▪️Saturday, February 20th, 2018▪️

▪️Chicago, IL▪️

Three items left on the list. One: remove masking tape from the paint I just touched up. Two: hang the toilet paper in the bathroom. Three: turn on the new neon 'Open' sign. The check marks noting the completed items beneath these three on the list are so many, I have to drag my finger up several times before I get to the end. Maybe I'll find time to count them later to feed my sense of accomplishment, but that would have to wait.

I place the final toilet paper roll into the new industrial-size metal contraption Ben insisted on for each bathroom, wash my hands, and brace myself against the sink. An enthusiastic knock rattles the door and my nerves. I should be out there helping with the last touches on the refreshments, but I need a minute. This bathroom smells of pine and orange potpourris Mom promised she'd be maintaining. The space appears sparkling and fresh. The face staring at me from the mirror is anything but. It has black circles under the eyes that are tired and scared and are mine. My dobok looks perfect.

A knock at the door repeats.

"It's go time," says Ben.

Go time. The opening is happening. And yes, we are still waiting on some odds and ends for the new showers we installed, the shelves in the hallway with items for sale are half-empty, and only the most important pictures are back on the wall, but it's one of the things no one but Ben and I will notice. I walk to the main hall and wave to Mom, who's rearranging the food on the tables for the third time, as if having the sliced cucumbers to the left or to the right of the baby carrots matters to the six-year-olds who'll be ignoring them in favor of the bags of chips.

The divider between the parent viewing area and the main room sports a bunch of balloons. A makeshift stage area is on the other end, with microphones and chairs Ben and his Mom have arranged for the music they are playing for us like they did during Marguerite's Friendsgiving Bash. No alcohol this time, but we have a mini fridge with colorful juices, a cooler with water and favored sodas. The RSVPs were for eighty-seven people, but we have enough food and drinks to take care of twice that many.

"Ready?" Ben's waiting for me by the entrance. We turn the sign on, open the door, and walk outside. This Saturday morning did not start with a run but a last-minute dash to the hardware store to get AAA batteries for the lights we were installing the night before. It was worth it. Even in the grayness of this February morning, the dots of light around the windows draw the eye. We put the A-frame sign with a mylar balloon cluster by the door. The Grand Opening banner above the entrance collected a bit of snow, and I reach up to clean it with my hand. My fingers freeze from the contact with the icy crust on the plastic.

The event that always seemed far in the future is here. I wish so many things were different. My chest tightens. I wish Angie were here with me, standing and looking at this new space, at the design decisions she helped me make, at the physical proof of my dream. The tightness and ache in my solar plexus were some of the things I was avoiding. I used the intense scramble of the last weeks as an excuse to bury myself in running from place to place, in never pausing long enough to feel, and now, here, in front of the biggest gamble of my life, it hits me.

I'm the owner of this business. People rely on me. This is beyond bills, and schedules, and smiling kids—I'm a business owner. And I feel more like an adult than when I got my full-time engineering job. I straighten my shoulders and survey the result of months of hard work I've put into creating a home for our current students and many more new ones to come. I have Ben to help and support me with any unmanageable decisions, but this is now mine. The failures, the successes, the day-to-day—they are mine. I welcome the burden and the honor.

Mom comes out and waves for Ben and me to stand right under the sign. "Smile, boys."

We do. I hope my eyes on that photo will show pride too, not only the tiredness I saw in the bathroom. "We'll hang this one up next to Mr. Chang's photo from the original opening."

"Maybe I should join the picture too?" Mr. Chang shuts the door of a ride share car and walks over. Snow begins to fall again, and I make a mental note to come back in an hour to get the snow off the sign and the banner again. I want every car driving by to see we are open. Our location is part of our advertising strategy, because most of the local families come to this mall for groceries, haircuts, ice-cream, takeout, and the small mailing and PO Box service.

Mr. Chang hugs Ben and me, and we take more photos, the first ones in a row of many I hope to take with the families and patrons who've been training with Mr. Chang, Ben, and me for years, and whose patience with the renovations allowed us to do what we truly wanted with the space, and not just the basic cosmetic changes.

"You'll still recognize the place, but we've reworked the layout, added another bathroom, and showers, changing stalls, split the space into two areas so we can run different classes, and we have the new equipment storage over there." Mr. Chang touches the decals with the old logo that we hired a graphic designer to update. He bounces on the new mats and nods appreciatively at the showers and new lockers.

"You even got a washer and dryer in here?"

"Will be easier than dragging stuff home." I open and close the doors on the stackable unit we retrofitted into the closet.

"This is amazing." Mr. Chang sits on a plastic chair and opens a bottle of water. "The dream I had was to have a space to teach the next generations my passion and respect for Taekwondo. What you have here is a modern facility that will let so many children and adults find their place, learn the martial arts, and find a community. I was certain you two would be the right owners for the space." His eyes glisten with the unshed tears. "My move to Toronto is a done deal, but seeing this place, knowing you two will take care of it, I can retire and find a new life in Canada with my daughter's family. I will no longer have a heavy heart over abandoning my legacy. It will live on in you two and in this academy, and my dream of new generations coming into the fold will come true. Thank you for this gift."

He was the one who gave me the gift of confidence, of belonging, of having a safe space to unleash my anger, so that I didn't hurt anyone. I learned so much more than how to kick and dodge from him. I learned how to respect myself and others. I learned to work hard. I learned to be patient. And that last one has served me a great deal.

The entrance door opens, and the first family comes in with "ah" and "this is so cool" buzzing from them. I draw on my pool of patience and smile at the group. People trickle in, eat, talk, laugh, and Margarete's musician friends transition from one melody to another in the background. I could've done speakers and a Spotify playlist, but Ben insisted his mom wanted to do something, and music was the thing she thought she could contribute with best.

Joy sits at the edges of my ribcage and twinkles every time I see smiles and hear compliments for our Martial Arts Academy. The joy flickers when thoughts of Angie reappear, but I'm determined to savor this day. I placate the kids who stop me to play a juice chugging game with them. The room is full to the brim. I don't know what eighty-seven people in this space look like, but it feels like we have more.

The door keeps jingling with new people. Every time I look up with a ready smile to see who's next.

Jingle. Smile.

Jingle. My smile freezes on my lips.

I freeze.

My heart is a chunk of ice. Goosebumps like miniature icicles numb my skin. I shiver.

This familiar face has never been here.

It's out of place and time, and my two realities crash. Angie pulls her Christmas beanie with a giant pom-pom off. I know what it feels like, what she feels like. I crave to know everything there is to know about her. If she's here, does it mean she longs for it too?

Angie's eyes dart around the room. My throat tightens with an unsaid 'hi'. The words restrict the airflow, and my breaths grow shallow and rapid. Neil steps in behind her. The sugary juice I chugged to assure one little girl the drink was delicious turns into vinegar. Poppy. Travis. Oliver. What the fuck? What is the entire The Whats gang doing here? Their bodyguards file in behind, and more people I sort of recognize from the tour appear with cases. I swallow the golf ball of words, and they sizzle in the acid of my stomach.

"You're here." Marguerite finds her way to Angie and her face lights up. This is something Marguerite knew about. Goosebumps cling to my arms. The guests we have are watching the newly arrived with some curiosity, but I don't believe any of them have made the leap. Because why would The Whats be at a grand opening of a local Martial Arts Academy? Angie and the group follow Marguerite to the spot where her friends have been playing, and I see no surprise on their faces. This is something they knew about as well. Am I the only one who wasn't in the know?

My face heats, and no matter how many kids are laughing around me, I can't force a smile back onto my lips. I look for Ben and clock him on the other side of the dojang watching the procession with about the same expression of confused suspicion as must be on my face. We find each other's eyes, and I mouth, "Did you know?"

Ben shakes his head in an emphatic, "No." I would've forgiven him for this, but I would've killed him first. My hands ball into fists. I politely excuse myself from the juice drinking competition and move to the mini-stage. Every step chips at the fragile joy the opening has created. They should not force me to watch her perform like we haven't been at a standstill with a wall of silence between us. Seeing her in my space, with my friend's mom, smiling and setting up on the stage, kicks the Mike who cares about others out of my body. I'm back to the selfish jerk I've been hiding from since college. I want answers. I want the truth. I want Angie.

If I run, I'd be by her side in less than a minute. Seconds probably. Instead my progress is more like crawling. Like the miles that she spent on the road are now between us, and I must cover them to get to her on the other end of the room. She sets her hand on the keyboard, and the chords sing through the Academy, through me. I'm almost to the stage she's standing on. Her blue eyes I've been conjuring in my dreams flash brighter than red stoplights. I stop, mere feet away and listen to what she's communicating to me. I hear her loud and clear. I open my heart.