My book is about to come out, I don’t drink as much as I used to, you guys are just as old and fat as I am, and your questions are about to drive me to old drinking habits—these answers were all on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them, upholding the dignity of an educated contributor to society in his thirties and laughing off their snideness. I’d been ready to swear to anyone who read my stories that everything I wrote was made up—how silly of me to have prepared an answer for a question that would never be asked. An excess of self-awareness was a disease in itself.

—Please take your seats, the ceremony is about to begin.

The emcee was a close friend of Jaehee’s husband-in-progress. This friend had a sharp chin and greasy skin, not my type at all, and on top of his thick Gyeongsang Province accent, it was all too clear that this country boy wasn’t great at moving things along. And he was a television reporter somehow? I’d have been a much better choice. Who cared about these stupid traditions about whose-best-friend-does-what anymore? The green monster of jealousy was rearing its head.

Next to the platform was a large screen that was flashing photos of Jaehee and her groom. I took another sip of red wine as the low-resolution phone-camera photos flicked by. Cheolgu—who sat next to me and had apparently gotten a job at the Industrial Bank recently—poked me in the ribs.

—Be honest with me. You and Jaehee. Were the rumors true?

The rumors were true, but, dear Cheolgu, what you’re implying seems a little rich coming from the guy who asked Jaehee out only to be viciously snubbed.

◊

The summer we turned twenty, Jaehee and I became best friends.