the blind side of love | chaennie

six

Jennie sat frozen in place for about two minutes before finally reaching for her phone. Kai picked up on the second ring. "Hey, it's me," she said.

"I know it's you. What's – oh wait, got another call. Hold on."

Jennie waited patiently, and then impatiently. She was about to hang up and call back when he switched over.

"Um, Jennie, can I call you back?"

Jennie frowned. "Sure..." She heard the click, and was once about to hang up when Kai's voice came back in a big rush.

"Do you think she knows? I mean, what did you say? Was it obvious? Do you think that's why she's calling? Crap. I knew we should've told her. She's going to freak out. What exactly did you say?"

Jennie scratched her forehead, trying to piece together the pieces of this suddenly intriguing puzzle.

"Jisoo?" Kai prompted. "Are you still there?"

Jisoo and Kai. Kai and Jisoo. Jennie narrowed her eyes. The sneaky bastards! How long had this been going on? She started laughing. "Oh you two are so busted."

"J-Jennie?"

"So busted."

"Uh..."

"When did this happen?"

"It's not what you think," Kai said quickly. "It's not like we're ... you know, dating or anything." He said the word "dating" as if it were a disease. "It was just sex. Once. Okay, twice. The third time doesn't really count."

"Ah-huh."

"And we were going to see a movie tomorrow night, but that's it."

"Mmhmm."

"We were going to tell you. It's just ... it just sort of happened, and we weren't really sure what to tell you, since you know, it's nothing."

"Nothing," Jennie repeated, amused. "Of course."


Kai let out a deep breath. "Are you mad?"


"Yup, totally pissed," Jennie answered, smiling. "So, when did this 'nothing' start?"

"New York. The last night we were there. We both had too much to drink and ..."

"And then the nothing happened?"


"Right."


"I knew you liked her," Jennie said. "I just had no idea she liked you back."

"Neither did I," Kai admitted. "You know, cause of the gay thing."


Jennie frowned. "What gay thing?"


"Jisoo's."

"Jisoo has a gay thing?"

"Well, yeah. I thought you knew? I mean she was like in love with y– I'm saying too much. I am. I need to shut up before she kills me. No gay thing. There are no gay things, except mine. I am very, very gay."

"Kai, what the hell are you talking about? Jisoo's not gay."

"That's right." He paused. "She's bi. But if you tell her I told you, I swear to God, I will ... I will ... well I will be really pissed at you for a very long time."

Jennie rubbed her temple with her free hand. This was way too much information to process in one phone conversation. "Okay. Look, I really don't care that you and Jisoo are dat—"

"We're not dating!"

"Fine, that you and Jisoo are nothing-ing or whatever, but please, please, don't break her heart and make her hate you because I really, really need her to remain my assistant."

"Spoken like a true romantic."

"Kai, I'm serious."

"As am I. Are you sure you don't want me to set you up on a date? I know someone. Very discreet."

"I'm hanging up."

"Just don't tell her about the g..."

Kai's voice faded as Jennie took the phone off her ear. A second later, she shut it off. She stared at the device in her hand, not really looking at it. Kai and Jisoo. And Jisoo was bi. Why hadn't Jisoo told her that? Not that they were best friends or anything, but still. Then again, it wasn't like Jennie had been particularly forthcoming with any personal details of her own.

She looked blindly at the receiver for a second longer, and then put it back on its base. She stood once that task was finished and made her way back to her bedroom.

It's not straight, Jennie thought, glancing up at the picture as she crawled into bed. "But then, that's probably appropriate," she said, to no one and nothing in particular. She sighed and reached for the book on her nightstand.

The card fell onto the bedspread from somewhere between the pages, and Jennie stared down at the white, rectangular shape resting against her navy blue covers. The name Roseanne Park stared up at her in black, bold letters. Beneath the name: an email address.

She hesitated briefly, putting the book back on the nightstand. She picked the business card up, and held it in front of her. She didn't know why she'd kept the card, but she knew it had something to do with the fact that the artist's name was on one side of it.

Minutes passed as Jennie contemplated the ridiculous notion of emailing a perfect stranger. Why shouldn't she? Surely an artist would want to be complimented on their work? She glanced at the computer on her desk and back at the card. What would she even say?

Moments later, propelled forward by unidentifiable means, she sat at her desk and hit a random key, bringing her laptop to life. A picture of a sunset stared back at her, and she moved the cursor on her screen until her browser opened. She couldn't email this person as herself, could she? No, she decided, signing up for a new email account. She filled the name as Ruby Jane, opting for her middle name.

Registration completed, compose email screen opened, she typed the email address written on the card, wrote 'Your Art' into the subject line, and sat back.

After a minute, she began to type:

Ms. Park,

I'm not sure if you're used to receiving emails from strangers or not, but I couldn't keep myself from writing to say that I really love the art piece I purchased from you last week. I'm not much of an art critic, and don't pretend to know much about it. However, when I saw your sketch, it took my breath away. And since few things in life have such an effect on me, I figured the least I could do was let you know.

I don't reside in New York, but if I ever find myself there again, I wondered: do you have your work on display at a gallery? Or should I simply take my chances at Central Park again?

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely, Ruby Jane

Jennie read over her words, feeling like a monumental fool.

The cursor hovered over the 'send' button, while her mind registered a thousand different reasons why this was a bad idea; something she was certain to regret twenty minutes after the fact; something that would haunt her into the wee hours of the morning while she tossed and turned in bed, thinking, Whyyyyyy did I send that?

And yet, she clicked anyway. Email sent.