Page 35 of The Romance Rivalry

Seventeen star-crossed lovers

Six months ago, I thought all I wanted to do was fall in love.

Maybe that was an overstatement then.

I realize now I’d only bought into finding a boyfriend. The love part was more than I bargained for.

Turns out falling in love isn’t that difficult. Aiden made that way too easy, with those dimples, that humor, that heart.

It’s being in love when your world feels so overwhelming, when expectations keep piling up, when you’re failing everything

and everyone, that’s the hard part.

I take out two of the sweaters I packed and sit back down on my suitcase to see if I can get it zipped this time. I’m taking the train home for Thanksgiving and as much as I love my parents, I’m grateful there’s another option for me rather than them coming up to get me. I’ll be spending the next week with my family as it is. Getting a couple hours alone is a gift. Well, I won’t be alone. I’ll be stuck with my thoughts, and that might end up being its own kind of torture.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Jeannette says to me, sitting on her own suitcase and struggling to zip it closed.

“I’m gonna miss you, too.” The truth surprises me. We’re only gonna be apart for a week. But Jeannette has become a staple

in my daily life. I’ll miss her laugh and her jokes and her penchant for holding my hand and hugging me when I least expect

it. WHO have I become?

It’s interesting how much I’ve changed in just the first few months of school. And yet I’m still the chronic people pleaser,

stuck in an impossible situation.

“Promise me we’ll FaceTime every single day,” she says.

I laugh, namely because I’m not sure if she’s serious or not. Sounds excessive, but this is Jeannette, after all.

“Do you guys have any big plans other than turkey?” I ask.

“Oh, we do the whole Black Friday thing. Awake by three, in line at Best Buy by four to get those coveted tickets for the

big items we don’t need but can’t possibly pass up at this price. When you’re a family of six kids, money can sometimes be

tight and capitalism gaslights you into believing a markdown is a gift that you can’t refuse. I drive a twenty-year-old hand-me-down

car with over two hundred thousand miles on it back home. But somehow I get a new TV or computer or music system every year

for Christmas. It’s a trip.”

It makes me wonder what beliefs I’ve held on to that make no sense, that are society or culture or family history’s way of gaslighting me. The need to be the best, to be number one at something is a big one in Korean culture. I guess the fact that I’m going to a college I wouldn’t have chosen for myself in order to study for a career I’m not suited for and fake date a guy I actually really like to make me seem more competent to my family and my followers proves I’ve fallen prey to this belief. Good times.

Too bad I’m failing at all these things.

“When does Charles leave for home?” I ask.

“I think he’s the first to go. His bus is at ten. He’s gonna stop by here on his way to the bus station. He’ll be here in

a few minutes.”

I’m glad I’ll get to see him before we all part for the holidays. A hollow ache in my chest reminds me that I won’t get to

see Aiden, though. I didn’t even get to ask him what he was doing for Thanksgiving. Would he be welcomed home? The dorms are

closed over the holidays so there’s no way for him to stay here. Will he go with Charles?

“And do you know what Aiden’s doing?” I go about force-zipping my suitcase and don’t look up at Jeannette. Too afraid of judgment

or pity in her eyes.

A hand touches my back and suddenly arms wrap around me from behind. I pat her hand, showing appreciation for her sign of comfort as best I can, and then writhe my body a bit to free myself from the hold. I’ve grown more used to Jeannette’s affectionate ways, but it’s still awkward sometimes. Well, more accurately, I’m awkward.

“Talk to him, Irene. You’re miserable. He’s miserable...”

“You’ve seen him?” I whip around to face her, hoping to get as much information as I can.

“I was over at their dorm yesterday after Charles and I had dinner,” she says. “Aiden misses you. He’s trying to give you

the space you need.”

I swallow back the emotion threatening to release the waterworks.

“I was so awful to him, Jeannette. But I can’t help but believe that he did me dirty. I’ve struggled to grasp why he’s interested

in me. And finding out about his book just gave me too easy of an answer. I know I was overreacting, but honestly, maybe it’s

all for the best.”

“I love you, you know this, right? But I have to say... I think you’re being unfair to him. We both know he’s not the type

of person who would use you in that way. There’s some stuff you need to work out in here”—she taps my temple—“and here”—she

taps my heart—“first, but I sure hope that when you do, you give him another chance. What you guys have is too good, too right,

too primed for your HEA.”

“Ya decent?” Charles peeks his head in through our door and smiles.

“Come on in,” I say. “We’re just finishing up having a moment.”

“Damn, I hate missing a moment. Was there awkward hugging involved? Tears?” he asks.

“Yup and yup,” I say. “But you know there will be plenty more where that came from before the year is done.”

“With you two? I’d guarantee it.” He’s always so freaking good-natured. No wonder he and Aiden get along so well. The four

of us made a pretty great friend group. I hope I didn’t ruin it all with my failure to college correctly. “Oh hey, before

I forget...” He reaches out and offers me a thick manila envelope. “For you.”

“Looks very official, what is it?” I ask.

“Open it, open it,” Jeannette clasps her hands as if Santa himself has delivered me a gift.

I take the envelope from Charles, turning it over, but nothing’s written on the front. I narrow my eyes at him, trying to

figure out what the big secret is. But his face is a blank slate, other than the googly eyes he’s making at Jeannette right

now. I need to get this over with so I can escape and give these two lovebirds some privacy to say their goodbyes.

I turn it back over and unwind the string from the two circles to open it. I pull out a fairly large stack of bound papers.

A green Post-it note with familiar writing is stuck to the front page.

This story is as much for you as it is about you. —A

I close my eyes for a second, trying to push back the tears.

Aiden’s manuscript.

I let my free hand reverently stroke the front page, as if what lies within holds deeply held, valuable secrets. And maybe

it does.

I quickly push the manuscript back into the envelope. This is not something I can look at and handle right now. Maybe on the

train. Or maybe this weekend.

“Thanks, Charles, for delivering it. I appreciate it,” I say. “Now, I’ll let you two have some privacy. I’m gonna stock up

on some snacks for the train so I can use up the rest of the points on my dining card.”

As I head out to the market, my phone buzzes with a new message.

Charles: package delivered. She looked... shocked.

Jeannette: she looked... touched.

Aiden: thanks... um... everyone. Happy reading, Irene. I hope you like it.

Me: Thank you for trusting me with it. I’m looking forward to it.

Charles: wow, this is way more awkward than I imagined when I thought to take it to the group chat.

Jeannette: Yeah, that was a bust. See you all on the other side of Turkey Day everyone!

I want to ask Aiden if he has somewhere to go. In fact, my fingers hover over my phone ready to ask the question. But I figure Charles would have mentioned it if he didn’t. Or Jeannette would have dragged him home with her. So I force my fingers to wrap around the handle of my shopping basket and start filling it with snacks for my trip home.

My mom’s SUV waits for me at the train station. I throw my suitcase in the back next to Eugene and slide into the front passenger

seat. “Thanks for coming to get me. I could’ve just gotten an Uber, no big deal,” I say, reaching over and giving her a hug.

Eugene starts cackling in the back.

“What’s so funny back there?” I ask.

My mom joins in on the laughing.

“Mom said you were going to get in the car and tell us you could’ve gotten an Uber. Just like you did. She was right,” he

says, still laughing.

God, sometimes a thirteen-year-old’s laugh is freaking adorable. I want to tickle him all over.

“You always offer to do something that you think will make it easier on everyone else, Irene,” Mom says. “But what you don’t

realize is that me and Eugene wanted very much to see you right away and be here when you arrived. Daddy and Cybil, too, but

they both had to work late today. They’ll meet us at home.”

I’m... speechless. My first inclination is to deny. But she’s right. I guess I do. Just like Aiden said, too.

I swallow back the emotions the truth seems to want to bring out of me. “Well, thanks. I’m happy to see you guys. I’ve missed

you.”

“The house is so boring without you, Noona. No one is as funny as you are,” Eugene says.

“I was thinking the same thing about my school, Eug. No one makes me laugh like you do.”

Eugene proceeds to tell me a bunch of really bad dad jokes and then catches me up on his school and golf and all things Minecraft . By the time we get home, I’ve managed to avoid any questions from my mom about college and I breathe a sigh of relief when

I toe off my shoes entering our house.

“Is that Irene?” my dad calls out from the kitchen. He meets me halfway and gives me a stiff side hug, his go-to display of

affection. “How was the train? Are you hungry?”

We all walk into the kitchen, where the table is covered in In-N-Out bags, the smell of the grilled onions blessing my senses.

I feel like I must be PMSing because this sight, these smells, the raucousness of my family all talking over each other makes

me emotional. A tickle in my nose, followed by wetness in my eyes. I purse my lips trying to hold it all in.

I love being at school, despite all the stress. I love my new friends and the people who are helping me find myself. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I’ve missed home, too. I’ve missed my family.

“Here,” Cybil says, dropping a bag in front of me on the table.

I look at it, fingering through the contents, and then back up at my sister. “What is all this?”

“Just some skincare stuff I got at work. Mostly sheet masks. I figured your skin was a wreck, eating all that shit food in

the college cafeteria and not getting enough sleep. Don’t be lazy with your skin. You look a mess, so use a mask every night

for twenty minutes,” Cybil explains.

I open my mouth, unable to come up with the words. She so rarely does anything nice for me. “I... I... yeah, okay, twenty

minutes,” I finally get out. “Thanks.”

“Whatever,” she replies.

As we sit around the table devouring our Animal Style burgers, the conversation quickly turns to questioning me about school.

It catches me off guard, as I’m so rarely the center of attention at the dinner table. I think about Aiden’s comment about

the secrets we keep, things we fail to say or choose not to. It makes me consider the untruths I’ve been telling and where

they fall in the spectrum of secrets.

“So, how does it feel to be home? Different? I mean, I know school is going so well for you. But we’re really happy you’re

here,” Mom says.

“I’m happy to be here, too,” I say. “And, well, it’s nice to be back. It feels familiar and... I needed the break.”

Dad looks up from his burger, brow furrowed with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just, school’s hard. I know it’s only been a few months, but still, it’s a lot of transition. And I might have

overplayed how great it’s going at Parents Day.” Wow, getting out even a watered-down version of the truth was more excruciating

than I imagined. Each word took effort to release. But now that it’s out there, I let out a breath... relieved.

“Well, that’s to be expected, honey. It’s a new home, you’re on your own for the first time, and college courses are no joke.

I remember my first semester at Brighton. I cried a lot,” Dad admits.

“Really? But you loved it so much,” I say, surprised at his admission.

“True, I really did. But it took time to adjust to what was new.”

“Remember when I had to move up to a longer driver? That was so hard and I sucked for a while until I got used to it,” Eugene

says. “I cried, too.”

“I’m working for a new brand right now and it’s different than before. The expectations just feel a lot higher now,” Cybil

admits.

I whip my head around to face her. She’s never acknowledged any struggle before. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry it’s been hard,”

I say.

She doesn’t look up at me. She just shrugs it away. I won’t force her to say more. But I notice Mom’s eyes on her eldest. She’ll find a way to get through to Cybil.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Irene. Just do your best. Dad and I noticed how everyone we met at Parents Day held you in

such high regard. Seems you’ve got a lot of good people around you who can support you. And, of course, you’ve got us. You

can come home any time you need a break.” My mom’s smile is warm and understanding.

I grab a handful of french fries and stuff them in my mouth. We’re not a touchy-feely kind of family so I don’t want to freak

anyone out by being emotional. I’m just so grateful for everyone’s small admissions that make me realize I’m not the only

one.

“May I be excused to go play video games?” Eugene asks.

“Yeah, I gotta go, too. I have a date,” Cybil announces.

Dad starts clearing the table. “You two rest, I’ve got this,” he says to me and Mom.

“So, tell me more about this boy,” Mom says, turning to me.

I take a sip from my Coke and think about what I want to share. I’d usually just be very vague, and only share the best parts

with my mom. But I want to start being more honest. For me and for them.

“He’s great. I’m just... not so great back. I don’t know how to be good to him, when I struggle being good to myself.”

“Well, that’s classic Irene, isn’t it?” She smiles. “Always thinking of everyone else, not wanting to burden, afraid to disappoint. I used to think it was because you were the middle child and didn’t want to stand out so you made all your efforts about everyone else. But I’ve come to realize it’s just how your heart is. Even with your internet book stuff. You put all that work into it so that other people can find books to love as much as you do. You’re quite amazing.”

She reaches over and lays her hand on top of mine.

I try to process her words. Is this how she sees me? My mother, who I think probably knows me best of all?

“I’m not feeling really amazing right now. I’m not doing well in my classes, Mom. I let a lot of stuff slide. I couldn’t focus

on anything, so I just gave up on everything.” It feels good to admit this to someone, especially someone who I’d worried

about disappointing the most.

She nods, taking it all in. “Well, let’s figure out how to help you get back on track. And then we should consider if you

are in the right classes in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I worry you went to Brighton just for Daddy. I worry you’re studying to be an editor just for me. Of course we get

carried away and are excited selfishly. But above everything, we’re your parents, and we want you to be happy and successful.

We don’t want to force you into our dreams—we want you to find your own.”

“I’m not sure what I want, Mom. I think that’s the problem,” I admit.

“Well, if you take away everything you think everyone wants from you, if you stop trying to please everyone else, what do

you love to do?”

I don’t even hesitate.

“I love reading romance books. I love talking about them, recommending them to other people.”

“We could look into seeing if Brighton has a Library Sciences program. Or maybe you could consider finding a part-time job

as a bookseller? There are so many options. College is for you to find yourself. Don’t drown under the expectations of others.

And even if you figure out college itself isn’t what you want, we’ll try to find the best way to tell your dad that Brighton

didn’t work out for you.” She smiles, and it makes me laugh.

I lay my head down on top of our hands. She runs her fingers through my hair with the other. For the first time in a long

time, I feel like I can breathe. I don’t have the answers, but I know I want to look for them.

And here, at this dinner table where I’ve always felt unremarkable, like I didn’t quite have a place, like I needed to prove

myself to everyone else, I realize I’ve been wrong. I’ve had a place all along. And that’s what makes me the most remarkable

of all.

I go upstairs, change into my pj’s and crawl into bed. Turns out admissions and emotions are all exhausting.

I itch to read something, something new.

And then I remember it, burning a hole in my bag.

I reach down into my backpack and pull out the manila envelope with the precious pages inside. I pull the manuscript out slowly,

almost reverently.

And so I begin.

Page 1.

Welcome to my happy place.