“Yes. Are you okay?” I hear the rustle of sheets.
“No. I’m really not.”
“What can I do?”
“Listen.”
“I’m all ears.”
I take a leap of faith and unload. “I’ve been with Sang since the very start of my career. He was the one who got me into the K-Pop training camp and got me through the intense training. They weighed us weekly and at times daily. We’d eat eggs, a few slices of yams, and if we were being rewarded, we might get fruit. The lessons were relentless. Dancing, acting, singing, and etiquette.”
“This sounds awful, Yoon.” There’s compassion in her voice, but I don’t feel pitied.
“It allowed me to be creative, and it gave my family a better life. Especially my sister,” I answer honestly.
“Because she has CP?”
She remembered. Warmth spreads through me.
“Yes, and my parents weren’t able to afford the therapy and better equipment that would improve her life and freedom.”
“I understand sacrificing fo
r your family, but she’s in a good place now, isn’t she?”
“Yes. My sister takes care of herself and me on most days.” I chuckle.
“I’m glad to hear it. The question you need to ask yourself is, why are you still allowing your manager to treat you this way?”
“Guilt? Gratitude?”
“He found you the opportunities, but you were the one who put in the hard work.”
“Why does it make so much sense when you say it?”
Her laughter is light and airy. “Because I’m removed from the situation.”
“I know it’s late there. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Hey. You’ve listened to me vent as well.”
There’s a magic buffer that exists when we’re talking on the phone on two opposite ends of the world. I say things I never would’ve to anyone else. A strange sense of intimacy and trust has formed between us. I don’t want it to stop here. The thought startles. Instead of pulling away, I decide to lean into it because I want more with Hartley. At nearly thirty, I’m not getting any younger, and she has a beautiful soul I want to know inside and out.
Chapter Three
Hart
“Hartley. I need you to stay late today.”
“What?” I look up from the counter. I’ve been here since the opening. “Why?”
“Emma is sick.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I want to tell him to screw himself. A nephew of the mall’s CEO, he gets off on ordering the girls working at the counters around. The need for money effectively snatches my voice. Last week’s check went to catch up on the energy bill and water bill. If I stay later, this check will handle the trash and keep the hospital at bay. Dad has continued to skulk around the house, rarely seen, and when spotted is continuously in a foul mood.
I haven’t seen him as bad as the night we returned from our trip, but I know he’s still drinking. I see the empty bottles appearing in the garbage bags and the recycling bin. The extra hours could start repairing the dent in my savings.
“How long?”