The Do-Over(9)
Author: Suzanne Park
Jake Cho. My friend turned friend-with-benefits, turned boyfriend, turned . . . messy. Actually devastating. Not exactly one of those good ol’ college days memories. “I looked him up a while back but he’s not online.” His internet existence disappeared a few years ago. The last I’d seen from him was a personal blog of his random musings and carefree drives across the country. After college, I’d moved to a high-rise in NYC with a bunch of friends and never left. I was the opposite of a digital nomad. I was tethered to my job. Shackled, actually, for less pay than I was worth. It wasn’t until I left the company to start consulting and secured a book deal that I had more financial freedom.
Mia pulled out her phone. Type, type, type. Click. Click. Tap. Tap. “I’ll be damned. You’re right. Jake Cho went totally off the grid a few years after graduation. But there are a bunch of Jake Chos online, maybe he’s lost in the sea of them. Or maybe he’s in witness protection. Or maybe he died.” Mia tapped on her screen. “Okay, there are no obits for any Jake Chos. But if he was in witness protection, it’s possible he’s not listed in the obituary under his real name—”
“Hey, this conversation has gone noticeably morbid and I don’t really feel like talking about Jake right now. Can we just unpack and not talk about witness protection and dying?” Mia’s conspiracy theories usually ended with murder and death. It wasn’t just Jake.
Seeing my ex now would be mortifying. When you encounter someone after ten years, you hope to God you’re in a better place professionally, socially, emotionally, and mentally since your last encounter. I didn’t want Jake to see me like this. Not when my professional life was in shambles. While jobless. With no husband. No kids. No advanced degrees, or even a college one for that matter. Even my author career was stagnating with a deadline now past due.
Mia knocked on my forehead, pulling me out of my downward spiral of thoughts.
“What the hell?” I asked, swiping her hand away like it was a flurry of spiders.
“I’m trying to crack that hard shell of yours. This isn’t reliving college again exactly as it was. This is giving it another go, on your terms. So yes, please study, but also remember that you know how to prioritize projects now and get shit done because you kicked ass at work for so many years. Have fun when you’re not studying! You’ve been given an enviable gift!” She nodded her head toward the stack of containers. “Now, let’s move you in so you can get your damn degree.”
“But this time I’m going to be that weird, mysterious mature student who all the regular undergrads notice and silently judge.” My shoulders slumped as I took my toiletry bag out of my roller bag. “Remember when you were twenty-two, thinking that thirty-two was so old? In my previous job we looked at customer preferences by age, so adults would be split up into ranges of eighteen to twenty-four, then twenty-five to thirty-four. I’m in a completely different demographic than everyone here!” I sighed loudly. “Maybe it’s too late to try something exciting and new. Maybe I’ll just take whatever class is the easiest instead of trying to be adventurous.”
“I’m telling you, that would be a shame. You don’t think you can teach an old dog new tricks, is that it? What about the time when we were drunk and I taught you how to properly line a trash can? And didn’t you show me last year that you could burp the alphabet?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yes to the trash thing, and the alphabet was something I learned in high school, and it doesn’t count. And it should never, ever be mentioned again. Also, remember that over the last decade, I’ve watched, like, a hundred videos on how to fold a fitted bedsheet and I still can’t do it.”
“Okay, fine. But maybe this is all a good thing for you. You were go-go-go for ten years. At the same company and on the same team for most of that time. You never took classes or traveled like you said you would.” Mia wagged her finger at me. “It could be a time for reinvention! Anyway, grab your shit so I can return the truck.” Before I could protest any more, Mia had marched out of my bedroom, swinging the U-Haul keys in circles on her finger.
My first year of college it had been my mom and dad moving me into the dorms. That day was miserable because we argued about every little thing. Which bank to use for opening a checking account. Whether to take the stairs or the elevator. How to organize my dresser and closets. And that was just the first hour. But over the years, Mia had become the person to fill in the emotional cracks and holes that my parents had left gaping and never bothered to mend or repair. I grew into my own person, and Mia was there for that. She had my back and was willing to fight for me no matter what. She was my family, and I was hers, and it was fitting that she was the one with me now. She’d literally fight for me if she had to, like in the olden days when you had a duel with pistols and fought for someone’s honor. Mia would be up for a physical takedown anytime, which was a little scary. But also endearing.
If I was ever accused of a crime, Mia would be my autodial. My mom and dad would be too worried about the word getting out in our gossipy Korean community, more concerned by that than my well-being. It was just how my relationship with my parents was. We had different priorities and values, and it wasn’t until I was living on my own and had sought out mental health support that I finally came to terms with it.
And maybe Mia was right about getting another shot at college. I’d watched those comedic movies like Never Been Kissed and Life of the Party, where the main character goes back to school, gets a second chance, and it ends with a happily-ever-after. Maybe when all this college drama finally blew over, that would happen for me too.
Chapter Six
It was early September, orientation week had just ended, and the hustle and bustle of fall semester was in full swing. According to my reenrollment packet, I needed to get final signoff from my academic advisor, Dean Balmer-Collins. The same woman who misguided me my last semester ten years ago, approving my pass/fail credits without warning me about what the trade-off would be. She had hyphenated her name, wore a wedding ring with a diamond the size of a Hershey’s Kiss, and had upgraded her office to one with a window. She’d found good fortune the last ten years.
“Please, come in. Apologies for running late.” She gestured for me to take a seat. Dean Balmer-Collins’s stoic demeanor and chin-length bob had remained the same over the years, as did the slight disdain in her voice.
I sat in the plush, worn guest chair, my hands overlapping on my right crossed knee, and took deep breaths in and out. All I needed from her was a signature. Then I would never see her again. No need to mention that I’d known her in my previous life, and that she was the main reason I was sitting here in the first place. Bygones, and all that.