Excerpt from Exhibit by R O. Kwon, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Jin?"

"I'll be right out," I called.

Philip said he'd be in the kitchen, fixing a salad. I dressed, hands jerking.

"Didn't you have lunch plans?" I asked, as I walked up to him.

"I did, with Hiju, but he's ill," he said, pouring oil. "It's tabouli, with feta. I added chili garlic. I figured you'd like a plate."

I held Philip's waist, from his side. "I'd love a plate," I said.

"Do you have to work?"

"I'll eat lunch with you first." I did kill the lights, before sex. Still, I thought. If he got in while I was bathing. I'd had no idea Philip was home.

"Is this salted enough?"

I tasted his salad, its spiced, citric tang. "Not quite," I said.

Philip turned the salt mill. It was large, solid, hewn of pied cebil. Part of a gift from his uncle Juan. I put a hand to Philip's soft, trusting face. His full chin, the slope I prized. Philip tipped his head, nestling. Salt fell, bits of crystal, like sparks of light. I'd stop, with Lidija. I had to; when, though?

* * *

"It's a bad habit," Lidija said. I kept holding my breath to get through pain. "If you don't listen," she said. Lidija put a hand to my lips, nostrils closing tight. I was tied to Lidija's bed posts. Before long, quick light forked. I fought the stifling hand; she let go. "So, you'll listen."

Late that night, alone, I looked it up. People didn't advise choking. It was high-risk playing. I hadn't said I'd be fine with being choked. If I asked that Lidija not do it again, she'd stop. Once, she'd hit me with the explicit object of forcing me to drop a bell. Proving I could, Lidija had said, as I flung the bell down. I'd bring it up, the choking. But in the past, I'd given no thought to being choked. It hadn't figured as a hope. With that night, it did.

* * *

Idle spells, hours, that Lidija filled as liquid spills in a gap. I forgot what I'd thought of, before this. Ballet having much of Lidija's time, she didn't want texts, calls. I held a phone, thinking of Lidija, hand wet with the grip. But I'd mind Lidija's rule. If I didn't, the phone might slip. It could take Lidija along.

* * *

I'd felt, until Lidija, that I kept a rigid schedule. I lived serving the art, I thought. But next to Lidija, I lazed. I reposed. In New York, she'd paced a five-block radius. She'd go to ballet, then home. Once, while on stage, she broke a big toe; the part had Lidija jump up and down, in place, hard, as if on knife tips. But Lidija didn't stop dancing, the pain driving through. Injured, Lidija still lived in a spin of ballet. Up at six, she trained with straps, bands. She danced prone, legs ticking, like time stalling. "If you'd call this shit dancing," she said. Lidija had drills, weights to lift. It was dull, insipid; diligent, she did it all.

* * *

I failed to bring up the choking. In truth, I had no desire to object. Not if Lidija didn't.

* * *

"Do I get to meet this new friend?" Philip asked.

"Who?"

"Lidija. It's as though she's not real."

"Well, you met in June, at Irving's friend's house."

"I don't think I said a word to Lidija."

"Didn't you?"

"No."

* * *

"Let me tag along tonight," Lidija said. I had a local artists' gathering, at a pub, to host. But Elise had said she might be going. On the night Elise first met Philip, while I still thought him a friend, she'd had the inkling I'd date him. With Philip, I relaxed. It's as though you're finding a home, she'd said. I didn't want Elise talking with Lidija.

"It's just for visual artists," I said.

Lidija didn't push. But when I got up, she said to finish the radish soup.

"I'm going to be late," I said, then I was being pulled back, topknot in Lidija's grip.

Excerpted from Exhibit by R O. Kwon. Copyright © 2024 by R O. Kwon. Excerpted by permission of Riverhead Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.