The Ex Talk

“I don’t have the heart to tell him no one uses Snapchat anymore,” Dominic stage-whispers to me.

It’s been a long week, and I haven’t been entirely sure how to feel about meeting Dominic’s parents. While I’m sure they’re lovely people, my reluctance is tightly wrapped around my feelings for Dominic. The rest of my life isn’t any easier to manage. Ameena and I haven’t spoken since that night, though TJ has acted as an intermediary, letting me know they flew out to Virginia this morning to look at apartments. As much as I want things to go back to normal between us, I can’t forget what she said. Though I know it’s not my fault she didn’t take that job all those years ago, her words sank their claws into me, stirring up an uncertainty that I come back to whenever work is slow.

We follow his parents into the living room. They’re a little older than I expected, which I probably should have guessed, given that he’s the youngest of five. Morris Yun is bald, with firm lines around his mouth and a slope to his shoulders that makes him appear even shorter. In contrast, Margot is willowy and regal, her gray hair chopped at her chin, and her clothes expertly tailored.

If I didn’t already know they owned an antique shop, their house would give it away. It’s a spacious two-story in Bellevue, a wealthy suburb of Seattle that becomes more and more yuppie by the day. Tapestries hang from the walls next to paintings in ornate frames, and every surface is decorated with small statues, vases, mirrors, clocks, and even an old gramophone in one corner. Still, it doesn’t look cluttered. It gives off this museum vibe, but a museum you’d want to live in.

On the ride over, Dominic talked to me about growing up on the Eastside. “I remember going into Seattle was this exciting thing,” he said. “I’d look forward to it for weeks.”

“That is so cute,” I said. As a born-and-raised city kid, I couldn’t help teasing him. “Baby Dominic in the big city.”

Now I sit next to him on the stunning Victorian couch, which looks like something out of a movie from the 1950s, wanting desperately for his parents to like me but not entirely sure why.

“You have a beautiful home,” I say, and they both look pleased.

“We’re proud of it,” Margot says from a matching love seat. “It’s sort of a living thing—we tend to change it up every so often when the mood strikes us, or when we find something we can’t bear to give to the store quite yet. Dominic practically grew up there. I suppose you know all of that, even if we don’t know anything about you.”

“Mom,” Dominic says under his breath, and it sounds like a warning.

I yearn for the alternate reality in which Margot isn’t immediately on the defensive.

“You never used to be this private,” Margot continues, smoothing the hem of her gauzy skirt. “He used to post all these updates on Facebook, and he’d get mad when I was the first like. He even called me up in college to ask me politely to stop doing it, since all his friends could see.”

I have never seen Dominic’s face this red.

“I don’t do it anymore,” Dominic says. “I can’t remember the last time I went on Facebook.”

“At least we have the chance to get to know you now,” Margot says. “What does your mother do, Shay?”

I appreciate that Dominic must have warned them about my dad. “She’s a violinist in the Seattle Symphony.”

Her faces lights up, and I feel a burst of pride, grateful this has won me some points. “Is she really? We were there last week, for Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony. Incredible. You must go all the time.”

“Not as much as I used to,” I admit. “But it was interesting, growing up with someone who’s as much of a music snob as my mother. She took it as a personal attack when I started listening to the Backstreet Boys.”

Dominic cracks a smile at this, and I don’t love what it does to my heart.

“I could get you comp tickets, actually,” I add.

“I wouldn’t want to put anyone out.”

“Really, it’s no problem at all. My mom always has a ton.”

“Well—thank you. That’s too kind,” she says, softening. “And you’ve been at the radio station for a while?”

“Since college.” Not a sore subject. Nope. “How often is it just Dominic here?”

Morris slides his teal glasses higher up on his nose. “We usually see Kristina and Hugo at Christmas, since they’re out of state. And then Monica and Janet usually every other month. But Dominic just can’t seem to get enough of us.”

“I’m not saying I’m their best kid because I come home more than the others, but . . .”

His mother winks at him, and seriously, what is happening to my heart? That wink makes me want so badly to be part of this—not as a friend or cohost or a fake anything, but as a girlfriend.

“Even if it’s under strange circumstances,” Morris says, “it’s good to meet you. You and Dominic have clearly created something special, and even if it’s not exactly something I’d listen to otherwise, a lot of people seem to be connecting with it. And it’s great that the two of you have been able to stay friends.” He gets to his feet. “We’ll be finishing up dinner, if you feel like giving Shay a tour of the house.”

“Can we help with anything?” I ask.

Margot waves a hand. “It’s nearly ready.” She grins as she adds, “And, well, we don’t hate showing off our house.”