Hello, I Love You (27 page)

I collapse into the backseat and shove earbuds into my ears, cranking up the Rolling Stones as loud as I can handle.

“Chlorine, argon, potassium, calcium,” I whisper under my breath, hoping the periodic table will be enough to occupy my brain.

The car reaches the airport way too fast, and I hurry through the lobby. Momma will kill me if she has to wait. I maneuver past a family pushing their luggage on one of those carts, almost overturning it, as I make my way to international arrivals.

I check the monitor displaying arrival statuses and see their flight has landed early. Cursing under my breath, I make my way through the crowd assembled around the sliding doors and search for any familiar faces.

A shout cuts above the buzz of voices around me: “Gracie!”

I whip around to face the voice in time to be practically tackled by a girl nearly four inches taller than me with shoulder-length blond hair and the body of an athlete. Jane throws her arms around my neck and squeezes until I can’t breathe.

“Oh my gosh,
I’m here
!” she squeals, shoving me to arm’s length and staring at me. “South Korea’s been good to you. You look hot, girlfriend!”

I can’t hold back a laugh at my sister’s enthusiasm. “A hot mess, maybe.”

We hug again, and it finally hits me for real—Jane is with me, in Korea. Which means …

“Grace?” another familiar voice says.

All the blood drains from my head, and my hand shoots out, latching onto Jane’s arm to steady myself. Standing there with a Louis Vuitton suitcase at her side is my mother. She looks the same as when I left: The perfectly sculpted auburn hair, designer dress that’s only slightly rumpled from the flight, and sunglasses so big they look like they’re eating her face. It’s like she’s been transported here from last August, but I don’t even feel like the same person.

She pulls me into a loose hug. “Honey, you look run ragged. If it was that much of an inconvenience for you, we could have taken a taxi from the airport. You didn’t need to pick us up.”

I hold back a snort. As if she wouldn’t have screamed at me if she wasn’t coddled 24/7. But I take the high road and choose not to comment.

“Here, let me help you with your bags.”

I take the suitcase handle out of Momma’s hand and lead them out front, where the driver is mercifully waiting for us. He loads the bags into the trunk, and we’re off.

“So tell me all about school,” Jane says, excitement bubbling out of her, despite being squished between me and Momma in the backseat. “And Seoul. Oh my
gosh,
I can’t believe you got to go there before me!”

“Yes, you never told us about your … trip,” Momma says in a pinched voice. She flashes me a polite smile, but I’ve known her long enough to see the anger simmering underneath her flawless skin.

I force a laugh, praying it doesn’t sound as anxious as I feel. “Y’all don’t want me to bore you with all the details—you just flew halfway across the world. We’ll talk once you’ve slept.”

The ride to the hotel is painfully long, although Jane cuts through some of the tension with her prattling. I’ve never been more thankful for her inability to keep her mouth shut than I am now.

Once the driver’s deposited us at the front door and I’ve instructed him to wait for me, we wheel the suitcases into the lobby. Momma gives it a once-over, her nose wrinkling, as if this isn’t one of the most expensive hotels in Incheon.

I drop them off at their room with the promise to pick them up in the morning. On my way back to school, my thoughts are too jumbled for me to make any sense of them.

My pulse races like I’m sprinting down a track, and sweat lingers on my back and beneath my arms. I search for the detached calm I’ve held on to for so many months, but it’s lost somewhere in the swirl of emotions I wish I could make disappear.

With shaking fingers, I sort through the stuff in my purse until I pick out my phone. I scroll through my contacts until I pull up Jason’s number. My thumb hovers above the screen, but I just stare at his name.

I could call him, and he would answer. He would come over if I asked him. We could watch a movie or talk about music. But then he’d know something’s wrong, he’d know I’m not as strong as I like to pretend to be. And even though he’s been open with me, even though I’ve seen him vulnerable, I can’t let him see
me
that way. I can’t let him know—I can’t let anyone know—just how messed up I am inside.

“I can do this,” I whisper to myself. “I can do this.”

I have no idea what
this
is, but the mantra settles my nerves. Sighing, I rest my head against the window pane and watch the city lights pass.

But when the driver stops in front of the entrance to the school, I realize my eyes are filled with tears.

Chapter Twenty-three

I wake the next morning with a stabbing pain behind my eyebrows and an ache just above the nape of my neck. It feels like someone hit my head with a sledgehammer, but I force my body out of bed, anyway.

Since Sophie’s mother isn’t arriving until tomorrow, she helps me babysit Momma and Jane for Parents’ Day, even though Momma talks to Sophie like my roommate’s a toddler.

“I don’t want to confuse the poor dear with English words,” she says—right in front of Sophie.

My roommate maintains her usual enthusiasm, however, and she and Jane bond over their mutual love of a KPOP band I’ve never heard of and the color purple, which leaves me to listen to Momma’s condescending remarks about the school, the food, and the culture all day—oh my gosh, is this what
I
sounded like when I first arrived? By the time Sophie and I have dropped them back off at their hotel and returned to our dorm, my head feels like it’s going to explode.

I drop onto my bed with a groan, throwing the comforter over my face.

“Are you okay?” Sophie asks.

I peek out from underneath my blanket-tent and watch Sophie plait her hair into pigtail braids. She peers at my reflection in the mirror, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

“I think I’m dying.”

“What’s wrong? Does your stomach hurt?” She takes a few steps back, like she’s afraid whatever has me cowering under the covers will spread to her.

“Migraine.”

Her face melts into a look of sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry! Maybe you were outside in the sun too long.”

“More like I was with my mother too long,” I mutter.

Sophie frowns, turning to look at me. “It’s possible to worry so much that you make yourself sick, and you’ve been worrying a lot about your mother coming.”

“You think I stressed myself into getting a migraine?”

She shrugs. “It’s possible.”

Yeah, it is, but the admission freezes on my lips. “Well, you don’t know the Wicked Witch of the South the way I do. You saw some of her evil today. Multiply that times a million. Maybe if she was
your
mom, you would literally worry yourself sick, too.”

Sophie spritzes herself with perfume and slips on a pair of high-heeled sandals, and I ask, “Where are you going?”

“Tae Hwa and I are going shopping in Seoul—I need a dress to wear for the graduation ceremony.”

“But you’re going to be wearing a robe on top of it.”

“Not all day! Besides, I’ll know what I’m wearing underneath, and if it’s not pretty, I won’t
feel
pretty, no matter if anyone else can see it or not.”

I roll my eyes as she heads out the door, but I freeze when my phone vibrates and I recognize my mother’s number.

“Let’s go out to dinner,” Momma says before I can even say hello.

“Uhh … I don’t think tonight is good.”

There’s a long pause, then, “And what do you expect us to do without you?”

“I already told you about some good restaurants—”

She scoffs. “We’re in this country to see you. No point in going without you.”

A sigh passes through my lips.

“Don’t sigh at me, Grace Loretta Wilde,” she snaps, but the harshness in her voice somehow soothes the anxiety twisting in my gut—at least she’s being honest about her hatred for me, as opposed to hiding it underneath layers of politeness.

“So what’s wrong with you?” she asks. “Are you going out with a boy or something else supposedly more important than spending time with your mother?”

“No!” I cry, and I’m instantly rewarded with a slash of pain through my temples. “I have a migraine,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Well, let’s put the entire world on hold because you need an aspirin,” she huffs. “Call us when you get better.”

And she hangs up.

I blow out a slow breath, closing my eyes. I’ve escaped the noose for now, but I’ll have to face her again tomorrow.

My phone vibrates against my hand, and my stomach drops. Please don’t let her be calling back. Or worse, don’t let it be that reporter again. But when I check the number, a flash of surprise hits me. I pick up.

“Hey, where are you?” Jason says. “I thought we were meeting in front of the dining hall for dinner.”

I suck in a quiet gasp. “Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot to call you. I don’t think I can come out tonight.”

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

My stomach flips at the concern in his voice, but I immediately scold myself for reading into it. “No, I’m just not feeling well. I’ve got a killer migraine.”

Pause.

“Do you want me to bring you anything?”

Now my face heats, and no amount of self-reproach will dampen the flames underneath my skin. “No, that’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, totally, but thanks anyway.”

We hang up after a few more times of me assuring him, but the second after I disconnect the call, regret clenches my chest. Maybe I should have let him come, let him baby me a little. Lord knows he should take care of me, for once.

I fall into a light doze maybe twenty minutes later, and drift in and out of sleep for the next hour or so until a knock taps on my door. I linger in that hazy space of almost-dreaming for a few seconds until another knock.

With a moan, I shove off my blankets and shuffle to the door, muttering under my breath, “If that’s Sophie knocking because she forgot her key again, I’m going to kill her.”

But when I open the door, it’s not Sophie staring back at me. It’s Jason.

All the blood drains from my face and pools in my bare toes, and I’m temporarily struck dumb.

He holds up a pill bottle, glances at it, then looks back at me. And earns extra points for not staring at my disheveled hair or the polka-dot pajama pants.

“I wasn’t sure if you had anything to take for your headache,” he says, and a soft smile plays at the corners of his lips.

“Umm … well … I…” Have lost the ability to articulate, apparently. “Thank you,” I manage, taking the bottle from his hand. “I’m uhh … sure this will help.”

I expect him to duck out, maybe throw a jab about my bedhead, but he lingers, stays in my doorway. He stuffs his hands into his jeans pockets, tilting his chin down and looking up at me through dark bangs.

After a few silent moments, he asks, “How’s your mother? You took her to Parents’ Day, right?” He clears his throat. “How are things going? I know you don’t enjoy spending time with her.”

A mixture of surprise and wariness twists inside me. Has Sophie told him anything about my fights with Momma? Does he know about my family drama? Fear claws at my chest, threatening to freeze the breath in my lungs.

I study his eyes, searching for any recognition or knowledge, but there’s nothing. Just curiosity. And … worry. The realization slams into me so hard, for a few seconds I forget about the pain in my head and the mother who brought my fears across the ocean with her. Jason is worried about me.

Heat ignites in my stomach, spreads through my chest, crawls its way up my neck and all the way to my hairline. Until I’m bathing in the warmth of his attention.

I consider dodging his question, but instead I find the truth slipping from my lips: “She’s okay. She hasn’t really been impressed with the school so far.” I laugh, but it’s like I’ve been hit by a baseball bat.

We fall into silence, and I’m still waiting for him to jump ship, to tell me he’s got better things to do than hang out with me. But he stays, almost like he’s waiting for me. It’s my move.

“Do you—” I stop, watching him carefully. “I mean, do you want to come in?”

Half of me thinks he’ll laugh, wave a hand, and head down the hallway. But he doesn’t. He flashes me a smile.

And he says, “Sure.”

Jason comes into my room, and I get into the bed, and he sits at my desk, and we talk. I don’t know for how long. But as the minutes pass, I feel my migraine weakening until it disappears altogether and I’m sitting up and laughing and wishing I could spend every day with Jason Bae.

*   *   *

The next morning, I wake up to a new text from Jason, asking if I’d like to meet him for dinner tomorrow. We agree on a time, and as we send messages back and forth, I can’t stop smiling.

At noon, I head out to Momma and Jane’s hotel to show them around town, and an hour later, I’m standing at their door. Momma answers, looks me up and down, and purses her lips.

Her eyebrows pull up. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter.

As we get into the elevator, Momma asks, “So, where are we going? We should do a little shopping—I’ll buy you a new purse.” She juts her chin toward the fringe-covered one hanging from my shoulder. “That one looks like a cat tried to eat it. You should be carrying something nicer.”

I take them down to a Korean market, then to the waterfront to watch the boats. Jane loves everything, but I can’t get more than a semi-interested
hmm
out of Momma.

For dinner, I decide to take them to a nice restaurant, because surely Momma can’t complain about gourmet food. We step into the building’s air-conditioned lobby, then ride the elevator to the top floor, past the law offices, banks, and other high-end businesses renting the other floors. When the doors open, we’re let out into a packed foyer, where a hostess takes our names and shows us to our table by the gigantic windows that look out over the city and the ocean.