Page 53 of Wish Upon a K-Star

At least I don’t have any other scheduled appearances outside ofOCM. So, I can hide away, telling myself that most threatening letters are fake. That I probably shouldn’t worry about it. That giving it to Hongjoo and the company is enough.

And today I don’t have time to worry about it.

Because today I’m getting married.

I am currently encased in the bulbous skirt of a bridal hanbok in bright reds and golds. The jeogori is tight around my shoulders so I can’t fully lift my arms. It’s the long-sleeve top of a traditional Korean dress, shorter than a crop top, knotted shut with a single loop called an otgoreum. I always feel self-conscious the jeogori will pop up and show the hanbok petticoat underneath (I think the woman helping me dress called it a sokchima). But with the bridal outfit, a long top coat, or wonsam, is worn. You can’t even see the jeogori, which makes me wonder why the costume person forced me to put it on when it restricts all my movement.

The wonsam trails low in front of me, the bright green of the overcoat a huge contrast to the vivid red of the skirt. And the sleeves are like two feet longer than my arms, so I’m having trouble keeping them pushed up right now so I can play on my phone as I get my styling done.

“Are you sure I have to wear the full getup?” I ask as David carefully slicks back my hair. I pick up the long gold-plated binyeo that will be speared through the tight bun he’s creating at the nape of my neck.

“Be grateful I’m not making you wear the bridal wig.” He nods toward the monstrosity that looks like a braided re-creation of Darth Vader’s helmet.

“Thank you for your generosity,” I mutter. “Where’s Jeongho?”

“He’s at the salon, bothering another stylist.”

I laugh. “You can’t keep going through assistants,” I say. “You’re way too busy to do everything on your own.”

“The pressures of being so in-demand for my skills.” He gives an exaggerated sigh.

I sigh along in sympathy.

The door bursts open. “Eonni!” Sohee shouts. “David-oppa!” She gives him a quick air-kiss before turning to me with a wide grin.

“Sohee?” I get out through my confusion.

She squeals as she grabs my hands, jumping up and down. “Look at you! It’s like you’re in a sageuk drama! You look like my eomma in her old wedding photos!”

Sohee looks delighted, but I’m still confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited as a guest.” She’s still looking me over. She runs her hands over the bright red folds of my skirt. They trace the gold embroidery at the edges. “I wish they’d told us it was a traditional wedding. I’d have asked to wear a hanbok too.”

“But what about your schedules?” I ask. “Don’t you have to be with your group?” Is the company really letting her appear in the show?

“We don’t have anything today. And I really wanted to be here. What kind of best friend would I be if I missed your wedding?”

I want to remind her that it’s fake. But I feel tears suddenly pricking at my eyes. I didn’t realize I’d be so emotional to see her here. “Thanks for coming,” I choke out.

She smiles and tries to hug me. It’s more of an awkward lean and back pat through all the layers of material I’m wearing. “Don’t wrinkle her,” David warns as he stabs the binyeo through my tight bun; it makes me wince a bit.

“Today is going to be fun,” Sohee declares.

I laugh. “I’m not sure about that. But it’ll be a little easier with you here.”

“Okay!” Hongjoo comes in. “Who’s ready to get married?”

The ceremony itself is quick. It’s blazing hot outside, and I think Han-PD knows that I’m two seconds away from heatstroke under all my layers.

Minseok’s traditional hanbok is much simpler. Made of the same material, but a quarter of the layers. Plus, he can use his hands. I have to be led around like a child, with two older women on either side of me, helping me bow and drink the ceremonial water. I feel like I’m delirious by the time we’re brought inside for the “reception.”

As I walk in, loud cheers erupt and I stumble backward, ramming into Minseok with a soft “Oof.”

Jaehyung, Jun, and Robbie race forward, singing a congratulations song used for anything from a promotion to a new baby.

“Chuka-ham-ni-da! Chuka-ham-ni-da!” they crow as they dance around us, high-fiving Minseok.

I try to smile along, but all I can think is that I want to drink a gallon of water.

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