Taunti auguri a te!” Paolo continued. “Taunti auguri, Jungkook!” He set the pizza down on the table before me. “Taunti auguri a te!”

“Paolo,” I said with a groan, “You really shouldn’t have.”

“You think you were gonna sneak in here without me knowing it’s your birthday?” he confronted me. 

Lisa now regarded me with her own agape expression.

“I didn’t have time to get a cake, but you still gotta blow out the candles and make a wish. What kinda birthday it’d be without that?”

“The wax is getting all over the cheese!” I bemoaned.

“I get you another one after this, just do it!” Paolo insisted.

“Yeah!” Lisa backed him up. “You have to!”

With an exasperated sigh, I drew in a hearty breath within my chest. What was it about her that compelled me to follow along with her lead?

---

Lisa and I walked to the curb outside the restaurant to wait for her taxi. She set her guitar down on the pavement.

I pulled out the pack of cigarettes from my back pocket. “OK if I smoke?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

As I lit up, I could see her wrapping her arms around herself. The breeze tonight was unseasonably chilly, sending her into shivers. I slipped my arms out from the sleeves of my jacket and held it up to her. “May I?”

“Oh.” She tilted her head with a look that slightly resembled puzzlement, but I guess she quickly decided this wouldn’t be of any harm. “Sure.”

I draped my jacket across her daintily slim shoulders. She reached up to draw the fabric closer to her chest. 

She smiled at me in gratitude. I smiled back to let her know I was glad to help.

I took a drag from my cigarette and exhaled in the direction away from her, making sure the smoke trailed downwind.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I heard her ask as I was still facing away.

I looked back at her quizzically. “Huh?”

“About your birthday,” she clarified.

“Ah.” I shuffled my wingtips uneasily underneath me. “I guess that also isn’t ‘getting to know you’ type conversation.”

“Hm.” She furrowed her brow. “OK.”

I tapped the tip of my cigarette, letting a few ashes fall lazily to the concrete. “But I guess I don’t mind sharing. It’s just most people don’t bother to ask, so I assume they’re not interested.”

“I am.”

I swept my hair back, letting the night air cool my forehead a little. “When I turned 13, the one present I really wanted was Mass Effect 2,” I explained. “All day I was calling my dad, bugging him to take me to get Mass Effect 2.” I paused a moment to take another drag from my cigarette. The words to this story actually sounded foreign on my tongue. I really wasn’t used to telling this story. “But as it got later and later and he still didn’t come home from work, I got really worried that the store was gonna close. So I asked my brother.” Saying his name also sounded foreign. “Seokjin. That was his name.”

“Was?” she asked, softly as she could.

“He had just gotten his license, but he really wanted to help me out, you know? So he agreed to drive. But that night, it was raining, just ing raining cats and dogs. Some biblical, drown the world type of .” I scratched my chin with my thumb. “He hit this pocket of water on the interstate and hydroplaned across all four lanes. Car flipped over.” I needed to swallow the lump in my throat before going on. “He snapped his neck, died instantly.”

I realized I hadn’t looked back at her since beginning my story. I didn’t know how she’d been reacting to it all. Taking some time to see her again, her expression didn’t seem to have changed. It was as if she were more intent on studying me instead.

So I continued. “I got off easy, relatively speaking. Fractured my leg, and they had to put in iron rods. I did rehab for a few months but got back most of the function. Still gets sore sometimes when I push too hard.” I realized I was winded from speaking for so long. I’d never spoken for so long before, at least not about this. I needed another breath, this time without the cigarette. “My mom blamed my father. She left us soon after that. Part of the reason my dad wanted to move here. Give him and me a fresh start or something.”

I saw that my cigarette was getting down to the nub, so I took one last drag and threw it to the ground. I crushed it under my heel afterward. “Seokjin was the type who did everything the right way. Went to bed early, woke up early. Studied hard. Talked like ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘No, sir.’ He always squeezed the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube up. No exceptions.” I shifted my gaze back to her again. “You believe that?”

She felt enough at ease for a slight grin.

“So I thought to myself,” I added, “What really is the point? Even if you try to be perfect, it all can be taken away. Just, without any reason, no explanation, one moment, and it’s all gone.” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my trousers. My chin felt glued to my chest. I didn’t want to look up anymore.

But I could hear the soles of her sneakers approaching me. “Hey,” she called out to me. “Can you look at me?”

I lifted my head to meet her glance.

“Your brother was just trying to make you happy.” She looked at me with eyes that were at once both intense and assuaging. “That’s something about him that should never be forgotten. Even if he’s gone now, that doesn’t make his intention mean any less.” She reached out her arm from underneath the opening of my jacket and gingerly placed her hand on my chest. “If you ask me, the best thing you can do for him is to try to fulfill his intention.” And just to make sure her point couldn’t possibly be missed, she moved her hand to place her palm on my cheek. “Try to be happy regardless.”

I had to wonder if it really was so easy. I’d spent a long time feeling so confused, not even really able to comprehend how much I’d lost, let alone how to move forward from that loss or how to get back at least some sliver of what’s gone. But was it really that easy?

Before I could muse on this more or get further lost in those dark eyes, the sound of her cab pulling up broke up the moment.

She was about to shrug off my jacket, but I put a hand on her shoulder.

“You hold onto it,” I told her.

“You sure?”

“It’s still kinda cold. And that taxi doesn’t look like it has a heater that’s up to code.”

She gave the rickety jalopy a once over and nodded in agreement.

“I wanna come back and watch you play more music,” I said. “Maybe you can give it back to me then.”

She giggled, in what I hope was her excitement at my being able to see her perform again. “I’ll get it dry cleaned.”

“Deal.”

She made her way to the cab and opened the door but made sure to turn back to me for one more question. “What was your wish? When you blew out the candles?”

I let my eyes wander around a bit. Did I really have the nerve to tell her? “I’m not supposed to say, right?” Nah, I guess not. “At least, not if I want it to come true?”

“It must mean a lot to you.”

I didn’t feel like giving away too much, so I just shrugged noncommittally.

She flashed me a final wry grin before settling into the backseat. As the car pulled away, I had to admit to myself that my wish wasn’t for anything so grand or momentous. It wouldn’t be of much consequence to hardly anything, whether it came to fruition or not. But in that one moment, I could say for sure it was what I most wanted right then.