Chapter Text
February 2024
The lights at Itinera’s office had dimmed for the evening – turning the office into a backstage for lives that should be experienced somewhere else. Dalmi reclined peaceably in her seat. Her inbox, for the first time in a month, was down to the lesser triple digits. The project backlog was under control, and the chatter of stragglers at their desks had an unhurried, relaxed tone you wouldn’t expect in a computing company making headlines for their technology. The team had pushed through a monumental milestone last week, but seemed in good spirits now.
She liked her team. They did good work, and if Dalmi did her job well, she knew her team would get to do positively great deeds. Which is why tonight had to go splendidly. Dalmi opened her backpack and catalogued the two copies of the presentation deck, her work laptop, her toothbrush and a change of clothes. Then she shot a prayer skyward, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and walked out into the cold evening.
She was halfway through the parking lot when Halmoni called: “Dalmi-a. Your mom made crab stew.”
“Leave me some for tomorrow, please? I’m staying in the city tonight.”
A loaded pause. “At Jipyeong’s?”
Dalmi cringed slightly. Really, how could she tell? “Yes. Because of work.”
“For work,” Halmoni urged, her voice shaky, “you are going to pester him and sleep over?”
Sometimes, Dalmi thought her grandmother was guarding Jipyeong’s virtue more than hers. “Our talk might take a while, Halmoni.”
Then Dalmi waited out her grandmother’s long, aggrieved exhale – the sound crackled through the phone’s speaker. Out of all the possible consequences of waking up in Han Jipyeong’s guest bedroom four months ago and becoming, with surprising speed, his best friend, Dalmi hadn’t expected Halmoni to be so unhappy about it.
It wasn't exactly overnight, but their heart-to-heart broke a dam and out poured all of this warmth. They dropped the birdhouse as a pretense and simply met on weekends. They felt safe in their bond, and leaning on each other developed into an instinct. When Jipyeong finally mumbled he needed help with the Go Gildong Foundation (having taken over as Interim CEO and hating every second of it), Dalmi grinned broadly - because slightly overwhelmed Jipyeong was cute, but also because she was grateful he came to her.
Her grandmother scoffed at all of it. Jipyeong thought she was rounding the bend on her annoyance, but Dalmi didn’t see it.
Halmoni interrupted Dalmi's thoughts:
“Well. If ‘the city’ wants food tomorrow,” Halmoni said, peppering her sentence with sighs, “there’s zucchini fritters for him.”
Dalmi smiled – a small upturn that grew broader at the same time her feet picked up the pace. Better than usual. “You can’t take it back. He’ll drop by – you know he can’t resist fritters.”
Halmoni hummed. “Then that’s good. I miss him too, you know.”
That gave Dalmi pause. She had been so ragged from the big launch that she hadn’t seen Jipyeong in weeks. Privately, she wished he’d simply appear – in the grocery store, at Halmoni’s, anywhere really. Halmoni knew her better than anyone. Maybe that’s what all her worries were about?
Dalmi was out of the office block, becoming enveloped in the Seoul evening in earnest and the bleary prettiness of the night lights. She chose not to overthink it. There were some moments in life that were better to live while they lasted – they'd be over soon enough, anyway.
This was one of them.
-
The street outside the restaurant was lined with plum trees in full, rosy bloom. Jipyeong – in a long, navy coat – waited beneath one of them. When Dalmi sided up to him, the fragrance of the flowers made the air feel warmer than it was, and as they smiled at each other in greeting, her heart felt warm, too.
They started ambling slowly towards the restaurant, but every so often, Jipyeong looked upwards. Dalmi bumped into his arm softly in question, making Jipyeong glance at her. “What are you thinking?”
He let his eyes drag once more to the trees. “That they have twelve months in a year to choose from.”
"Well," Dalmi said slowly in consideration, "if they didn’t show up now, we wouldn’t have flowers in winter at all. That’s value.”
“You would say that,” Jipyeong observed with a smile. “You think they bloom now, while you – ” Gently, he mirrored her, bumping his arm against hers. “Will you please tell me what you’re planning?”
“After dinner,” Dalmi resolved. “It’ll be better that way, I promise.”
Then Jipyeong sighed pointedly, and it was not entirely undeserved.
The restaurant was packed. They chose their sushi together and picked rolls off of each other’s plates, checking off topics at an easy clip. Their birdhouse was in transit (Mr. Kim had finished the new pieces and sent them off via mail). Their blind dates were a bust. Dalmi’s all melded together into one, faceless blob of tech bros and self-described innovators.
When a toddler sprinted down the restaurant and tripped just as he passed their table, Jipyeong caught the boy and set him back upright in one smooth motion. Disaster was avoided by mere inches. As the mother of the boy gave her thanks, Dalmi stared at Jipyeong. Fast hands. Good mate. Wouldn’t let offspring fall off a cliff. Even when he turned back to face Dalmi, eyebrows raised slightly in question, she kept staring.
Jipyeong's eyes lingered on the blush of her cheeks for an instant. “Dinner’s over," he pointed out.
“I’ll tell you at home,” she said. She tilted her head and gave what she thought was a very convincing wince. “Any sooner and you’ll get indigestion.”
Jipyeong half-smiled. "I'll risk it," he said. “This is about Itinera, obviously. You’ve been holding your cards close on that for a while.”
He took a bite of his dessert, then continued: “Seeing your latest financials, you’re probably looking to start joint ventures with other autonomous vehicle companies. Cost reductions, synergies – the pluses are too good to pass up if you want your products built into mass market vehicles. You’ve been busy finding partners, I imagine.”
Dalmi shrugged. "Maybe."
The check came. Jipyeong reviewed it, pen in hand, as he spoke: “But that has little to do with me. Dongcheon’s more familiar with your target companies. And the only potential partner that I’m a board member of is”—
Jipyeong paused, eyes darting upwards to Dalmi’s like he’d sprung a trap. Carefully, he set down the pen, and stared at her. When all Dalmi did was tuck her hair behind her ear and stare back, his eyebrows raised sky high.
Dalmi had looked at the problem every which way. She had researched target companies carefully. Run and re-run analyses. And lost several hours of sleep fretting.
She smiled and opened her arms, palms up. “Voila, indigestion.”
“You want to partner with Cheongmyeong?” Jipyeong muttered. “Really?”
-
She read her old company’s press releases, checked their financials, and tried to be as uncharitable as possible when playing Devil’s Advocate, summoning her inner Han Timjangnim to tear the company down. Didn’t matter – Cheongmyeong emerged as number one among the self-driving companies to partner with, every time. When VP Choi, her eccentric boss at Itinera’s holding company, reviewed her proposal, he concluded: You’re reckless, Dalmi, but so am I. With his approval, the only thing left to do was to sell it – to her sister, her ex-husband, and her best friend. She started with the best friend, and it was going about as well as she expected. On the way back to Jipyeong’s apartment, he managed to compress all his questions and answers to single words.
A silence dragged as they shed their coats side by side at his entryway. She couldn’t help but smirk at him. “You said that if I set a proposal on your desk, 9 times out of ten you’d back me,” she said. “You were really convincing.”
Jipyeong conceded that with a head tilt. “I was rounding up from 8.5, though.”
Dalmi scoffed, suppressing a smile. In truth, her relief was gathering up by the second. This – the pouts, the furrowed brow – was just Jipyeong’s usual grumpy processing of a proposal. There was a clear chance he’d say yes.
As he put on a kettle, Dalmi greeted the apartment, her eyes ambulating to the chandelier, the artwork, the nighttime blinkering out the windows. She loved the scent of the place – not like Jipyeong at all, but reminiscent of him.
And, of course, she loved the plant.
Jipyeong didn’t fess up the first time she stayed over, but he did the time after, pointing out the plant tucked (one could even say hidden) among the other pots in his window garden. Dalmi’s immediate thought was that, technically, Dosan didn’t lie (having told Dalmi he’d left it with a “friend who had more space”).
The second thought was of course Jipyeong had it. It did something to her heart, to know he kept it.
She walked over to the window. Her plant was as vibrantly green as ever, but Dalmi frowned. “Did you take a scythe to it? It’s so –” she hunted for the word – “narrow.”
“It was getting too big, so I propagated it,” he said from the kitchen. Then he walked over to her and set his hands lightly on her shoulders, turning Dalmi until she was facing a far corner of his apartment. “There’s two plants now.”
“Ah.” She spotted the second one – perched on a small table across the living room – and walked over to it, stepping away from Jipyeong’s light hold.
She rotated the pot carefully. The plant was small. Jewel-bright. It broke Top 20 Cute Things Dalmi Had Seen, easily. She looked at Jipyeong, lips pressed together, eyes wide with a plea. “Do you need two?”
Jipyeong stared at her for a beat, then looked away and burst into laughter. “Take it.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that?”
Jipyeong nodded. He was still smiling as he went back to reading the proposal. “It’s yours.”
She wasn’t going to wait for him to change his mind. Dalmi thanked him and walked the plant to the guest room, putting it with the rest of her things. When she came back, Jipyeong was engrossed in the proposal, making notes at the margins. She sipped her tea and waited him out, letting the warmth settle in her body.
When he finished reading, Jipyeong drummed the fingers of one hand against the dinner table, regarding her fixedly.
“It’s good, Dalmi. But what about Nam Dosan?” She saw his neck muscles tense, like it was a strain to ask the question.
She nodded slowly. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
From the way Jipyeong puffed out a breath, that was precisely what he didn’t want to hear. For the first time since they’d got home, Dalmi worried, her pulse quickening. She pressed her lips together and inched her chair closer to Jipyeong’s.
“Cheongmyeong’s the best fit,” she said evenly. “Looking at its assets, company culture, management– it just works. That’s the main reason I want this partnership. But part of why I want this is Dosan, too. It weighs on me, that he stuck around for one year at the company because I asked him to. So if it’s possible to have one last success with him, something to give closure to us both, I’d take it.”
Jipyeong was as still as a statue. Dalmi looked at her hands, resting on the table. “That’s just a small part of my reasons, but I could be tricking myself into thinking I can have this both ways. Do you think so? That no amount of preparation can make this a good idea?”
Jipyeong strained his eyes. “It’s been done before – a divorced couple leading a venture. Your separation is not an automatic strike out. But less than a year since the break? It's a very hard sell.”
Yes, the timing was terrible. But this opportunity wouldn’t be around come next year. “I know it’s a longshot – it ought to be,” Dalmi replied. “I won’t move forward unless Dosan is 100% on board. If he’s not ready – if I speak to him and I’m not ready – I’ll find a different company to partner with. And Injae needs to back it, too.”
“But I still think it’s worth trying,” she continued. “Even if it’s hard, if you’re thoughtful and honest with yourself and others, doors can open to you. To be honest, Jipyeong,” she used her index finger to tap his nose briefly, “you helped me see that.”
Jipyeong blinked back at the touch. Then he grimaced slightly, schooled his face and wagged an index finger at her – he could be adorably dramatic sometimes. “Don’t let yourself get complacent. If things are going south, reassess, Dalmi.”
“But it’s a yes?” she asked eagerly.
His sigh was ragged. “I want to see your ideas on the management structure for this. But yes.”
Dalmi bounced up from her seat, grinning. “Yeah!” She gave in to the first thought that came to her, which was to lean in and kiss Jipyeong’s cheek. “Thank you.”
She should have finished the sentence – thank you for being by my side. But after one moment of regarding her, mouth slightly ajar, Jipyeong got up and drew away. He moved to clean their used teacups, grabbing them and striding towards the sink.
“I should email Injae now,” he spoke over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t sit on news like this.”
“Right, me too,” Dalmi said, crossing her arms to hold herself. “She’ll want to hear from both of us.” But she lingered by the dining table, gauging him. He was probably tired, brain running a mile a minute with tasks. The urge to say the words remained, though – thank you for being my person. It was probably for the best that she didn’t.
She wanted his advice tonight, but it was more than that. She wanted Jipyeong to know first. She wanted his support – first. She was pretty sure Jipyeong would say yes, even if he didn’t love her idea. But if he had pushed back hard, Dalmi would have wavered. Whether that was fair or not wasn’t the question.
This crush sometimes swelled so much it scared her.
Just a crush, of course, and she had resolved to deal with it quietly. One day, Jipyeong wouldn’t be her person. They’d move on to different things. Build different lives. They would be a safe place for each other, but not in the same way.
She walked towards the guest bedroom, speaking loudly so he’d hear in the kitchen: “We’ll talk more tomorrow?” She kept her tone light and easy.
“You can’t avoid it if you try. Good night, Dalmi.”
She could hear the smile in his voice, and it cheered her up. “Alright – good night!”
She closed the door to the guest bedroom, plopped on the bed. She had always liked this room, but felt boxed-in lately. Possibly because, once the lights were out, she’d begun wondering what would happen if she left the room, her heart running a mile a minute, and knocked on Jipyeong’s door. She wondered what would happen if he saw her at his threshold.
She shook her head to chase that thought away. How could she ask him to look at her again?
Dalmi looked out the window, the Han river was a glimmering strip of void. I should be grateful for this moment - holding out her hand to Injae and Dosan in partnership, her Itinera and Cheongmyeong colleagues working together to achieve a long-held dream, and - cheering from the sidelines - him. Dalmi brought her knees against her chest, letting all of her hope warm through her. This moment with him, it had to be enough.
She just hoped it would last a little longer.
-
At his laptop, Jipyeong bounced from problem to problem – an email, a board package, a staff review, Dalmi’s lips on his cheek. Jipyeong sighed. From the top, he thought wryly. Only when the lights were off in the guest room did he shut down the computer, let the invisible weight he carried drop.
Hands steepled together, he looked at his plant by the window like it was somewhat responsible for what just happened.
It had been bucking under its own weight for a while, its shiny stalks splayed outwards. Repotting only did so much, and he was at a loss until he was texted Dalmi one morning by the window garden on something unrelated. He didn’t so much as come up with an idea in that moment as start obeying a gravitational pull. Later, he spread an old blanket out in his living room floor and disentangled the roots of the tree one by one, finding the smallest, greenest shoots and arranging them together. If the second plant was “cute,” like Dalmi said under her breath, it was entirely Jipyeong’s doing. He knew that’s what she would like and, deep down, he hoped she’d take it.
Jipyeong felt a flash of irritation at himself. He had been working towards the answer almost in a daze. That's usually how it went with him and Dalmi.
He dreaded where another daze like this could take him. He feared he’d turn a corner in the maze of his heart and finding himself, once more, at a dead end. Wanting someone who would never see him. Who loved to run towards the unknown with people full of zeal, just like her.
People unlike him.
Jipyeong clenched his jaw. Exit strategies never hurt. He reopened his laptop, pulling up a new email draft:
To: CEO Yoon Seon Hak
From: Senior Director Han Jipyeong
Subject: RE: New York
Is the hiring committee still accepting applicants?
April 2024
One hourlong subway ride from Times Square to JFK International Airport, then 14.5 hours flying from New York to Seoul. As Jipyeong walked out of the arrival gate at Incheon, his hierarchy of needs featured shower at every tier of the pyramid. It was with great reluctance that he delayed this shower by going back to Departures to sort out his flight itinerary for the last round of interviews in NYC.
He was placing his new itinerary in his front pocket when a familiar shape caught his eye, examining the nearby flight monitors. Nam Dosan, of all people, carry-on in hand.
Jipyeong had picked up side dishes at the Nam residence twice since Dosan had come back and missed him each time. The younger man looked good – buffer than he’d ever been, somehow, but his eyes had a quiet, untroubled look. It was well-earned. By all accounts, the Itinera/Cheongmyeong partnership was going splendidly. Dalmi, Injae and Dosan ran a smooth operation, unfettered by what regular humans would consider obstacles to teamwork, like divorces and broken familial ties. Jipyeong couldn’t claim to understand how exactly they managed it (except that whenever Dalmi was this excited about a project, she usually excelled), but he was happy for them and had no objections as an investor. The good press coming out on the joint venture made it easier to feel that leaving was the right decision. Everyone would be fine.
Dosan caught sight of him – the two men met halfway.
“I thought your stay was for longer,” Jipyeong said. Smirking, he gave the younger man a pointed one-over. “You miss the gyms in the Bay Area?”
Dosan scoffed, a hint of humor in his eyes. “You probably don’t remember, Director Han, but you mentioned a gym in San Francisco to my mother. She pestered me about it for weeks until I tried it.”
Jipyeong chuckled. “I see.”
Dosan moved his backpack forward, hunting around the front pocket. “There’s an AI conference in Silicon Valley this weekend, but I’ll be back after. Oh—” He looked up from his backpack, eyebrows raised. “Congratulations, by the way. Overseas Chief is quite the position.”
Dread filled Jipyeong. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Sandbox.” The implication being everyone at Sandbox. When Jipyeong grimaced slightly, Dosan continued: “Were you trying to keep that a secret?”
There was an edge to how Dosan asked the question that Jipyeong worked mightily to ignore. One woman they both knew hated surprises like these, and if everyone in Sandbox knew, it had reached her, as well. Jipyeong reached into his coat pocket for his phone. “I’ll see you around, Dosan. Have a safe flight.”
Dosan’s eyes bore a question, but he smiled politely and walked towards the gates.
Outside, the sun was almost gone, the sky a sleepy purple. Jipyeong called Dongcheon (“your transfer news leaked, hyung, I still don’t know how”), then dialed Dalmi on his way to the Long-Term Parking Lot. She picked on the second ring:
“Hey,” Dalmi said. Flatly, she added: “Do I need to say congrats?”
Jipyeong frowned. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. Nothing’s final, but the position’s mine if I want it.”
“And you do want it,” she said, and the light edge to her tone made its way through him. Lately, Dalmi could add a weight to her voice, leaning on her intelligence as much as her enthusiasm. He found it attractive now, that occasional show of iron.
Along with everything about her. He had applied to New York to ward off any feelings and preserve their friendship, but the prospect of leaving had the opposite effect. Afterwards he became more aware of her. Before he knew, he was back where he started eight years ago.
Only worse. He knew more versions of her now. Her half-awake in the mornings. Her sniffling in a movie theater, or mentoring at Go Gildong about entrepreneurship (she was known there as Miss Injae’s dongsaeng, which drove her up the wall). There was more of her to miss and to crave.
“I’m happy, Jipyeong, really,” Dalmi continued. “But a heads up would have been nice. There’s Halmoni, obviously. And I already got tickets for your birthday.”
“Oh?” Jipyeong had reached his car; he placed his suitcase in the truck. “To what?”
She hesitated for a beat. “You know that TV show where robots fight it out with brooms and saws and flamethrowers? They were giving out live audience tickets for next season, and you really, really like your robots, so…”
Jipyeong froze midway while opening his car door. Her gift was so ridiculous and sweet at the same time his heart felt like bursting, right here in Long Term Parking.
“It’s a gift!” Dalmi said. “Even if you hate it, you’re not allowed to laugh.” More quietly: “You hate it?”
“I’m not laughing at you. I like it. Send me the date, I’ll make it work.”
A sigh. “Not the bonfire trip, though. That’s a bust.”
They had stalled on building the birdhouse – it was half-built at Dalmi’s place. But in the meantime, she had gotten it into her head that they really should burn the old birdhouse scraps in a bonfire, preferably in the most over-thought weekend camping trip of all time. During her downtime, what little there was of it, she forwarded Jipyeong links to gear they could buy, or to weather forecasts for weekends that were months out. I love my life, but I want to go somewhere and just “be”, you know? She told him that in explanation once, but he anchored, in true lovesick fashion, on the thought that just “being,” in her mind, involved him.
“Dalmi,” he said as he settled in his car and turned the engine on, “I can travel back to burn a birdhouse.” He meant to lighten the mood, but instantly regretted his delivery. It was ridiculous to fly almost 15 hours for a camping trip, even if Jipyeong would do it in an instant.
Dalmi picked up on that. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m being silly.”
“No,” Jipyeong said softly, aiming to soothe. He bumped his head lightly against the back of his seat. He wanted to see her so badly. In New York, he conjured her in every woman with black hair and her build.
He looked at his watch. He could drive back to his place, finally have his fated reunion with hot water, and meet her.
“Dinner tonight?”
-
Jipyeong’s peace offering was noodles. He must have raced to his place after leaving the airport; he was in a lightweight sweater and white sneakers, his hair damp, with just a bit of product to hold it in place. It made Dalmi want to thread her hands through it.
They caught up in hushed tones, the pace of it somehow stilted. There were things Dalmi had babbled over the phone because all she had to master into the right shape was her words and her delivery. Now she had to arrange her face into the semblance of glad. It’s not like she was despairing, but her mood ran a volatile spectrum. During any one bite of her noodles, she would think nothing’s changing much, and at the next bite think nothing will ever be the same again.
Her concentration was so shot that when Jipyeong left an exorbitant tip at the restaurant, she didn’t have a guess as to why. It dawned on her as they walked out into the busy street, glancing around the neighborhood.
“We’re close to SNU,” Dalmi observed.
Jipyeong smiled. “That’s right. The restaurant was an old haunt,” he said. “Good noodles for dirt cheap.”
At that, Dalmi’s mouth shaped an o. The boy of the letters ran from Seonju, and landed here. She absorbed her surroundings carefully – the neon signs, the bus stops. Not because there was something exceptional to look at, but because this was where Jipyeong had studied, stocked up on convenience store food, bought old textbooks, and dreamt of a better life. Because he had been here.
Of course, she thought sadly, this wasn’t just a crush. Her heart just waited to send the memo until right now.
But if he had a new dream, she had to let him go. There was no other answer.
For a few minutes it seemed Jipyeong led them into aimless wandering through the neighborhood, but he found what he was looking for, leading her towards a hotteok stall. The sole worker was a woman in her mid-forties. Jipyeong slowed down as they approached, cautious and observant as the woman met his gaze. After a moment of eyebrows-raised inspection, the worker gave Jipyeong a friendly smirk.
“Nine to Nine!”
Jipyeong smiled wide. “Ahreum noona.”
The woman’s eyes landed on Dalmi with sharp interest, then returned to Jipyeong. “She said yes, then? This is the lady you wanted to introduce me to?”
Wait.
What?
Jipyeong’s mouth dropped, and a faint, nervous giggle bubbled from him. When nothing else came out of him, the silence stretched and stretched until Dalmi couldn’t stand it. She sided up to Jipyeong and held his hand in hers, then bowed to Ahreum.
“I’m Seo Dalmi. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Jipyeong inhaled sharply beside her. This was as good a save as any, Dalmi told herself as she tried to look natural, but when Jipyeong came back to life and squeezed her hand back, his hold sending a bright, pleasant shock that ran all the way to her navel, she decided, a gasp stuck in her throat, this was a very, very bad save, the worst of any.
But whatever Ahreum saw seemed to have been satisfactory enough of a show. “I’m happy for you, Jipyeong-a.”
Jipyeong scratched his throat, hard. “Thank you,” he managed, before assembling a smile. “I came here a lot during college,” he explained to Dalmi, leaning towards her but keeping his eyes on Ahreum. “Noona had the best hotteok in the area.”
“He studied from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. every Saturday.” Ahreum pointed across the street at an old coffee shop. She faced Jipyeong. “You only took breaks to annoy me.”
Jipyeong squinted playfully. “I took breaks to buy and eat your fare.”
“And to haggle,” Ahreum insisted.
“One time, I gave you pointers about marketing your specials.” He stepped closer to the stall, taking Dalmi along with him. He looked at the hotteoks on the griddle, pointing at the ones he wanted. “It’s been twenty years. I still don’t get to buy you a meal?”
Ahreum paused, smirking. She looked at Dalmi. “After your firstborn. Bring him back, then, alright?”
Dalmi smiled. She could see why Jipyeong gravitated to Ahreum to get some Choi Wondeok-esque energy in his life. Detecting no other options left to her, Dalmi said: “I will.”
Outwardly, Jipyeong was unfazed, but squeezed Dalmi’s hand for a long beat in a universal sign for what the hell.
Ahreum gave them their orders and they bid her goodbye. When they were out of earshot, Jipyeong rounded on Dalmi, eyes wide and full of laughter. “You brought my firstborn into this.”
“I’m sorry! You freaked out, and I freaked out.” In her nerves, she shifted the hand still holding his – when had their fingers interlaced? “You kept going and then I kept going.”
“Admittedly I shut off for a second there,” Jipyeong said. “I forgot she knew I was proposing to Seri.”
Proposing. Jipyeong on one knee. Jipyeong, beaming bright, at the altar with someone else. Dalmi babbled to keep herself from thinking about it:
“Here’s the fix. Saha and Chulsan are trying for a baby. With luck, the baby is born with dimples like you. We offer to babysit, then drop by the food stall. Ta-da.”
“Wow,” Jipyeong exclaimed. He smiled broadly, shaking his head. “I don’t even know where to start shutting this down.” Then he peered at her, so much fondness in his eyes Dalmi warmed from it. “You are at the color gradient of a red delicious and you should be.”
Dalmi broiled with embarrassment, but when she tried to walk away from him, Jipyeong held on to her hand. “Be my wife until we round the corner?” he asked, his breath on her ear. “We’re still in noona’s line of sight.”
She scoffed. There were about a hundred people between them and the food stand, but who was Dalmi to complain? She could hold his hand for much longer than one night. She could make believe for longer.
The moon was high in the sky – a perfect, white semicircle. Pretty but half missing. Dalmi sighed.
Looney, lunatic – the words made sense tonight. Looking up, she somehow felt understood.
-
Ahreum and her lack of filter rescued the evening. But there was one more place Jipyeong wanted to see.
The park had evening hours; it was the spot he’d go to in college if he needed to experience a gentler, wind-whispered version of Halmoni swatting away one of his silly worries – Everything will be alright, Jipyeong-a. He wanted to say that to Dalmi, but by the time they walked to the pond – quiet except for the occasional couple walking past, the moon hanging prettily overhead – he needed to hear the message, too.
They walked to where a small gazebo overlooked the water, and leaned their arms on the railing of it, side by side. Groups of ducks slept on the pond, floating peaceably. He kept thinking of Dalmi’s firm hold of his hand. Calling her his wife. A false warmth.
But this moment – this warmth – she chose on her own. She pressed her head against his bicep, then lifted her head back up, then set it back down on his arm. Over and over, and each time, his heart squeezed. He supposed this was an improvement over a pole or a car window or the heel of her hand. He wanted to press a kiss to her hair, urge her to start giving words to her worries, but he knew she’d get there on her own.
“Okay,” she exhaled eventually, as though cementing a decision. “I’m going to say something silly.”
She spent a few seconds watching the water.
“After my divorce, I felt stranded,” she said. “Like I’d been forcefully disembarked from a train I thought I’d stay on longer. Maybe you did, too?” She glanced up at him briefly. “After the breakup.”
He nodded.
“We got stuck on a train station – that’s how it felt. But you were there with me, and it made the wait better. I even -" She chuckled guiltily. "Sometimes I forgot we were actually waiting for something else.”
“I’ll cheer you on, if this is your train. But I thought it would be different. Not a job an ocean away, alone and starting over. I thought you’d meet a wonderful woman here. You’d buy a house with a big yard for all of your plants. Somewhere Halmoni could visit and see your kids. That’s the journey I thought you would take. Am I wrong? Isn’t that your dream?”
She wasn’t wrong. It was a pretty picture. At the middle of it, he glimpsed a woman with her hair, her build. But instead of saying that, Jipyeong smirked:
“I can date in the U.S., you know.”
“I know, but–” Frowning, she gave that train of thought up. “Point being,” she said, voice reduced to a whisper. “New York for two years. Is that what you want?”
She asked her question mostly to the pond. He stared at her profile, the drum of his heart building up in rhythm. He could just say yes, this is really what I want. One more white lie for her sake. But one thing stopped him, the emotion of it gathering at his throat. He watched the ducks again – they gathered loosely in sets – one pair in particular resting alone, but together. Dalmi squeezed the fingers curled around his arm.
She loved him, in her own way. He felt seen. Safe but exposed.
He might not have believed his own judgment years ago, before his heart mended from the heartbreak she caused. Before he was loved enough by other people that he could see the signs. It wasn’t the love he wanted most from her, but he had it.
So maybe he could share this burden with her. Why bear it alone if he could lean on her, let her share some weight? But he knew immediately why. There was this risk – the investor in him couldn’t help but note – that she could make him a bigger fool than he’d been the first time he loved her. That instead of patting his hand and saying It’s okay, feeling this is okay, she would back away from him, say something like distance is for the best, Jipyeong-a. It tore into him, the thought. Love and disappointment could go hand in hand.
Even so. His heart beat erratically to the rhythm of that thought – even so. He regretted many things, but never her. Jipyeong looked at the moon – anemic and cut cleanly in half, a vision of want, shaped by lack. He turned to stare at Dalmi in full – her arm unwound from his bicep, resting at her side. Dalmi’s eyes were wide, almost solemn, as they took him in.
“It’s a very good opportunity. But I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t another reason for leaving.”
He bit his lip for a moment. His chest flared hot with nerves, but he went on: “If I stay, I’ll want the house, the kids and the garden – with you. So if your answer’s the same as before, I should go now.”
And then he gauged her.
She was silent and still for a long while. He couldn’t blame her, but eventually the quiet was so drawn out to his ears that it had its own, horrifying noise.
Of course this is how it would go. He smiled, but knew it curdled into a grimace. It made him want to laugh – a harsh, unhappy sound – but instead he turned his head away and lifted his eyes to the moon. Liar, he thought while he stared at it. You always lie.
But then Dalmi took a step towards him. Her hands cupped his face, slowly guiding him back to face her.
“If?” she asked softly.
She stepped so close she could set their foreheads together – and then, to Jipyeong’s confusion – she did. “If my answer’s the same?” Her breath still smelled like cinnamon. “Because it’s not.”
Is this real? Dalmi’s lips were slightly parted. She seemed afraid but expectant. Her eyes had moonlight in them – how did they always shine so bright? In all these years, he had never figured it out.
This is real. There were a hundred reasons to step back and think first. But the reasons lost out to one command: no regrets, not with her. He gave in and let himself feel, and it came out as a steady, long breath. He nudged their noses together for a moment, then inched back to get a good look at Dalmi – her eyes, her nose, the little knot of worry that formed on the inner corner of her right eyebrow. He let himself love her. He was so used to hiding, he wondered if love changed the contours of his face at all.
It seemed to. Dalmi’s eyes widened.
Plum trees bloomed in winter. Entrepreneurs dreamed the impossible.
And Seo Dalmi – she kissed him.