Page 41 of When Worlds Collide
“Alright,” my mum took over, “then what’s wrong?”
Inwardly, I sighed, but there was no use beating around the bush. My parents were my rocks; if anyone would understand, it was them.
I took a steadying breath. “This is going to sound… well it’s gonna sound like I’ve lost my marbles, but I need you to trust me."
“Kaiya, we love you, baby, but spit it out.” My mum narrowed her eyes at me as she stared down into the small screen and right into my soul.
“I’ve moved to Korea.” As soon as the words were out, I simultaneously wanted to laugh loudly, and slap a hand over my mouth. It was as if the words hung on the air between us, almost tangible and noisy in the deafening quiet of my parent’s frozen expressions.
My dad broke the silence first. “You’ve moved career?” He peered down at me.
My mum slapped at his arm. "Not career, you daft, old sod. Korea. The country!" But it was as if in saying the words, her own moment of realisation was delayed. I watched my mum's face as she suddenly began to compute what I'd actually said.
I tried again. “I’ve left LA. I’m-I’m in Korea. In Seoul. I’ve been here…” I tried to think, working backwards in my head. “A few days.” It seemed longer.
My mum’s frown seemed to deepen with each word. I could practically see the questions forming in the furrows between her eyebrows.
“Ky…” she started, but then closed her mouth. I watched as she briefly closed her eyes, before focusing on me once more. “Are you okay?” She said each word slowly and carefully, and I realised, that for her, this might mean something very different.
When she’d moved abroad, she’d fallen in love, gotten pregnant and had to leave because the father – my father, I thought with a very faint wince – did not want to be involved.
I’d moved abroad and fallen in love, but that was where the comparison stopped. Although, I hadn’t before realised how closely I was following her history.
“Mum, I promise I’m okay.”
“Love,” my dad started, and I watched as he put a comforting hand on my mum’s arm. “I think you ought to start at the beginning. What about your job at the studio? What about Becka?”
I very briefly told them I’d resigned from Pisces. I brushed it off as best I could, with only having a couple months left on my work Visa anyway.
“Becka is fine. She’s still in LA. She can afford the apartment on her own. I was only really contributing the bare minimum anyway,” I smiled ruefully.
“So, what is this? Are you just travelling, then?” He scratched his eyebrow, and bless him, I could tell he was really trying to understand this outwardly irrational set of circumstances.
“Um, sort of,” I hedged. “Yeah, see, the thing is. Korea is where my… where my boyfriend is from.”
Silence.
I watched my parents blink in unison, which would have been comedic under different circumstances.
“Um, guys?” This seemed to restart my mum, whose frown seemed to impossibly deepen.
“Boyfriend?” Her voice falls somewhere between disbelieving and… I didn’t actually know.
“You didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend.” My dad seemed to want to make a joke out of it, but he looked too bewildered to make it land.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to make a big deal of it.” I was floundering.
“Kaiya, have you moved halfway across the world for a boy?” Mum’s voice sounded strained, and I felt like the world’s worst daughter.
I opened my mouth to say, no, of course not. But then, was that really true?
“I’m going to apply for a job at his entertainment company. It’s a bit like Pisces,” I hedged. “They also do music production, along with a whole bunch of other cool stuff, like music videos and concerts, and managing singers and actors.” It was the very barest explanation of who and what ENT was, but it also wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
“Apply?” My mum picked up on the one word I’d been hoping they might skim over. “You mean you’ve not actually got a job? Kaiya, what’s actually going on?” Her shrewd eyes were laser-focused on me, and clearly half-truths weren’t working so… I took a deep breath.
“Mum, Dad, the thing is, while working at Pisces, I sort of figured out that production isn’t… it’s just not something I really…. like.” I picked at my fingernails, choosing to focus on them, rather than my parent’s faces. “I think, maybe, that I never really enjoyed it as much as I thought. I don’t think it’s something I want anymore.”
My parents were quiet, and I chanced a look at them. My dad looked confused, but my mum was nodding in that slow, minute way she did when she was really thinking about something.
