the 1 | chaennie

61. Reputation

The flight took twenty-four hours, the bustling city of Chicago vanishing behind them as they flew out of the private airstrip, both of them feeling the weight of it all lifting off their shoulders, a palpable air of relief as they curled up on their respective seats, tired and quietly happy, sipping a bottle of Ruinart Rosé between them from plastic flutes. Jennie drifted off after the first hour, leaving Rosie wide awake, anxious as she finished off the bottle by herself, scrawling lyrics and notes and thoughts down in a journal with Hank in her lap.

Rosie couldn't help but ruminate over the conversations she'd had the day before, with her mother and Irene, the missed phone calls off Park Chanyeol that she was too cowardly to answer, her sister, her father. So many people to hold the secret that had been so safely guarded by a few that Rosie was worried that it would slip through the cracks, whispers winding from mouth to ear until it made it to the wrong person and the carefully constructed plan would disintegrate. But this was her family, and she knew deep down they would never tell. Not even Park Chanyeol, in all his anger.

But still, she dwelled on those phone calls the entire flight, thinking of the sickening nerves in her stomach as the phone rang, each second dragging on, before her mother's voice came on the other end.

"Look who finally decided to call."

Rosie had winced, guilt nagging at her. "Mum, hi. I, uh, I need to tell you something and ... can you just not be mad for a second? Please."

"Okay."

"I got married."

There had been a long pause on the other end of the phone before Clare let out a scoff of laughter. "Married? You're not even dating anyone! Who-"

"Jennie. Jennie and I got married."

Despite her nerves, Rosie couldn't deny the simple pleasure that filled her, just saying the words, her voice almost smug with pride as she subconsciously straightened, her shoulders squaring.

"You ... married Jennie? When, exactly?"

"A few weeks ago," Rosie murmured sheepishly. "We haven't told anyone yet. Obviously."

"So that's why you've been ignoring my calls."

"Are you mad?"

Her voice was pitifully small, waiting to be chastised as if she was still a child, and she felt the overwhelming urge to be comforted, to be given that support that she'd always had from her parents, even though she knew it had taken Clare a while to come around. It had shocked her just how much she'd craved that approval, although, it really shouldn't have. Rosie's whole life revolves around the approval of someone.

"Are you happy?"

"Yeah. I am."

"Then I'm not mad."

And that had been it, the easy acceptance, the passive-aggressive disgruntlement of not being there, quickly reassured by Rosie's promise they'd do it properly one day. One day. It felt so far off, the promise of a normal life, but they clung to it and it was a comfort in the midst of so much uncertainty.

Rosie had asked for the house in Melbourne to be reopened, told her mother they'd be staying for a while, that she could visit and perhaps when things blew over with Rosie, she could visit her in London without being too conspicuous. It had been a brief call, the night wearing on in London, and she'd let her mother go so she could make the same calls to Mason and Alice.

Theirs went over much the same, the tentative congratulations and thinly veiled concern as they asked Rosie if she was sure, to which she gave the same firm reply. And then it was Irene calling her and Rosie knew with a cringe of twisting unease that Hyeri had told her.