Chapter Text
Sunday May 8th, 2016
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
Toph sipped the Mathilda bottle, her voice barely outdoing the Sammy Davis Jr. ballad from the jukebox and Bumi’s snort of a laugh behind the bar.
Zuko shrugged curtly. His face tilted to watch the bartender fill another pint for Boulder.
Bumi looked to be a hundred years old, with his Einstein mop of hair and handful of silver teeth, but he managed that water-stained bar counter of the BoarCupine with just as much efficiency as June at Shirshu Club. It was easy to admire this hunchbacked man chat away about his Vietnam years with a couple of Sokka’s guys-- loose-tied Carnegie Mellon boys who sat swiveling on stools like children at an ice-cream parlor.
There was history in this place… Zuko could tell… and it wasn’t just from the chipped-away wooden interiors, or the bronze fleur-de-lis stamped decoratively into tiles on the ceiling, or the stained-glass lamps that hung a mustard-yellow glow to the entire bar.
He wasn’t sure what it was, but Zuko could sense she had been here, too, more than once.
There was familiarity – a sense of lived-in welcome here that he just couldn't compare to Uncle’s beloved King Cole bar – and Zuko imagined Katara and Sokka challenging each other to the pinball machine at one point in time. Zuko turned to Yue as she attempted a corner-pocket at the billiards table, seeing Haru cross his arms in mock-intimidation from the opposite side where Teo laughed, holding his Sam Adams.
Zuko noted the contrast that night… this home-grown vibe with its patrons sporting formal attire… and yet Zuko felt like they all fit in perfectly here. Including Toph. It all blended in perfectly like the sapphire blues and pale yellows that announced the sunrise on his morning run along Central Park. In a sense, the young heir felt like he was from the outside looking in… a visitor from another planet, coming in only for one glass of malbec, the company of his childhood friend… and the inner conflict of what exactly to do with this necklace on his hand.
A part of him wondered why he didn’t just leave it with Yue.
He could’ve easily just run up to the cellist as she entered the BoarCupine, given her the necklace without setting foot inside that place.
And yet, he remained in that bar… letting the minutes pass with Yue at the beginning, talking about Vivaldi over a plate of quesadillas before Haru snagged her for the billiards game. Zuko quietly watched them play, watched Teo read off some jukebox selections for Toph, hearing the girl heckle to Bumi about why he didn’t have albums from this century on there. (“Does this sound like a nightclub to you?” “Have it your way, grumpy McGrumps.”)
She finally settled with David Bowie’s Starman, and Teo beamed: “Hey! That’s from The Martian!”
Zuko didn’t catch the reference.
Despite being outrageously tired… the heir stayed, finishing his glass of wine with a short retelling of what occurred in that Conservatory Garden after Toph found a seat next to him.
Toph raised her head, cloudy green eyes peeking through overgrown bangs to meet Zuko’s general direction. Zuko winced. He was glad she couldn’t catch the off-guard clench of his jaw, then -- not because he of all people knew how rare it was to ever hear Toph Bei Fong apologize. He had been too busy studying the little series of facial expressions the photo-booth had captured of him among a clump of strangers at a wedding, trying not accept that the kind-hearted girl next to him was the same girl who had verbally, physically attacked him.
“So, are you… okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
Toph’s bangs swung as her eyes returned to the table.
“If you were fine, you’d have left that necklace on the ground where you found it and be sound asleep in Park Ave by now. And you most definitely wouldn’t be drinking.”
Zuko threw her a side-eye, setting his empty wine glass down with a curt clink on the table.
There was no way around it; this girl was a human lie detector. It was her blessing, and her curse. And while he would never fully admit to it in words, the young man already knew that the reason he had dragged himself all this way to an unfamiliar bar in Queens wasn’t so much for the culture shock or the company, but for the wisdom of this petite, brutally-frank girl.
He took a small breath through his nose, exhaling slowly.
“She hates me.”
Toph scoffed. “Over something you didn’t even do, Sparky!”
Zuko held the necklace carefully, his thumb grazing over the pendant’s carvings as he spoke.
“I called her a peasant, Toph. There’s no excuse for that.”
The DJ shook her head.
“Um, yeah-- that doesn’t hold a candle to what she said to you. I don’t care if it’s all thanks to Azulon’s recklessness. In my book, what she said was totally just out of line.”
Toph’s nasal speech rose, so high that Boulder and Hippo paused from their pinball game to turn and assess the commotion. Zuko nodded over to them, indicating that all was fine.
He brought a hand to Toph’s shoulder. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
“Mind if I finish that Laogai of yours?”
Zuko stared at her blankly, but she shrugged.
“I haven’t touched one of those bad-boys in ages.”
He rolled his eyes but smiled. As they got up, Zuko replaced the necklace and photobooth print with his charcoal tin and Sokka’s lighter. He approached the bar to leave the wine glass, and Bumi poured him a new glass with iced water.
Toph casually held onto his arm as they walked towards the BoarCupine exitway.
Email from Jet Kosinski to Katara Imiq
Hey babe-
Hope the wedding was fun, and that this Zuko Kai made a passable Plus One. :P Was he that same pretentious snob I met back at Harvard? Ha. Rich people, man.
But jokes aside-- would you mind sending me his email address? Some of the farms here are on the brink of getting privatized by Gow Global, and I’d like to send this Honorable Prince of Tea a piece of my mind, just so he’s aware just how much damage people like him are doing.
Some of the locals have started protesting outside the village. Ugh-- what sucks is that it’s against Code of Conduct to get politically active during PC service. So, we’re forced to just sit around, do good work, and pretend like all is fine? What kind of help am I doing, if the real monsters are out there, making things worse?
Makes me wish I could do more.
Anyway… feel free to send me popcorn-worthy stories about this Silver Spooner when you have a chance. Send me his email address, too!
I love you,
Jet
She couldn’t sleep.
She spent a long, dreadful hour in that darkness under the covers of her bed… actively retracing steps in her memory as to when exactly that necklace may have fallen off. With her phone’s screen as the only source of light, Katara scrolled through her entire pre-made Wedding Contact List, sending everyone the same question:
[Did you find a blue silk necklace with a pendant at the wedding? Please let me know ASAP.]
At some point, she lost count of the number of text messages she sent out; her fingers wouldn’t type fast enough. She fought the urge to cry under those covers, risking any sound that would wake her little toddler.
For a minute, she debated on whether or not to bother Sokka and Suki with this message; it felt wrong to suddenly disturb newly-weds from their bliss in the dead of night… all for a text message about a necklace.
She emailed Malina and the Conservatory staff, though she probably wouldn’t hear back until the next day at noon, when the place would open up again. She emailed the Photobooth assistant, a part of Katara praying that the necklace didn’t just find its way in the prop box and get moved around to the point of further damage. She emailed the DJ, the photographer, the videographer, the caterer, the florists.
Her eyes were getting heavier for sleep as she then texted Teo, remembering that he made the rounds of the entire dance floor by the time The Blind Bandit arrived and would’ve easily spotted a blue pendant on the ground.
She then texted Haru -- as his Friday nights usually ended at 4am, despite all the rigors of med school -- and Katara hoped that she would at least get a quick text response from him.
But the minutes passed, and nothing came. No text messages, no emails, nothing.
As a last-ditch effort, Katara opened her email again to send Suki a quick note… but something else in her Inbox caught her eye.
Jet.
She blinked. Katara couldn’t pinpoint why it felt so strange, so uncalled for, getting an email from her boyfriend in the middle of the night. It made sense, though, as he was indeed half-way around the world, but still… the appearance of his name in her Inbox did nothing to ease her stress in that moment.
Katara took a breath, anyway, and opened her boyfriend’s email.
At the mentioning of ‘Zuko Kai,’ the girl’s heart began to race under the bedcovers, and by sheer will power, she managed to finish reading the email. Her mind was too tired to mull over what Jet had written, and yet certain parts of it lingered.
Pretentious snob....
People like him...
Silver Spooner…
She stared at the phone screen, her lips quivering at the memories of this rage that had occurred mere hours ago, and had passed through her system and worn her own like a wire… not wanting to speak to anyone, or eat anything.
She hadn’t even thought about the young heir’s name… or even the idea that this heir may have possibly found the missing heirloom…
Shit.
For a long moment, Katara’s eyes gazed at the ceiling, her phone resting on her chest and feeling her heart drum against it. The words couldn’t come. How could she possibly come forward, after everything they had said to each other?
After all she said to him?
Katara’s fingers shook as she set her phone back on the nightstand.
Tears began to stream at the corners of her eyes, and Katara’s head sank in the pillow, fingertips planting themselves at the dip of her collarbone.
The light from her phone screen gradually faded away, and a heavy, almost unfamiliar darkness filled Katara’s room.
She closed her eyes, breathing in.
One… two…
Her brows furrowed in deep focus, and Katara fought to let the memories flood in – memories of not just the wedding, but the last couple of weeks she had spent with the Honorable Prince of Tea. She fought hard … refusing to let any sense of rage for AgniKai find its way back in as she attempted to find some peace.
“So, what do you wanna do, Hotman?” Toph put Number Ten back in her mouth for a swig. “Are you gonna wait until she asks you about this necklace?”
“No,” Zuko rasped, feeling the round pendant at the edge of his coat pocket as he shifted his weight to lean on the outside wall of the bar. “It doesn’t seem right to just hold onto it -- like some kind of ransom.”
“That would be kind of shitty,” Toph snorted. “I mean… you could give it to one of her friends back there and just call it night.” She motioned her head back towards the bar, for emphasis.
Zuko’s eyes frowned, focusing on the tiny bits of ice that buoyed in his glass.
“Yeah. I could,” was all he muttered.
“UGHHHH!”
Toph groaned, so loudly it made Zuko whip his head to her and bite his lips.
“It’s like pulling damned teeth with you, Sparky.” The young DJ took the cigarette in for another smoke before she spoke again. “You gotta give me something to work with.”
Zuko could tell she sensed his uneasiness when his eyes reopened, both of their frames now leaning against the aged brick wall of this bad.
In front of them, a gray Honda Civic had pulled up to the curb. It must’ve been an Uber, as two guys in their mid-twenties dashed out of it. They were muttering something about the Celtics -- how they lost their defense that night but would get Washington next time – as they opened the door to BoarCupine and their voices muffled. Zuko and Toph just stood there like statues, under the streetlight … like an Edward Hopper painting… Toph puffing the cigarette while Zuko held his iced water and let the cold air brush his face.
He sank into his coat, the raspy voice breaking the silence again.
“My grandfather killed her mother.”
His throat felt dry all of a sudden, but he continued.
“He may not have been behind the wheel, but… he made that call.” Zuko sipped his water, crushing the bits of ice he took in. “That was just one of many acquisitions he made during his last few years, and it was cruel, Toph. I can’t just… leave here… with someone thinking I’m going to be that kind of a reckless--”
“But you’re not, Zuko.” Toph’s voice squealed, incredulous at him even though she didn’t turn to his direction. “That’s why Zhao keeps giving you hell!”
She coughed out smoke from the Laogai, but stayed firm with her voice.
“He’s still answering to Grand-daddy’s old agenda. Like, it’s no secret Lord Muttonchops hates your uncle’s guts, and he definitely doesn’t like the idea of answering to you in the future.”
Zuko shook his head -- not exactly denying this history, but keeping it to himself as he took another sip of his water.
“I need to make sure she knows I’m not…” the heir searched for the words, “…some ignorant snob who thinks so poorly of people. I can’t have that weighing on me when I leave here.”
For a minute, Toph kept her silence, and the two of them caught Bumi’s cackling laugh and a Frank Sinatra melody from inside the bar.
“Is this… reeeeeally just about clearing your name?” She exhaled smoke while she spoke.
Zuko winced, turning to that curious, jeering tone that came out of The Blind Bandit.
“What do you mean?”
Toph chuckled, her youth coming out in her laugh while she shook her head.
“You’re more my brother than my actual thinks-the-sun-shines-out of-his-ass brother,” Toph tossed the butted cigarette to sidewalk, squishing it promptly with her Doc Marten, “so don’t take this the wrong way: I’m worried about you.”
Zuko stared at her for a long moment, his lips pursing and jaw clenching. Brow furrowed.
“Why?”
“Why the hell do you think, Sparky?” she countered nasally, her head whipping to his general direction. “Next year, you’ll be in Tokyo… and fine, I won’t butt in on your thing with Miss Rice Princess — that’s your business —”
His lips pursed as she said so, trying to wane the heaviness in his stomach while he listened.
“-- but the last thing I want is my oldest friend to turn into some insensitive, workaholic, day-drinking douchebag like Nyl Bei Fong.”
Zuko rolled his eyes, thinking about the phony laugh and wolfish eyes of Toph’s older brother. “That’s how you see me?”
“I can’t see you at all,” the girl quipped, turning back to the street. “If that’s what you see for yourself, fine. But we both know there’s more than just going with whatever Daddy and his cronies want.”
Zuko knew she had meant well, but it didn’t stop the scar on his face from stinging against the outside cold.
“It’s more complicated than that,” he muttered.
“If you say so,” Toph folded her arms irritably, “but you shouldn’t let that keep you from making friends. Like, actual friends.”
Zuko sipped his water, debating whether or not to retort the fact that, no, he didn’t actually need friends… but he knew it only feed the girl’s plucky bonfire.
“Oh!” Toph perked up, her bangs flying up so fast it made Zuko wince. “That reminds me. I got those newlyweds’ Instagram accounts.”
“Okay,” he hoped she was kidding, feeling that heavy Public-Relations hat fall squarely on his head. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Why not?” She chuckled. “They seem cool, and that Sokka guy likes ‘Swamp Mirage.’ Nobody likes ‘Swamp Mirage’! Heck… I never even liked it, to be honest…”
She laughed that spunky laugh, tapping the concrete with the heel of her boots.
“Gotta respect those Ride-or-Die fans, you know?”
“Right,” Zuko rolled his eyes, and Toph jabbed his arm.
“Look – I love you, okay?” she retorted in her girlish, nasally voice. Zuko winced at that word, despite knowing Toph, and already knowing it wasn’t meant in that way. Her crossed arms began to fold into her frame uncomfortably. “And I’m not saying that as the dumb twelve-year-old who crushed on your Blue-Spirit Badass phase for like a hot second…”
“Okay,” Zuko chuckled, crossing his own arms with the water glass still on his hand. She shook her head indignantly, letting her blushing cheeks subside before she continued.
Her voice got quieter, and Zuko brought his full attention down to her obscured face.
“…but… when I dropped out of UConn, and my parents cut me off, you didn’t ask for an explanation. You just mailed me a spare key to your mom’s old place and said I had exactly one year to get my act together. So, I did. I learned my stuff, landed some gigs… and you sat in that conference room when Varrick wanted to talk contracts. And you took me out for steak!”
The young heir smirked at the memory, while Toph blew a raspberry with her lips, moving the hair from her cloudy green eyes to look at his direction.
“The point is… you’re a good guy, Zuko.” Toph smiled, the lilt in her voice proclaiming it as the most obvious fact in the world. “… and, from how you sounded on the phone, about this wedding gig… I could tell you wanted to deliver big for this Katara girl. I can’t remember the last time you sounded so eager -- like you were finally opening up to someone, for real.”
Zuko felt his face turning warm from those words. It was odd to hear this insight come from a girl who preferred throwing punches and nicknames at him, but Toph just kept talking.
“I chatted with her for, like, a second… and she didn’t seem like the fake-friend type… but yeah. She attacked you. And in my book, that’s not cool.”
Zuko shut his eyes again, breathing deeply. “It wasn’t.”
His rasp held in the air, as if lingering to say something else and ultimately choosing not to.
Toph cleared her throat. “Do you wanna hear my take on this?”
He only stared at the glass. “Please.”
The girl took a handful of seconds, her bangs hiding the stern eyes as she spoke.
“Whatever this Katara girl is dealing with, it has nothing to do with you. Or your grandfather, or your family. Not really—not in the grand scheme of things.”
Toph licked her lips, uncrossing an arm to scratch her nose with her jacket cuff.
“I think you should reach out to her, like you said -- set the record straight on what Zuko Kai is all about -- but also let her know that she behaved like shit with you. It was nasty, and you didn’t deserve it… no matter how much of a snobbish prick you were to her. Tell her the truth. See how she responds to that.”
The young heir bit his lips, but his shoulders softened as he uncrossed his arms to take the last bit of water. Toph rose her chin to look up at his direction, and Zuko stared back.
Her nose scrunched at him, as if trying – and failing -- to read her closest friend’s stoic silence in that moment.
“But… if all you wanna do is pass this necklace on to that sweet angel-voice friend and forget everything else about tonight… that’s fine, too. I’ll respect that.” She frowned. “Got it?”
Zuko remained quiet for a second before a chuckle found its way to his throat.
“You still want me to give it back to her, don’t you.”
Toph jabbed his arm again, silently. Another blush painted her porcelain cheeks as she turned her face back towards the street and the sound of late-night passing cars.
They could hear Boulder and Hippo’s bellowing voices inside, arguing over the next track in the jukebox to play (“Come on, man. Haven’t you heard enough ‘Girl from Ipanema’ to last you a lifetime?” “Do not disrespect the classics.”), and in its own twisted way, it seemed to indicate to these two friends that their time outside was running its course.
And yet, neither of them moved.
Instead, the young DJ brought out a free hand, unfolding her tiniest finger daintily. Zuko glanced at it, admirably, proceeding to bring out his closest hand to meet it.
Their pinkies hooked.
“No bullshit,” she stated.
“No bullshit,” he confirmed.
And when their fingers parted, Toph took a breath in and then cleared her throat boisterously.
“Ugh – Laogai’s hit hard!” she snickered, hiding her hands in her jacket pockets for the cold. “But thanks. I think that’ll get me through Europe.”
Zuko gazed over to her, his brow raising with slight concern.
“Are you nervous?” He asked quietly.
Starting in two weeks, she would be hopping nonstop from Reykjavik to Ibiza – eighteen cities, six weeks. It would be countless flight check-ins, hotel check-outs, not to mention last-minute PR calls from a broody childhood friend regarding venue accommodations. But the girl didn’t seem at all phased by the upcoming chaos.
To be frank, Zuko felt like he was carrying more of the nerves for her.
Toph shrugged, but he saw that little smile under her bangs.
“Nah. I got two goons back there, watching my back. I’ll be fine.”
Zuko shook his head, annoyed as he downed the last of the ice into his mouth.
“Send me a postcard from each place,” came his stern request.
Toph scoffed. “I’ll make Boulder write you some sappy poetry.”
“Fine.”
Without warning, she leaned her head against his arm, and it got Zuko to grin affectionately towards the dark street. It was impossible for him to ignore that feeling, then.
That feeling that he didn’t have one, or two… but actually three little sisters.
Sparrows and starlings were already chirping outside the kitchen window as Katara made her way downstairs in sweatpants… her hair loosely-braided and her mind running on one, maybe two hours of sleep.
She poured water and powdered coffee into the coffee maker, turned it on, and quietly watched the deep indigoes of the sky turn to robin’s-egg blue out in the backyard. Gran Gran’s daffodils were in full bloom, she noticed, and Sokka’s ingenious netting-work seemed to have done the trick… guarding Gran’s herb and veggie garden from sneaky backyard wildlife.
Katara hadn’t woken up so early on a Sunday in years. With the morning light, it was almost like visiting an entirely different downstairs from the one she knew… the one she’d only glimpse at after dinner before rushing up the stairs to study Molecular Bio, or to write her Isabel Allende paper or… later on… to get a fussy baby boy ready for bed.
This wasn’t the living room where Gran Gran watched her shows in the evening by only the vibrant light of the flat-screen; instead, Katara saw clutter from child’s toys and picture books scattered everywhere, and a gray carpet that had now resembled the color of rotting fruit. Her drowsy eyes noticed the peeling floral wallpaper at the corners of the walls, little rosebud markings that made their way into the kitchen space. She noticed the knife scratches on the laminate countertop, the rust stains on the sink, the faded plastic buttons on the microwave.
Even as she glanced at the kitchen table, it looked like somebody else’s table; this couldn’t have been that same vintage circular table she had grown up with. This was a tiny little thing—a rickety wooden O that, by some miracle, managed to squeeze four… five… sometimes six wooden chairs and a high-seat for special dinners and Domino games.
Everything felt so worn.
Dad hasn’t changed a thing in this house, she thought. Not since Mom...
Her eyelids rose instantly, turning fully awake at that, but Katara set those memories aside. She heard the coffee dripping down into the pot, choosing to instead focus on the wedding… the reception… the person who had enticed this deep rage to come out from her.
She remembered the Conservatory gardens… the faint light of the lamp post that stood over the young heir, the chalky wisps of smoke coming from his cigarette… the smug look on his face as he called her ‘peasant’…
As she mixed the half-spoon of brown sugar into her steaming mug, Katara shut her eyes tightly, trying to understand what had come over her—what had suddenly awoken inside her just from the way the heir had rasped that word like an afterthought.
It may not have been him, she thought, but it was definitely his family.
They were responsible for this gaping hole that now lived violently inside a girl from Queens.
Who else was there to blame, anyway?
Her phone vibrated. Katara picked it up, beaming at the idea that someone was finally responding to her text message.
Ty Lee.
Her brows rose.
[Hello, lady-friend!]
…
[Sad to say I didn’t spot a necklace anywhere,]
…
[but I left pretty early at the reception. (wink emoji)]
A smirk crossed Katara’s face as she typed back.
[Hah. We noticed. (smirk emoji)]
…
[Are you leaving Hahn’s place right now?]
She opened the fridge and dug her whole arm into the top shelf, moving away the juice boxes, apple sauce, an egg carton, and tiny Tupperware of apple slices, blueberries and half-used avocado to finally get to that bag of sliced whole-wheat bread shoved in the far back.
Katara saw Ty Lee’s ellipses on the screen pop up, and she couldn’t help but bite her girlish lips eagerly for the response.
[Ugh! How presumptuous of you.]
…
[But… yes! (blush emoji)]
The med student’s musical laugh echoed inside the walls of the open fridge, successfully grabbing the bread and searching her phone for the best Meme to send back to this bubbly, presumed-innocent city girl.
[{Game of Thrones.SeptaUnella.SHAME.gif}]
She dropped a slice of bread into the toaster, grabbing the peanut butter from the pantry before she checked her phone again for Ty Lee’s response.
[Oh, come on! (sweat-drop emoji)]. That’s getting old.]
…
[FYI, I didn’t sneak out! I had to grab a bus for my 8am yoga class.]
Katara smiled, typing away as she waited for the toast to pop.
[I know, I’m teasing. (heart-kiss emoji) Hahn was cool.]
There was something about the frequency of Ty Lee’s ellipses, then – the way they disappeared, and then popped back up again -- that made Katara nervous. Even her hands tensed up as she spread peanut butter on the bread.
[He is. (blush emoji). But enough about ME….]
…
[How was last night, with the Honorable (king crown emoji)?]
…
[(eye emoji) (lips emoji) (eye emoji)]
…
[I was a very good girl, and didn’t bother the man ONCE.]
…
[…but now I want the FULL SCOOP, lady!]
Katara could feel Ty Lee’s eagerness escalating with each text, and it brought an uncomfortable, almost sour feel to her stomach. Looking away from her phone, she re-opened the fridge to grab a Tupperware of blueberries. She washed and poured some berries into a bowl and carried them, along with her toast and coffee mug, to the kitchen table.
She carefully pressed a berry into her mouth while she typed her reply.
[Ty—do you know much about AgniKai’s business dealings from the last decade or so?]
Katara tried not to wonder too much about the reply, yet her eyes would not leave her phone. She sipped her coffee and took a large bite of toast as the ellipses showed up again.
[Um… not really.]
…
[I mean, I DID hear about shady things that happened by the time Azulon Kai stepped down.]
…
[That was right before the big housing market crash.]
…
[Why?... Did Zuko mention something to you?]
Katara blinked, remembering how Ty Lee wasn’t just a copy-editor for The Economist; she worked for them, too.
Her fingers typed up a response before the image of Lin and faceless figures of Dai Li Securities knocking on her door became more vivid in her mind.
[No. He didn’t mention anything like that. I was just curious if you knew.]
She ate some more toast, hearing someone from upstairs walk along the corridor as Ty Lee sent her reply.
[Ah, okay.]
…
[I’m not probing for stories, or anything. Economist has this whole protocol for research, fact-checking, getting publishing approval… it’s waaay above my pay-grade (laughter emoji).]
…
[Anyway, I hope Zuko hangs out with us again!]
…
[My stop’s coming up. Later! (kiss emoji)]
Katara read the heir’s name, again and again.
Her toes curled underneath. Her legs crossing into a meditative pose on the chair as she shifted her elbows on the kitchen table, holding her phone with both hands. Katara could practically hear Ty Lee’s perky, harmonious voice, sounding so delighted just to be in the presence of…
… of him.
Katara recalled the wedding reception in fragments… in fleeting moments… his eyes looking at his feet when he danced with Yue … his arms helping her son up to happily grab a lost Appa… his slight cough at the taste of aguardiente in the middle of that impromptu photo booth...
The girl took another sip of her coffee, feeling her face begin to frown while she looked over to the backyard. Sparrows passed along the sky.
Just as quickly as those memories came, they passed… and more fragments appeared.
His perplexed ghost-white face, from her saying that feeding ducks bread wasn’t the best idea…
His look of surprise, and then admiration, when he noticed her climbing up the Central Park boulders by herself …
His posture as he wore that one-of-a-kind, emerald-green tuxedo…
Katara didn’t stop herself from searching for that photo, then, in her Download files on her phone. She didn’t know exactly what compelled her to study the face in that image, in the early crack of dawn… when her mind was still exhausted, still an emotional maelstrom from the things that had occurred just the night before.
She slouched over the table, gazing at that photograph of a young heir… stiff-shouldered, stoic-faced… a thin set of golden-brown eyes that held a sense of unease, perhaps with whatever he would be facing later that day in Queens.
Despite that tall, confident posture he wore with this beautiful tuxedo, his eyes told a different… more vulnerable story.
Katara shut her eyes, tightly.
Shit.
She set her phone aside to hold a headache with both hands. Katara didn’t even acknowledge the footsteps that came down the stairs, until the footsteps made their way into the kitchen.
“Morning, kiddo—” Hakoda greeted out to her, helping himself to fresh coffee.
“Hey Dad,” Katara moved her hands, a tired smile greeting him.
“Did you sleep okay?” came his gravelly, fatherly voice as he opened the fridge to grab a Tupperware. “You seemed pretty upset. You went straight up to your room.”
Katara nodded. There was no use hiding the fact that she would gladly join in on a late-night game of Domino with Dad and Uncle Bato and Arnook, especially on the rare nights when the boy would already be sound asleep.
“I didn’t sleep much,” she mumbled as Hakoda put something in the microwave, tapping the buttons to heat.
“Oh? What’s on your mind?”
When she looked over at her dad, the bags under his eyes still carried a sense of fatigue. But there was concern there, too.
He didn’t press for an answer. Hakoda waited for the microwave to beep ready, took the Tupperware out and placed two leftover arepas con queso and sliced deli on a single plate. He brought the plate and his own mug of black coffee over to the table, settling himself adjacent to his daughter and taking a sip of his coffee.
As he did, Hakoda gently pushed the plate of arepas to sit between him and Katara – something that he had done since she and Sokka were babies. It was his own quiet invitation to share something without making it a huge deal, and it never failed to make Katara grin.
“A lot of things, to be honest,” she replied.
Her dimples appeared as she placed a slice of Canadian bacon over one warm arepa for herself.
“Yeah—we could tell,” Hakoda’s hand reached over to Katara’s blueberry bowl, and she chuckled as she moved the bowl closer between them. “You didn’t even say goodnight.”
“I’m sorry,” Katara tucked her head into her shoulders as she took a bite of the arepa with deli. “It was just a long day.”
“I see.”
Katara chewed slowly, feeling her father’s eyes on her. Reluctantly, she let the seconds pass slowly in that quiet space, her eyes looking idly at her phone… wondering when the next person would respond to her text message.
“Sweetheart…” he started. The way his gruff voice spoke so carefully made Katara brace herself, and she sat a little straighter. “…did you and Zuko have some kind of fight?”
His name hit her ears like a sting. Katara didn’t have the headspace to wonder how her father thought to bring up the Honorable Prince of Tea so quickly like that. She felt her heart beginning to pick up speed.
“Yeah, but it was nothing.” Her nose scrunched like a brush-off, her eyes still on her phone.
“Hmm,” Hakoda sipped his coffee, eyes turning momentarily to see the sparrows.
Katara could feel the heaviness of the quiet in that kitchen. She pushed herself to speak again.
“It was dumb. I didn’t want to bother anybody about it.”
Her eyes remained glued to her phone as she took another bite of arepa.
Hakoda nodded, deep-sea eyes back to her. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay, now?”
“Um…” Katara fought the quiver in her voice. She fought to keep her voice as collected and as nonchalant as possible. “No—I don’t think it is. But it’s fine.”
“What was the fight about?”
She could feel her hands trembling with nerves, blue eyes moving to meet his brown.
“Dad, please—I don’t want to talk about it.”
It was a long pause, and for a moment, Katara thought she won. But her father took a deep breath and didn’t blink away.
“Did he hurt you?”
“What? No!” Katara practically flinched off of her seat with the hand-gesturing.
“Did he say something to offend you?”
“No—Dad-- it was a stupid thing.”
Her eyes averted towards the backyard, exasperated. Hakoda’s eyes frowned.
“Then what’s got you so on edge?”
“I ATTACKED him, okay!?”
Katara’s hands had turned to fists on the table, her eyes returning to Hakoda.
An unfamiliar tension flooded into the space of that usually-warm kitchen table, as Hakoda looked at his daughter’s protruding eyes, the tears glistening in them. Katara felt her chest heaving, trying to fight off a cry that was due to come at any second, perhaps at the moment that her father would say something back to her.
He took his time. He let her daughter’s heaving breaths fade back to normal, and waited until she took another sip of coffee before he spoke.
“Katara Imiq…”
His voice was quiet, and gruff. She could hear her father’s Northern Canadian accent sneaking in, by the way he pronounced their surname.
“…that is not like you.”
Katara’s eyes closed, biting her lips. Tears fell past her cheeks, onto the table before she could stop them. She wiped one cheek with a sleeve as she spoke again.
“I… I know,” her voice quivered. “He held me back, but still-- I tried to hurt him.”
“Why?” His frame leaned over to her.
Katara snorted comically at the memory, how ridiculous it felt in retrospect.
“He called me a ‘kidney peasant,” she opened her eyes, staring at the thin steam of her coffee.
Hakoda’s face turned rigid. “Did he, now.”
“No—Dad, it wasn’t like that,” Katara corrected, trying to prevent any hateful thoughts from reaching her father and taking root. “He was acting like some rich, stupid jerk.”
“Still,” was all Hakoda said, but Katara saw the crease between his eyes as he broke apart his arepa into halves. “That’s awfully different from the kid I saw yesterday. He seemed modest. Awkward, too—not someone who would call my daughter a name.”
Katara chuckled, completely dismissing that sentiment.
“I’ve been called a lot worse, Dad. Trust me.”
Her shoulders stiffened as she sipped from her coffee mug… remembering the time she had made Westview Varsity Girls’ Swim Team as a sophomore, and the senior girls dubbed her the charity-case… the time she and Suki took a day-trip to Coney Island, and a precocious kid on the boardwalk glanced at her crop-top and shouted “floozy”…
She sighed. She tried to ignore Hakoda’s concerned, sad… unaware eyes… a man staring at this mountain of a daughter without a clue of the cracks that had long formed underneath.
“Katara,” his voice was firm, “What Zuko said to you was completely out of--”
“It’s fine,” she assured. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Does it?”
“No. I don’t care about what he said. I just…” she planted her coffee mug squarely on the table. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Katara…” Hakoda set his arepa piece down, moving a hand close to his daughter’s closest. “If this kid is not who you thought he was, I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”
“It’s not that.” She groaned. “I—you don’t know the things I said to him. I fucked up.”
Hakoda blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Screwed up,” Katara corrected, her shoulders tightening. “I screwed up, Dad.”
“Right—okay. I get it. So, this fight was more about you saying something to him?”
She thinned her lips. “It’s complicated.”
“Sweetheart, please.” It was at the light, gravelly-voiced request that made Katara finally turned to face him. “Something is bothering you, and… I know I’m not your mother… but I think I can tackle whatever it is. Please, try me.”
His hopeful grin was enough to make new tears well in her eyes. She didn’t see the usual dad—the one who had sat alone with his thoughts and his coffee, like all other Sunday mornings. This wasn’t the man who let the others sleep in comfortably in the house, who left a warm pan of breakfast omelet and freshly-squeezed orange juice and slices of toast and salmon lox at the family table like a continental breakfast… and then disappear to re-watch Giants games with Arnook, or attend Union meetings with Bato, or volunteer at the Inuit Community House.
This was somebody from a completely different time. He looked at his daughter with a soft grin and a pair of brave, umber-brown eyes.
Katara felt her shoulders relax, and she swallowed to gather her words, one by one.
“Zuko’s family… they… shut down the factory in Newark—the one that laid off those six hundred workers?” She took a small breath. “Yon Rha was one of them.”
Hakoda blinked, slowly, his face flinching as he recognized the name. Katara never doubted he would. After all, it was her father who had attended each and every day of Yon Rha’s trial, her father who had sat there on the final day, like a mountain -- with Bato and Gran Gran at his side -- when the verdict was finally read.
It was her father who had insisted that Katara and Sokka not miss any school days for that trial, even for the verdict. Katara remembered that disappointment, that rage that stirred from how much she had wanted to see Yon Rha in person… to declare if this man was one who would actually kill people.
It had taken a kid of her own before she understood; even in that horrible, devastating time… Hakoda had managed to find a bit of strength to try and protect his kids from someone he considered a monster. He’d kept his kids from seeing all the possible, horrible faces this man would make before justice would get him.
Remembering this made the girl’s lips quiver, as the image of Yon Rha’s worn-down face in the newspaper was the only thing she had of him. The courts had sympathized with a lonely man’s sudden loss of income, according to what Hakoda had said, so they gave him twelve years – less, if he demonstrated good behavior.
Yon Rha was still behind bars, somewhere in upstate New York.
His name was rarely brought up – it was practically a superstition, to do so – but Katara wondered, now and then, if he still wore that forfeited, browbeaten face in his prison cell.
Hakoda’s hands were at his coffee mug, knuckles tightening around it as his eyes debated whether or not to drink.
“Oh. Boy.” He breathed each of those syllables slowly out, his frame depleting like a tire.
“Yeah.”
Katara broke her own arepa into four pieces, her hands aching for something to do. She took the smallest bite of it, and felt the salty Canadian bacon wake her senses before she chewed.
They gazed out to the more prominent morning light that hit their backyard. Katara’s mouth twitched, watching Momo prop himself up on the wooden fence and chase a few sparrows away before leaping off, and disappearing behind it.
“Katara…” came Hakoda’s gentle voice. “…you know Zuko didn’t kill your mother.”
She lowered her head, shutting her eyes with tears.
“No… but… still.”
“What is it?” his calloused, dry hand went to her closest fingers.
“That’s his company, Dad. His family.” Her voice broke, and she tightened her fingers to her father’s hand. “They didn’t care about anyone when they closed off Cactus Juice. Yon Rha wasn’t a monster – he spent twenty years in that company, only to be kicked out! He was loyal! He had no idea where to go, or what to do… and he – he started drinking…and…”
“I know,” Hakoda comforted, leaning his forehead to touch Katara’s as she hunched over and her weeps escaped her nose. “I know, sweetheart. It’s impossible to hate a man who lost everything. You cannot blame his mistakes.”
Katara nodded against her father’s forehead, feeling his hand take some hair out of her eyes.
“So, what can I--” she looked exhausted, eyes puffy as she wiped her cheeks. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You mean, ‘Where does all that anger go’?” Hakoda attempted, as his daughter picked up another piece of arepa to bite. “’Who can we blame?’”
Katara searched her father’s brown eyes, finding a heaviness of deep regret take form in them.
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Hakoda swallowed sadly, taking a second to gather more words.
“It’s okay,” she comforted.
“No—it’s not,” his voice was firm, yet quivering. “I should’ve been there for you, and your brother. You must’ve kept so much to yourself, and I never even… I should’ve—”
“Dad, stop,” Katara shook her head, refusing to see her father break. “I’m not going to blame you. You lost Mom, and you did everything you could.”
Hakoda looked at the table, acknowledging her words but not completely accepting them.
“I’ll try to believe that, sweetheart,” he said with a small grin. “But I ask you to not be angry at this kid over something he didn’t do.”
Katara nodded, moving her braid over her shoulder as she took another sip of coffee. “What about the company?”
Hakoda sighed. “I don’t know much about AgniKai, but I can tell you… not all corporations are saints.” He waited for his daughter to meet his face again. “We can’t help how we feel about them, but it’s wrong to hate a kid for what he was born into.”
“I know,” she grinned, feeling the tears linger again as she sipped more coffee.
“I’ll say that he does come off a bit prudish.”
Katara snorted a laugh against her mug, but her father continued.
“It’s no excuse for calling you names… but from what I saw about him at the wedding… I think Zuko deserves a chance to be heard.”
She put her mug down. A strange knot formed from her stomach to the base of her throat.
“I’m not even sure he wants to talk to me anymore,” she stared at the mug. “I said some pretty nasty things to him.”
Hakoda placed a hand fully over one of hers. “Are you sorry about the fight?”
“Yes.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she turned to him, and Hakoda tightened his hand.
“Then tell him that,” he grinned. “See if this kid’s willing to start over.”
The sound of a toddler calling out ‘mama?’ broke the silence from upstairs, and both father and daughter winced in that direction. Taking a breath, Katara picked herself up from the seat, heading towards the stairs before Gran Gran would wake from her peaceful slumber.
“Oh—and if he does…”
Hakoda was refilling his coffee as he stopped Katara midway up the staircase. Even in that distance, she could see the smile in his tired eyes.
“…make sure you invite him to Bato’s next barbeque.”
There was something about that statement—hearing it echo in her ears, as she continued up the stairs—that got Katara’s shoulders to finally, fully relax.
She dusted off her running shoes.
She made sure to pack apple slices, Cheerios, milk, water, and of course, Appa, in case he would get fussy. Katara admired that face the little boy gave her, as if wondering why Mama was deciding to make their Sunday Morning stroll to the park a lot faster than normal.
Still, the little boy laughed, and so did she.
It wasn’t so much a run as it was a jog -- peppered with huffing, struggling breaths -- but Katara felt the dimples pass along her face the entire time.
Instagram Chat – 9:26am
[Hey Zuko--]
…
[I’m not sure when you’ll get this, but if you happened to find a blue silk necklace with a pendant at some point at the wedding, please let me know.]
…
[I must’ve lost it a little after The Blind Bandit showed up.]
…
[Anyway… let me know if you found it, or didn’t find it.]
…
[Thanks so much.]
By the time Zuko woke up... his head awkwardly resting by the soft arm of his living room couch on Park Avenue… it was almost ten-in-the-morning.
Zuko must’ve gotten no more than three hours of sleep on his actual bed, upstairs… before hearing his alarm go off for his Sunday-morning swim reservation at the gym, groaning out of the covers to head out the door again. He felt hungover on that couch, now… trying to piece together the small things -- conversations he may have had at the BoarCupine before Jee had officially dropped him off for the night.
He did remember calling Mai, as promised, as he walked to the gym that early morning… catching her while she was drifting to sleep in Tokyo. When he mentioned he would be stopping to see her, before his actual trip to Shanghai, Zuko felt her smile over the phone.
He remembered the effort he put into the grin on his face, even if Mai couldn’t see it.
The heir had been exhausted that morning, but determined to still meet Mako for their 7:00am lap-swim. He needed it. He really needed it.
And wasn’t like Mako would cut him any slack, if he learned that the Honorable Prince of Tea slept in and missed their Sunday ritual… all because of a random wedding event in Queens.
When it came to the Kai family’s competitive streak, Zuko had been doomed for last place unless he showed up, consistently. Mako lived for that kind of strict routine -- practically neck-and-neck with Azula – but the difference was that Azula lived for perfection.
Azula Kai was the girl who ran along Kensington Gardens every dawn, while her assistant went over the day’s itinerary with her via BlueTooth. Azula was so good, she never sounded out of breath. Zuko knew this, personally; she once called him about a report on Cabbage Corps on a Friday at 6:00am London time, while he was still finishing up said report for Zhao at 1:00am, his time. The girl was persistent, and Mako was vigorous with routine… and Zuko knew it was useless to think he could ever catch up them.
Still, he remained committed to try -- not for the sake of proving something to them, but for AgniKai. All eyes were on them, after all.
However, at that moment, in the living room… at ten-in-the-morning, all Zuko wanted to do was ignore the chlorine stench of his hair, ignore how it was most likely staining the Bowery & Bash rental couch and just take another short nap.
When he unlocked his phone to see what messages he might’ve missed between his swimming meetup, and that short nap on the couch… a couple of Japanese text messages from Mai popped up. He pushed through his tired brain to translate her words.
[It was nice to hear your voice tonight, darling. I think you’re turning me into one of those girls. (KISS EMOJI)]
[I can’t wait to hear about this peasant wedding in Queens. I’ll see you soon, love.]
Zuko clicked his jaw; he couldn’t remember if he had actually used the word ‘peasant’ during his phone call with Mai. He must’ve been so tired, but the idea sat uncomfortably in his stomach. He shut his eyes, not wanting to think about it… or all the re-arrangements and scheduling to be made with Lin and Jhu Lee to fly out to Tokyo on such short notice.
When he checked his phone again, and noticed a DM alert on his Instagram app, Zuko’s mouth parted, not second-guessing who it was. He could feel his heart racing.
He didn’t know if he was ready for whatever this girl from Queens would bring up on that DM.
If it was about a missing necklace, or something else.
Or really, just about a missing necklace.
Zuko braced himself, sat up properly on the couch… and quietly opened the message.
Instagram Chat – 10:17am
[Ms. Imiq—Is this it?]
…
[(jpg image)]
[YES! OMG thank you!!!]
[I brought it to the BoarCupine yesterday]
…
[In case you would show up there, after the wedding.]
[Oh… no. I wasn’t really in the mood for an after-party.]
[I see.]
…
[Well, the pendant was loose, so I thought it best to hang onto it for safe-keeping.]
[Thanks, Zuko.]
…
…
…
[Where did you find it?]
[In the garden—it must’ve fallen off, after you left.]
[Oh]
…
[that sounds about right.]
…
[It’s weird to say, but I’m glad you were there to find it.]
[I was going to take the necklace to a jeweler to have it fixed]
…
[If you want.]
[No—Zuko, you don’t have to do that.]
[It’s alright. I know people in Cartier who specialize in vintage jewelry.]
…
[I think they can improve the clasping on it.]
[Okay-- now I have to ask…]
…
[how in the world do you know jewelers in Cartier?]
[Lo and Li designed my birth necklace.]
[The gold chain with the tiny sun?]
[…Yes.]
…
…
…
[How did you know that?]
[I saw you wearing it at the Shirshu Club.]
[Oh.]
…
…
…
[Well, anyway-- I can take it to Cartier]
…
[And you can pick it up on your own.]
…
[Otherwise… I can have Lin meet you somewhere, to give it to you whenever.]
[Zuko…]
[That way, we won’t have to see each other.]
[Zuko, wait!]
…
[Please?]
…
.
.
.
…
[God--- I wish there was some other way we could talk besides texting.]
…
…
[I don’t want to end things like this.]
[Katara--]
…
…
…
[I’m not your enemy, and I don’t want to be]
…
[But this is the best I can do right now.]
[Okay]
[Okay, then.]
[Zuko…]
…
…
[I know there’s no excuse for what I did last night.]
[You assaulted me, Katara.]
[I know. I did.]
[You called me a terrible person…]
…
[And said you never wanted to see me again.]
…
…
.
.
…
[How am I supposed to respond to that?]
[I know. God--I really screwed up.]
…
[Zuko… I am so, so sorry for what I did.]
…
[You’re not terrible. You are a good person]
…
[and I really did like talking to you.]
…
…
…
[I think there’s a lot I haven’t dealt with, ever since I lost my mom.]
…
[And I put it all out on you.]
…
[And that’s not right.]
…
…
…
[I’m going to do something about it. I want to seek the right help for this.]
…
[I don’t want to burn any bridges over my own personal shit.]
[Thanks for telling me that.]
…
.
…
.
.
…
[I’m sorry, too.]
[For what?]
[For the way I acted.]
…
[I called you a ‘kidney peasant.’]
[Yeah, you did.]
[You’re not a peasant, Katara]
…
[You’re amazing, and hard-working, and funny]
…
[And you’re going to be a brilliant Nephrologist.]
[Thanks, Zuko--]
…
[it actually sounded kind of silly, hearing you call me that]
…
[but it did still hurt, a little.]
[I’m sorry.]
…
[I thought you invited me to the wedding out of pity]
…
[And I made you feel guilty about not telling me you were a mother.]
…
[That was completely out of line.]
[No Zuko—I was the hypocrite, not sharing everything with you.]
[No—things should be shared in their own time.]
…
…
…
[You shouldn’t feel pressured to talk about things you’re not ready to.]
[Thanks]
[You’re welcome.]
[(smile emoji)]
…
[So, are we… okay?]
[We’re okay, I think.]
…
…
…
[I just need some time.]
[Okay.]
[Okay, then.]
[Zuko…]
…
[You’re not my enemy, okay?]
…
[I know I hurt you, and that’s eating me up inside.]
…
[I’m so sorry that I broke your trust, and I get that you don’t want to see me for a while.]
[It’s alright, Katara. Thank you for understanding.]
[And OH GOD--]
…
[I treated you like CRAP at the wedding!]
…
[I didn’t even say thank you for everything you did.]
…
[(sad emoji) You didn’t deserve any of that from me.]
[(laughter emoji)]
…
[Don’t beat yourself up about that.]
…
[You had a lot to manage.]
[Oh, well, I’m saying it now...]
…
[Thank you, Zuko, from the bottom of my heart.]
…
[For everything that you did to make my brother’s wedding special.]
[Anytime. (smile emoji)]
[(smile emoji)]
[Okay-- truth?]
[Go ahead!]
[It’s not just you.]
…
[I've had a difficult time trusting people, outside of what I would call my ‘inner circle’.]
…
[I think I’ve been dealing with it for a while]
…
[And I have to sort some things out on my own.]
[Okay.]
…
[I won’t push you to hang out again until you want to.]
[Thank you, Katara.]
…
[I’ll be travelling to Tokyo and Shanghai these next couple of weeks.]
…
[I can drop off the necklace at Cartier before I leave, and text you when it’s ready.]
[Sounds good!]
…
[Are you travelling for work?]
[Mostly, but I’m going to Tokyo for a few days to see my fiancé.]
[That’s sweet. That must be so hard.]
[…What do you mean?]
[I mean, the long-distant relationship?]
[Oh. Right.]
[Jet’s amazing, but sometimes it feels like I’m dating a complete stranger! (sad emoji)]
…
[It feels selfish to say, but I can’t wait until his service is up. I hate long-distance.]
[Maybe it’s just the long-distance making it feel impossible.]
…
[All I know is… whenever you mention Jet, you blush a little.]
[Really?]
[Yes. It’s annoying.]
[(side-eye emoji) Shut up.]
[(smile emoji)]
…
[The distance won’t be forever. I think you’ll be alright.]
[Thanks, Zuko.]
[Anyway… you were missed at the BoarCupine. Bumi asked about you.]
[Haha— did he call me ‘the Doctor?’]
[Yes, actually.]
[(cry-laughter emoji)]
…
[Whenever I give him health advice, the old man pays me in Poutine fries.]
...
[That's our relationship, in a nutshell.]
[That sounds reasonable.]
[Did you play darts or anything?]
[I played the last round of pool with some people.]
…
[Yue joined in for a bit, but she said she wasn’t feeling well.]
…
[Jee picked us up and we took her home.]
[That’s sweet that you did that.]
…
[I hope she was okay.]
[Yeah---she said the migraines tend to happen a lot, due to her treatments.]
[Oh.]
…
.
…
[So… you know about her health issues?]
[She told me during the wedding reception.]
…
[Why?]
[Nothing—I’m just glad that you know]
…
[and that she could tell you before anyone else did.]
[Yeah. She told me about Sokka, and how he was with her the day she got diagnosed.]
[Yep. That happened during his senior year.]
…
[My brother was ready to give up Carnegie Mellon just to stay and take care of her.]
[…and Yue told him to go.]
[Yep. She didn’t want him to put his future on hold, so they tried long-distance.]
[…and then he met Suki.]
[Yep. I still remember how Sokka kept bringing up her name.]
…
[It was like they were just college buddies]
…
[who happened to hang out all the time-- just good friends-- but Yue could tell.]
…
[She just… knew.]
[…and, that’s why she broke up with him.]
[…Yep.]
[That’s unbelievable.]
…
[I cannot even begin to imagine.]
…
…
[It must’ve taken so much courage.]
[Yeah. I wonder about that, too, sometimes.]
…
[Yue has this invisible strength about her.]
…
[She’s always been like that.]
…
[Everything about her just feels completely selfless.]
…
…
[Ugh—I shouldn’t say that. You should get to know her yourself, and not through me.]
…
.
.
…
[Anyway, I’m happy that you two are friends.]
[Thanks. I like talking to her about classical music and stuff. She’s nice.]
[She really is.]
.
.
.
.
…
…
[…Zuko?]
[Yes?]
[Back in the garden, you said that I’d already made up my mind about you.]
…
…
[I know last night wasn’t one of my finest moments...]
…
[But I do hope you know that I’m not here to make fun of you.]
…
[It’s all meant to come from a good place.]
…
[Please tell me if anything I say or do ever offends you.]
[Katara, it’s alright. I’ve dealt with this kind of backlash all my life]
…
[And I’ve come to terms with the fact that there are people out there who will always see me a certain way… no matter how much I try to alter that image.]
[Still… that doesn’t make it right.]
[No, it doesn’t. But thanks for telling me you’re not one of them.]
[(smile emoji) I won’t be judgmental from now on.]
[(raised-eyebrow emoji)]
[Fine. I’ll TRY not to be judgmental-- I promise]
[Alright.]
…
[I promise not to call you any names, either.]
[Sounds good. (smile emoji)]
[I should go—I’m meeting my uncle for tea in an hour.]
[Cool! Are you going to a tea shop somewhere?]
[No—it’s at his house in Row.]
[…”Row?”]
[“Billionaire Row”]
[Oh… well, excuuuuse me.]
[(eye-roll emoji)]
[(laughter emoji)]
…
[Oh wait! Should I reach out to Lin to deliver your birthday card?]
[For the hundredth time, you don’t have to do that.]
[Zuko, it was your birthday, and you didn’t tell me about it.]
…
[You are getting a fricken’ card.]
[Get over it.]
[Lighten up!]
[Fine.]
[FINE.]
…
[(cry-laughter emoji)]
…
[Okay-- I gotta go—Aang’s tugging me to take him to the swings.]
[…“Aang?”]
[Oh]
…
.
.
.
[…Yeah… Aang.]
.
…
[My son.]
[Do you want me to pretend I didn’t read that?]
[(sweat-drop emoji)]
…
[No, it’s okay.]
[Alright.]
…
[So, you have a son named Aang.]
[Yep-- I sure do!]
…
[And he asked me to say thanks to the Honorable Prince of Tea]
…
[for helping him find Appa at the wedding.]
[(laughter emoji) Tell him that I said ‘anytime’.]
[No problem. (wink emoji)]
…
[Okay— I’m off to the swing set. Safe travels, Zuko!]
[(smile emoji) Thanks, friend.]
Email from Katara Imiq to Jet Kosinski
Hi babe-
Thanks for emailing! Wedding was fun; the kid got so nervous about throwing flowers that Gran Gran had to help him out. Sokka and Suki were so cute, and my speech went well and I danced the Mother-Son dance with my brother. It was tough to get through, but in the end, the support I got was really helpful.
The Blind Bandit DJ showed up as a planned surprise, and that was fun, too.
I’m sorry to hear things are tough out there, but you’re helping as best you can. The farmers you’re helping are going to appreciate that. It’s not worth losing your PC service to break code of conduct. I mean, protesting as a foreign citizen is always unsafe.
Please be safe out there.
Regarding Zuko’s contact info, I’ll need to make sure it’s okay to forward his work email to you, for security purposes. If you want, you can send me a draft of what you hope to say to him and I can pass that over to his personal assistant. This way the conversation can remain constructive, rather than critical. I hope you understand.
Love you,
Katara