If John Cho were your boyfriend, he would be thoughtful enough to warn you several hours before he cut that amazing hair of his, so you could maybe call in sick to work and make those hours count.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, the cat you rescued back in college would desert you to sleep on his side of the bed, and you wouldn’t even blame her. She knows that John Cho is a furnace. A smoking hot furnace.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, your grade-school bully would apologize to you, give you a first-place Spelling Bee ribbon to replace the one he stole all those years ago, and confess, “Actually, I was just jealous of your brilliance and your impressive vocabulary.”
If John Cho were your boyfriend, you would finally stop feeling insecure about the shape of your ears. “I think they’re one of the cutest things about you,” John Cho would tell you. “They remind me of little seashells.”
If John Cho were your boyfriend, he’d crack your mom up with a pitch-perfect, hilarious, yet respectful impression of her. Whenever she tried to get him on her side – “Don’t you think she should really slow down and take more time for herself?” – John Cho would smile at her and say, “I’m just glad your daughter is happy doing what she loves.”
If John Cho were your boyfriend, your dad would not be able to help himself; he would insist on inviting the two of you over for an all-day classic Star Trek movie marathon. John Cho would be a good sport about it, even when your dad stubbornly refused to have mercy on you both and skip the odd-numbered films. About halfway through The Wrath of Khan your dad would start on his usual rant about the new Star Trek movies, and how they are certainly entertaining but they aren’t really Star Trek, you know, so much as Star Trek for people who don’t know anything about Star Trek, and John Cho would just nod respectfully and think about how lucky he is to be part of your life.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, you’d learn to like California – you’d have to, because that’s home for him and he needs to be there for work. To make it up to you, in between projects John Cho would take you on thrilling, unforgettable vacations all over the world, and soon you’d have to buy one of those little packs of extra pages for your passport.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, he would always carry Lactaid Fast-Act Caplets in his pockets, because he would know that you never remember to bring any with you and yet are unable to deny yourself ice cream.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, he would care very deeply about your work but would never ask to read your shitty first drafts; he would understand that trust and love has nothing to do with it, some things can be shown to no one. He would celebrate every hard-earned byline and brag to his Hollywood friends about you: “My girlfriend is writing a book, and when it’s made into a movie you’ll be begging your agent to get you an audition.”
If John Cho were your boyfriend, whenever you suffered a personal or professional setback, he would remind you to be kind and patient with yourself, respecting your process as you worked through your feelings, and would instinctively know the moment you were ready to talk about it. He would bring you a glass of excellent red wine and sit next to you so your shoulders were touching and wrap his strong, supple fingers around yours and say, “You know, I know what it’s like when things don’t go your way, no matter how hard you work or how great you are,” and you would say, “I know you do, babe,” and neither of you would mention Selfie by name, but you’d both be thinking about it.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, the two of you would rule your March Madness pool every year; none of your friends would be able to touch you. You and John Cho would be neck and neck through the early rounds, but then finally, in the Sweet Sixteen, you would start to pull away. “I don’t know how you’re always so right about basketball,” Kal Penn would say, his voice filled with admiration, as he PayPal’d you your winnings. “Dude, you should have listened to her when she told you not to bet against Michigan State in the tournament,” John Cho would tell him.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, you would finally stop feeling insecure about the shape of your ears. “I think they’re one of the cutest things about you,” John Cho would tell you. “They remind me of little seashells.”
If John Cho were your boyfriend, you would always be nicking gorgeous slim-fit tees and shirts and sweaters from his closet, and he’d insist they look better on you even though you both know that’s not possible.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, he would never ask you if you’ve had a chance to read that one profile in the New Yorker, the one everybody else is talking about, because he knows that you are perpetually three to six weeks behind in your periodical reading. He wouldn’t put any undue pressure on you, just wait for you to get around to it, and then he would reread it so he could discuss it with you in great detail even though everyone else forgot about it a month ago.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, you’d be the kind of solid upright citizen who spends your time helping to register new voters. On Election Day the two of you would take the day off to give voters needed rides to the polls, because you and John Cho both know that it’s not a true democracy without participation.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, you’d never again be surprised by someone “just dropping by” at some ungodly hour (6:30 p.m.!!!) after you had already changed out of your bra for the day, because John Cho wouldn’t let unannounced visitors violate the cozy sanctuary of your home.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, you would refuse to bring him to any family weddings until every single one of your racist uncles finally admitted that Koreans ARE totally cool. The coolest. Way cooler than racist people from Ohio.
If John Cho were your boyfriend, you’d always get the books you wanted at the Friends of the Library book sale, because unlike you John Cho is an early riser and he would have already been on the way to his morning nosh. “John Cho asked us to set these books aside for you,” a Friend of the Library would tell you, all aflutter. “He signed autographs for all the volunteers! He’s such a nice young man.”
If John Cho were your boyfriend, he would love that you fancy yourself an amateur astronomer. On your birthday he would upgrade your old cheap telescope to a fancy new model with all the bells and whistles, and the two of you would spend many a clear night spying on our celestial neighbors and marveling at the exhilarating beauty of the universe. You would agree that while space presents limitless possibilities for exploration, all the private Mars missions currently in the works seem completely terrifying, not to mention rather fiscally irresponsible, and you’d prefer to stay together here on Earth. “It’s one thing to fly a starship in the movies,” John Cho would say, “but I couldn’t enjoy it if you weren’t there with me.”
If John Cho were your boyfriend, Saturdays would be for adventuring, Sundays would be for kicking back and lounging around in your underwear (as well as the occasional underwear dance party), and every day would be more perfect, more beautiful, than the one before.
