Mina’s solo comes up, and for a split second as I watch her, I completely forget where I am. She glides effortlessly across the stage, her moves perfectly in time to the music, her voice full and throaty as she belts out her lines. She approaches me and winks, grabbing my hand and pulling me down into a silly little shimmy move with her. The crowd eats it up. I can feel the stress of this day melting off me. Even our improvised outfits don’t seem like such a disaster. Aside from Jason’s eemos, the crowd is mostly white people. But they love us. As I look out into the audience, I can see most of them mouthing along the words to the song—even the ones in Korean. The crowd is full of people filming our performance with their phones, but for the first time, I feel myself relaxing in front of all the cameras. A rush of warmth fills my body as I remember why I love K-pop so much. How special it is to be able to share my language and my culture with people all over the world and have them truly see it. Understand it. Love it. I feel my smile stretch on my face and my heart feels light and free for the first time since this tour started. I remember why I’m here. Why I love this.

Mina’s across the stage from me as we start the final verse. She starts off strong, singing as she spins into Jason’s waiting arms. But just as he reaches out to grab her waist, I see one of her heels wobble. I barely have time to register what’s happening when the heel snaps off the shoe, and Mina goes tumbling down, her palms scraping against the stage. The crowd lets out a collective gasp, but Mina rolls over onto her side and strikes a pose. The audience cheers, and she leaps back up to her feet, kicking off her heels. She doesn’t stop smiling, but there’s pain flashing in her eyes and I can see her favoring her right leg as we take our bows to a roaring crowd.

Backstage, she whirls toward me, pushing my shoulders. “You bitch! You did this on purpose!”

“What?” My voice catches in my throat.

“You gave me your broken heels. You tried to sabotage me!”

“I didn’t!” I say, stunned. “Mina, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

She pushes me again, and I stumble backward. Jason jumps in, holding her back.

“Mina, chill,” he says.

“Get the fuck off me!” She pushes him away, seething, turning to me again, fury sparking in her eyes. “I should have known you would pull something like this.”

“Mina, are you all right?” Mr. Han rushes toward us, putting an arm around Mina for support. His eyes widen at the sight of her ankle, which is now swelling rapidly. “That looks serious.”

She winces, her anger ebbing away to the pain. “It—it hurts.” She chokes out the words like she can’t stand to admit it. “But I’m okay,” she adds. “I just need an ice pack.”

“I think we should go to the hospital,” Mr. Han says grimly, already guiding her toward the door.

“No! It’s fine!” Mina argues. “I just need to… walk it off or something.” She straightens her back and attempts to walk a few steps, stumbling as soon as she puts any weight on her right foot.

“Hospital. Now,” Mr. Han says firmly. She shoots me one last glare as he guides her toward the stage door.

Inside I’m spiraling. Why did I give her those shoes? Or why didn’t I check them before putting them in my bag this morning? Or just wear them myself? It should be me headed to the hospital right now.… But before I can fall deeper into my rabbit hole, Jason’s aunts appear backstage, pulling us both into tight hugs.

“What an amazing performance!” Chaerin Eemo says. “We must celebrate you both over dinner!!”

“Oh, please go ahead,” I say. I glance over at Jason, who refuses to meet my eyes. “I don’t want to interrupt your family time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yaerin Eemo says, adjusting her black velvet headband with the signature Chanel double Cs outlined in diamonds. “Jason never comes to visit us anymore these days. We must take advantage of it and feed you two—you’re both skin and bones!”

“Plus, I know the perfect restaurant,” Saerin Eemo agrees, holding up her iPad to snap a quick selfie with me. “Five stars. Best restaurant in all of Brantwood.”

I’m swept up in a classic whirlwind of Korean aunts, their guilt-tripping mixing seamlessly with their genuine compassion and reminding me of every single Kim family get-together. I glance at Jason, and this time he’s looking right at me, shrugging helplessly.

“If my aunts say eat,” he says with a small but pained smile, “there’s nothing to do but to eat.”

* * *

Downtown Brantwood may be the cutest place I’ve ever seen. The streets are all cobblestone and the buildings look like candied gingerbread houses. Even the most ordinary shops look delightfully quaint, like something straight out of a fairy-tale picture book. Chaerin Eemo tells me how in the winter, the snow makes everything look even more like a magical wonderland.

As we walk toward dinner, Jason’s aunts seem to know everyone we pass, stopping every few feet to call out a name or have a quick chat with someone. When we arrive at the restaurant (“Best Caesar in all of Canada! They make them extra spicy!” says Yaerin Eemo), we’re immediately ushered to what seems like the best spot in the house, a cozy mahogany table with high-backed leather chairs. All around us are windows that give way to a sweeping view overlooking the mountains.

I glance over at Jason, impressed by the VIP treatment, but he doesn’t seem to even notice it. A wave of annoyance washes over me. Typical. I roll my eyes and at the last second he looks over at me, confusion flashing on his face.

“What’s your problem?” he whispers, leaning away from his eemos.

“I don’t have a problem. I guess I’m just not used to being doted on by adoring fans wherever I go.”

His eyes narrow at me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Now it’s my turn to act confused. “What do you mean I have—”

Suddenly, the waiter sweeps over with a bottle of white wine. “So good to see you all!” he says to Jason’s aunts, pouring them each a glass. “Good timing, too. We just got in a new shipment from our wine supplier and we’ve been saving this bottle for you. We know you’re all partial to the 2001 vintage.”

Saerin Eemo giggles, picking up her glass. “Of course! All the best things were made in 2001.” She winks over at Jason, and he blushes. I smile to myself as I realize Jason was born in 2001.

“She’s right!” Yaerin Eemo chimes in before taking a sip. “This is absolutely wonderful.”

“Only the best for you ladies,” the waiter says, pleased as punch.

My eyebrows knit as I try to fit the pieces together. Maybe they’re not fans of Jason but fans of Jason’s aunts. Are his aunts famous too?

“So, Rachel,” Yaerin Eemo says after we order. “What’s it like working with Jason? Does he hog the spotlight? He would always cry as a kid when he wasn’t the center of attention.”

“Please, Eemo, when did I do that?” Jason says, his cheeks turning pink.

“Our Jason is handsome, isn’t he?” Chaerin Eemo says, looking at him with fondness. She gives me a hearty wink. “He got the good family genes.”