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It was such a normal thing to do. Hanging out with mates, chatting shop about this, or that publication, telling them about the tour – the abridged version – including being recognised at the London concert.
Patrick had given me grief about being his ‘famous ex-girlfriend’. His new girlfriend, Emma, had nudged him and told him not to let it go to his head. I liked her and I liked her for him. At one point, while I was talking, Patrick had wordlessly peeled the wrapper from her muffin and handed it to her without either of them breaking from the conversation.
“Your Japan piece was good, by the way,” Denise – my former editor – had said, reaching across the table for another sugar packet. “Annoyingly good.”
“Thank you, I think,” I’d snorted, reaching for my coffee.
“Made me grouchy that it wasn’t one of ours,” she continued. “Were you always that good?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she cut in before I could.
“That reminds me. I demand first refusal if you want to do a tell-all tour exposé.”
“I feel like that would directly contravene my NDA,” I reasoned.
“Fine. A completely fictional, very tasteful, very anonymous exposé?”
“About a fictional K-Pop group?” I’d clarified, raising my mug to my lips.
“Exactly.” Denise winked.
It was the lightest I’d felt in weeks. No tour deadlines, no push-and-pull with Jihoon. Just a bunch of friends in a cafe on a warm, sunny day. Almost as though I’d never left, but in a good way.
The night before the tour moved onto France, I was stuffing clothes into my suitcase with my laptop open on the bed, and my phone balanced precariously on my toiletries bag.
Becka had just sent me the sixth variation of my new website.
“Babes, it’s not boring!” Becka whined as I hid a grin behind my hand.
She pouted at me through the screen while I pretended to scrutinise the website she’d made for me.
“I didn’t say boring,” I said patiently.
“‘Professional’ is another way to say ‘boring’,” she insisted.
“Well, does it need to be quite so… beige?”
Becka groaned and threw her hands in the air.
“First of all, that is not ‘beige.’ It’s ecru. Second of all, it’s very easy on the eyes.”
“Fine, fine,” I conceded. “To be fair, it is miles better than my last website.”
Becka paused, eyes narrowed in a way that would have made me nervous if she’d been in the room with me.
“Am I a joke to you?” she hissed, and my mouth twitched. “You’ve never had a website before!”
Laughter poured out of me before I could slap a hand over my mouth and my laptop bobbed up and down where I had it balanced on my lap.
“So technically this is the best website I’ve ever had.”
“Bish!” she howled, making me laugh harder.
“I swear to God, I will fly to London and–”
“Becka, calm down,” I said in between giggles, “you are way too serious about this.”
“Serious–” She cut herself off, leaning back in her chair and visibly taking a deep breath, before trying again in a tone so measured it was almost mechanical, while I just watched with fond admiration.
