His jaw tightens. “We disagree on a lot of stuff. He took Sophie and me away from our mother when he moved to America and wouldn’t let us return to Korea until we were fourteen.”
So he hasn’t forgiven his father for separating him and Sophie from their mom. I can understand that, but it seems a bit harsh to not have spoken to him in three years. Not that I’ve been really chatty with Momma lately. If I could get away with not talking to her for three years, I’d probably do it.
“Why did your dad move to the States?”
He runs a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “He and my mother divorced right after she got pregnant. My father … cheated on her,” he says through clenched teeth, his tone thick with disdain. “And he went to America to live with his mistress. They just got married about three years ago.”
“Was the woman American?” I should probably stop asking questions, prying into his past, but my curiosity outweighs any sense of social etiquette. Besides, he’s still answering, isn’t he?
He shakes his head. “She was Korean. His secretary.”
Ouch. And talk about cliché.
“So she’s your stepmom now?”
He slows to a halt in front of a crowded bar, staring out at the street with blank eyes. “Yeah. They live together in New York. With three kids.”
The bitter sharpness in his expression melts into a wearied sorrow, like he’s carried the weight of these emotions a long time without any sort of respite. The impulse to place my arm on his shoulder or take his hand to comfort him flashes through my brain, but I stomp it down, telling myself it would only complicate our friendship. He’s finally decided he trusts me enough to open up; I’m not ruining that by crossing any boundaries.
“I’m sure your dad loves you,” I say, more as a last resort because I can’t think of anything better. “He obviously wanted you and Sophie to live with him.”
Anger flashes in his eyes. “He wanted us to live with him because he wanted to ruin my mother’s life, that’s all. He never loved us.”
I’ve no idea how to respond, so I keep quiet, hovering beside him, waiting for any cues as to how I should react. He stands there a moment longer before a light flashes, and I notice the gigantic camera suddenly in our faces.
The paparazzo guy shamelessly clicks away at Jason, gaining the attention of people passing by. Jason tenses, throwing his hand in front of the camera. He says something to the guy in Korean, probably, Get out of my face, dude, but the photographer doesn’t budge.
With a huff, Jason turns his back on the camera, grabs my wrist, and pulls me away from the retina-burning flashes. We speed down the sidewalk at a half jog, and after a quick text to his driver, the car shows up and we disappear behind the protection of tinted windows.
The ride back to school is long and silent, and I can’t help wondering if the run-in with the photographer ruined our evening, though it could be in my favor that Jason not think too hard about our conversation. I worry he’ll regret telling me about his past, and I have no idea how to assure him that he can trust me.
The driver drops us off in front of the entrance to the school, and we walk back to our dorms, still not talking. My mind races for any words that might rewind our conversation to a place where we haven’t lost any ground in our relationship. I’ll kick myself if my prying questions have made him less keen on hanging out with me.
We pause outside my dorm, and he hesitates. “I’m sorry for … how crazy my life is sometimes,” he says, not meeting my gaze.
“No!” I cry, with probably too much vigor. “It’s fine. I umm … like hearing about you. And Sophie. Your family.”
“What?” He tilts his head to the side and stares at me a second before his mouth forms an O. “No, I meant with the photographer.”
“Oh! Well, that’s fine, too.” I breathe a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, I totally understand the crazy.”
“Right.” He gives an almost imperceptible nod, then mutters, “Also, uhh … thanks for listening. You know. About my dad.”
“No worries. I mean, y’all planned the whole Thanksgiving thing. It means a lot to me that you guys—” My voice breaks off, and I bite down on my bottom lip. “That you would do that for me.”
He jerks a nod, staring down at his foot, which scuffs the sidewalk. But even in the pale light from the streetlamps, I can see the smile curling his lips.
We fall quiet. I wait for him to leave, to interrupt our nice evening with an insensitive, inappropriate, or otherwise mean word. But he doesn’t, and I feel the need to bridge the silence between us.
“I’ve got to figure out how to ditch my parents for Christmas.” I force a laugh, though my throat feels like it might close up. “My mom emailed me today and said I needed to tell her when to buy my airplane ticket, but I definitely don’t want to spend an entire month at home.”
He catches my eye, a new, earnest spark in his. “Are you going to spend Christmas here, then?”
“No idea. But anything’s better than Nashville. I just wish I could steal my little sister so we could be together.”
“Well, Sophie and I are going home for the break, so you’ll be in the dorm alone.”
My heart sinks. The improbable hope that I’d held on to that they would choose to stay here at school withers. Looks like it’ll either be a stressful or a lonely holiday for me.
“Oh,” I manage. “Okay.”
“We’re going to spend Christmas with my mother,” he continues. “And I have to start working on the drama.”
“Oh yeah, your drama.” I cut my eyes to him. “I’m sure you’re excited to see your face on the small screen.”
He scowls, but there’s no effort in it. “I’m dreading it, actually. But what I was thinking was that, maybe you would like … if you have no interest in going home … I’m not sure if you would want to—don’t feel you have to accept—”
“Jeez, Jason,” I interrupt. “Out with it.”