Chapter Three

"June, it's beautiful."

My best friend, Yeona, turned to me, hands clasped beneath her chin, eyes bright. I fidgeted under her stare, and said, "It's not perfect. But I'm sick of messing with it."

She shook her head. "No, it is. Perfect, I mean. Your best one, maybe."

We were in my apartment, at the center of my study, which had morphed more into an art studio of sorts, an easel looming in the middle of the room, with canvases stacked around the space, in various degrees of completion. The one on display now had been a work in progress for the past seven months, complete then incomplete, with me obsessively painting and then repainting each brush stroke.

We were two weeks into January now, and I'd spent each day distracting myself from the tumult of the new year. It'd been much harder than I'd expected to shake the last conversation I'd had with Charlie. But I'd tried my best, throwing myself back into my work, forcing myself out of my creative rut in a pathetic attempt to move on from it all.

Come to Australia in March. One race.

His plea had not been lost on me. Even when I tried to tell myself that the answer was no, the pull was there, tugging at each thought with an echo of his words. It didn't help that he was still in the city, either. The internet had been buzzing since the announcement of his move to Morini, and now he was splattered all over my social media, the intimacy of his day-to-day life exposed in grainy photos from random people's phones.

Charlie Yang at the grocery store on Fifth Ave. Charlie Yang on a run at the pier. Charlie Yang driving his custom Morini on the freeway. Charlie Yang tipping the valet leaving dinner with racing legend and Morini team principal, Joohyun Park. He was everywhere, even when I wasn't looking for him.

"You're doing it again." Yeona's voice cut through my inward spiral, and I blinked, returning to my apartment. She stared at me with shrewd eyes, a half-smile on her lips. "You've got The Blank Stare, June."

The Blank Stare was a gentler way of naming my complete disassociation—something that had developed in the wake of Joshua's passing. Yeona had dubbed it this as a way to open the floor for my internal thoughts. Not that I was keen on sharing them. Still, it was helpful, always putting me back in the moment. Sometimes I would give her insight. Other times, not.

Today was not a day for sharing. Moving past her to take the canvas from the easel, I said, "It's nothing. I'm just tired today. I was up the past two nights trying to finish this."

"Are you gonna sell it?"

"No clue. It's not my best, so probably not."

She followed me out of the studio, taking perch on one of the barstools at my kitchen island instead, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. "I know you're all tortured artist right now," she said with her mouth full, "but I feel like we have to address the elephant in the room before it bursts through the walls."

"What elephant?" I asked, knowing exactly what she was referring to.

"Charlie was at the country club this morning. He and Ethan played squash. Ethan being the superior player, of course."

"Of course."

Ethan Kim had been our friend since childhood, and Yeona's husband for four years. I'd known him since he was nothing but gangly limbs and braces. Now, he was some finance bigwig, splitting his time between work, home, and—unfortunately for me—the country club, where he played squash with whichever poor and unfortunate soul happened upon him. This soul being Charlie Yang this morning, it would seem.

Now, my best friend wiggled her eyebrows at me through a mouthful of tomato, as if to say, Well?

I shook my head. "Don't look at me like that."

"What? I'm not looking at you like anything."

"You are. And there's no elephant in the room to discuss. Charlie's here, yes. On winter break I would assume. It's that or business. With Dad and all. But I'm not part of it."

She side-eyed me. "Ethan says he looks miserable. Like, pathetically. Says he looked like that even before he got annihilated during their squash match."

"So? Charlie's a sellout, Yeona. He signed with Morini and blindsided Helios—the team that gave him five season-winning cars. Talk about an undercut. I'd feel pretty miserable too if I were him, knowing I did something like that."

"Oh, get off your high horse, June," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure he had his reasons. He's been F1's golden boy for almost a decade. And besides, you haven't cared about the politics of motorsport in years."

"Well, I care about this." I swiped the carton of tomatoes from her before she could finish them off. "He signed to Morini. Knowing everything. My father put so much pressure on Joshua, he might as well have driven that car into the wall himself. Charlie was firsthand witness to that. Since childhood. And now, what? They're buddy-buddy, scratching each other's backs in the hopes of glory? I don't get it."

"I'm sure it's more complicated than that. He DNF'd the last four races of the season. I heard that Helios—"

"No offense, Yeona, but I don't really care what you heard. Like I said—I'm not part of whatever's going on with them. And I don't want to be."

My best friend held her hands up in surrender, although the look in her eye told me that this conversation was far from over. This was the downfall of having a shared interest in motorsport. At one point in time, it had been fun, crushing on the drivers and attending the occasional GP with my dad. When Joshua had entered F1, she'd been by my side to witness the highs and lows of every single race, whether we were in the paddock or at home screaming at the TV in our pajamas. Then came the crash, and the loss—and she had been there to witness this too. To watch any passion I had for the sport die with my brother.

Now, I knew nearly nothing, and she knew too much, always offering me insight when I didn't want it.

She'd heard that Helios what?

"Don't care," I said aloud, for her benefit and mine; I could tell by her expression that she could practically read every single thought playing across my face. "Talk about something else or get out of my house."

I was being snappy, but Yeona being Yeona was unflappable as ever. She merely stole back the carton of tomatoes, popping the remaining two in her mouth before saying, "Okay, well can we talk about the benefit gala that I've been agonizing over for the past month? It's all about to come together on Saturday. I was thinking we could put up a couple of your paintings for auction."

I hesitated. "I'm not sure."

"What? Why not? They'll all sell. They always do."

"It's not that."

"We can list them as an anonymous art donor is you want," she said, as if reading my thoughts. "But no one's buying them because you painted them. They're buying them because they're art. Real art. I know you always feel like some sort of nepo baby, but you're more than that. You have real talent, Junie." Standing, she turned her attention to my fridge, rustling around in the crisper for another snack. "You can say no to the auction," she continued over her shoulder. "But you're not allowed to back out of the event. I'm worried you're becoming a social recluse."

A snort of laughter escaped me. "I am not. I go out all the time. I was just at my dad's party, remember?"

"That's an obligation. This isn't. This is fun."

I wasn't quite sure that was how I would describe the stuffiness of galas like these, but I wasn't in much of a mood to argue with her, especially since she had seemed to drop the whole Charlie thing for the time being. Sighing, I told her, "I'll donate three pieces for the auction."

Yeona spun to face me, a bag of snap peas in hand. "You're the best."

"Anonymously," I added, pointing a finger at her, because I knew her. "I don't want any attention at that thing. It's too...suffocating."

"Oh, hush. It'll be fine. Just take advantage of the open bar and enjoy the free food."

That I could do. I pushed away from the counter, crossing my apartment to stand at the window. Outside, the ocean stretched off into the horizon, blue today under the winter sun, and calm, no sign of a thrashing current. "Charlie asked me to go to the first GP of the season," I said then, eyes on a gull wheeling offshore.

I'd been keeping this fact a secret since he'd asked me, if only because speaking it aloud made it seem too real. But here, in the confines of the room, the truth was squeezed out of me by the silence and its safety.

Yeona joined me at the window, crunching on her peas without looking over at me. "Are you gonna go?" she asked.

"No. Of course not." I glanced at her. "I'm an Auden girl, anyway. It wouldn't make sense for me to be there."

"Of course not. Then you would be the sellout."

My lips pressed into a thin line, and I faced the ocean once more. "Okay, so maybe my word choice was a little harsh. And you're right—I don't know what's been going on. I just—it's my dad, you know? Of all the people in the world."

"I get it." She nudged me with her hip. "But it's also Charlie. You know him. He'd never do something like that without his reasons."

"I used to know him. It's been years."

There was something calculating in her gaze. "Still, it's never too late to reconnect. He's here until the end of the month. I heard he moved into that highrise on Bell Street."

"And give the tabloids more gossip? No thank you. He does well enough staying in their headlines on his own."

"Okay, fair. But honestly, June, since when did gossip ever get to you? You've lived through years of it."

"Yeah, well, it used to be fun. Now it's just morbid stuff. Nothing worth indulging in." I chewed off a hangnail and watched the gull from earlier glide above the rolling ocean current. "Besides, I told Charlie—I left all that behind me. No use dredging it all up just because I don't get it. He can do as he pleases. I'll just, you know, judge from a distance. I'm sure it's what Joshua would want me to do anyway."

"I think Joshua would want you to slap the shit out of your father."

Our eyes met, and the two of us giggled, heads leaning toward each other in a familiar gesture formed during childhood—half conspiratorial, half affectionate. In the aftermath of the crash, she had been my greatest comfort. Fingers gripping mine while our stilettos sunk into the wet grass during Joshua's rainy funeral. Her hand on my back as I choked sobs into my pillow. Every Sunday for months, she would run with me to the highest point on my family's estate, where we'd scream into the abyss while the sun rose pink over the hills.

It was why I always went to her benefit dinners, despite all their stuffiness. Why I donated painting after painting. Why I let her raid my fridge and tell me what to do—whether I planned on taking it to heart or not. And why, on the night of the gala, I didn't wring her neck when I turned from the bar, three glasses of red wine deep, to find Charlie Yang inevitably before me, bringing the whole world to a standstill once more. 

a/n: please vote and/or comment if you enjoyed ! i am doing my best to upload around once a weekish, but please bear with me ! i am starting a new job next week so it might be a little delayed but i will still try very hard to be consistent for u all :3 i hope you are all doing well and happy aapi month !!! much love em xo