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Nayeon steps out of the airplane and takes a deep breath as she feels the warmth of the California summer sun kissing her skin. She had been cooped up for twelve hours now, having just been on a flight that came all the way from Seoul, and she was more than happy to welcome the natural sunlight and fresh air back into her system. She already missed it when she had to go inside the airport to get through immigrations and claim her luggage and all that.
About an hour later, she exits again on the other side of the airport, where numerous taxis, shuttles and private cars are waiting for their passengers and new arrivals are anticipating for their loved ones to pick them up.
Nayeon is one of them now, scanning the crowd for a sense of familiarity. She finds it in a red pickup truck, where a tall and well-built Korean man is leaning on the car door.
When the man spots Nayeon from across the crowd, he immediately straightens up as Nayeon rushes towards him, jumping into his outstretched arms. Nayeon takes in everything from the way his strong arms wrap around her slim frame and pull her close, to the way his scent smells vaguely of earth and freshly crushed grapes.
(This is it. She’s finally home.)
“Appa,” Nayeon whispers into the crook of his neck, “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Mr. Im breathes out in reply.
They finally separate after a few moments and Mr. Im takes Nayeon’s luggage, securing it in the back while Nayeon secures herself in the passenger’s seat. Mr. Im jumps into the driver’s seat, and they begin the thirty-minute drive back to the Im estate.
The drive is spent with the father-daughter duo exchanging small talk in an interesting mix of English and Korean—Nayeon finds herself speaking much more Korean than English, a subtle reminder of how long she’s been away. They converse mostly about how life has been, how business is running at the vineyard and the little changes here and there that have occurred throughout the years, the recent happenings in Nayeon’s career...
“So, how long are you staying then?” Mr. Im asks. It’s a simple question, but it weighs heavy on Nayeon like the answer would turn out to be a life-changing decision.
“Ah... I haven’t thought about it yet,” is all Nayeon manages to come up with.
“Well, you can stay for as long as you need. You always have a home here, you know that right?”
Mr. Im’s smile is warm, and it’s enough to ease Nayeon from her wrestling thoughts.
“Yeah, I know. Thanks, appa.”
“Of course.”
Thirty minutes pass and Mr. Im makes a turn on the hillside, revealing the Im family estate in all of its glory. It’s a large two-storey Victorian ranch house with a wide wooden porch to surround its façade. The pickup stops right along the driveway and Nayeon steps out to admire the home she left behind so many years ago, while once again welcoming the sunlight on her skin along with fresh air that filled her lungs and cleansed her soul. It’s such a stark contrast to the pollution and the bustling that she’s grown accustomed to in Seoul, and she compares the feeling of returning here to the way she felt when she first arrived as a child who was still grieving the death of her mother.
She can only describe this feeling in one very straightforward way.
It feels like coming home.
-
Nayeon still vividly remembers the day she moved to California to live with her father.
(In the first place, she never had it in her to forget.)
At the time, she was only eight years old. She remembers sitting at the window seat during a flight that took half of her day, watching the sunrise over the horizon and not getting a wink of sleep the whole time.
She remembers how wary she felt at first at the idea of living with the man who wasn’t around during her childhood. After all, she had lived in Seoul for most of her life after her parents separated when she was only a toddler, for reasons that she dared not uncover.
For six years, she grew up with her mother in Korea. She remembers how her mother was good at her job, good at being a lawyer, which was something Nayeon didn’t fully understand then.
Then, her mother died that summer in what she was told was a freak accident, and suddenly summer wasn’t a very fun season anymore.
Now, because of such events, Nayeon had no other choice but to move all the way across the world to live with her father in Sonoma Valley, California. Nayeon wasn’t sure what to expect from this man; she didn’t know anything about him other than the fact that he lived on some kind of farm.
When she arrived at the Im family estate and vineyard, accompanied by one of her mother’s colleagues who was tasked with making sure she traveled safely, the first thing Nayeon noticed was the fresh air that filled her airways the moment she got out of the vehicle. It was enough to ease her noisy mind right there and then, but the nerves quickly came back when she spotted a tall Korean man standing on the porch of the large Victorian ranch house, watching her with an expression she didn’t understand at the time. He looked nervous, but he also looked a bit sad, but somewhere in his eyes you could see a glimmer of happiness.
The man stepped off the porch to approach her. He was clad in a plaid shirt and jeans; on his head was a brown wide-brimmed hat and on his feet were, you guessed it, cowboy boots. Nayeon thought the man looked like a real cowboy.
When he reached her, he got down on one knee so that he was eye-level with Nayeon, who still wasn’t sure what to expect from this man.
She surely didn’t expect it when he flashed a warm smile that was somehow enough to relieve her of her worries.
She also didn’t expect to be greeted in her mother tongue. But then again, she should have, considering the man was Korean just like her.
But what she was most surprised at was the array of home cooked dishes from her home country splayed out across the kitchen island inside the man’s house, a feast of her favorite meals that had been waiting for her arrival. A celebration.
All of the events that unfolded that day simply pointed to the fact that this big two-storey house built in the middle of a foreign vineyard, where the summer breeze was fresh and clean and rejuvenating to her wellbeing, would turn out to be her safe haven. Her personal retreat from the harshness of reality, at her disposal whenever she needed it.
She never knew how much she needed it.
-
It’s past lunchtime by the time Nayeon wakes up the next day.
When they arrived at the estate twenty-four hours ago, they celebrated with a samgyupsal lunch that filled Nayeon’s stomach and heart, but also helped her jet lag kick in along with the exhaustion of coming from a long flight. So, she crashed down on her bed just as the sun was setting and drifted off into a twenty-hour long slumber.
Her eyes flutter open and she slowly takes in the walls and ceiling of her childhood bedroom, and the afternoon sun streaming in through the window. The familiarity makes her sink into her old mattress contentedly as she recalls that she is finally home.
She gets up and proceeds to do her morning routine before making her way down the stairs. Halfway, she catches a whiff of what she recognizes as freshly baked bread. Appa must be baking, she realizes.
She also catches snippets of a conversation—“Yeah, she’s back. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner—” but she’s still a bit groggy so she chooses to ignore it.
She follows the scent towards the kitchen but abruptly stops right under the cased opening at the sight of a woman sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, her back turned to where Nayeon stands.
The woman is sitting upright, with perfect posture, clad in what appears to be a white doctor’s coat with her red brown hair tied up in a high ponytail. She doesn’t register when the woman turns her head, and her big eyes widen in shock.
“Nayeon,” The woman calls her in a soft yet surprised tone (though not surprised enough) and Nayeon meets her gaze, her own expression equally wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She sees something flicker in the woman’s eyes, some kind of spark, but that spark fades away in a mere second and is replaced with something more cold and distant. “You’re here.”
The stare makes Nayeon recoil slightly, and before she can respond or ask what prompted the change in demeanor, Mr. Im enters the kitchen, bread stone carrying a loaf that came fresh out of the oven in hand.
“Oh, you’ve seen each other,” Mr. Im says, appearing somewhat guilty, and only adding to the tense atmosphere. He sets the bread stone down on the island and takes off his oven mitts, using them to fan the hot bread while he watches the two girls still caught up in a staredown.
Nayeon clears her throat and the sound cuts through the air like a knife. “Hi, Tzuyu.”
Tzuyu only nods at her before getting up from her seat, turning to face Mr. Im.
“I should probably get going now. I still have a class to teach in two hours.” Tzuyu flashes a warm smile in his direction, which he returns apologetically. “I’ll see you next weekend.”
She turns back to the doorway, giving Nayeon one last pensive look before walking past her. Nayeon watches as she leaves through the front door.
(This is not at all how Nayeon wanted to see Tzuyu again. She’s hungover from jet lag with bed hair tied in a low messy bun and still wearing her pajamas. Even if the way they both reacted wouldn’t have changed at all, she still would’ve wanted to look decent, at least.)
“Uh, do you want some bread?” Mr. Im says awkwardly. Nayeon whips her head around to face him and furrows her brows at the man.
“What was that?” Nayeon asks, moving to occupy the seat Tzuyu was just in and pointing her thumb in the direction she left, “Why didn’t you tell me she’d be here today?”
Mr. Im lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry, kid,” he says, already slicing through the loaf and bashfully avoiding his daughter’s gaze, “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up knowing how you two parted ways.”
“What are you talking about? We left off just fine,” Nayeon argues.
Mr. Im grabs a plate from the dish rack and puts a slice of bread on it, then places it in front of Nayeon along with a knife and a jar of homemade grape jam. “Then what was that scene I walked into? You looked like two ex-lovers who saw each other again years after a messy break up.”
Nayeon chuckles, incredulous at the comparison her dad made. She knows that that’s not what happened at all, but it might as well have been the case because that’s exactly what it feels like.
She’d rather not let her father see those feelings though, so instead she asks, in the most neutral tone she can muster, “What was she doing here, anyway?”
Mr. Im gets his own plate of bread and takes a seat at the island as well. “Ah... She’s Bon-hwa’s vet now.”
The information shouldn’t surprise Nayeon as much as it should, considering she always knew that Tzuyu wanted to become a veterinarian, but she still finds herself taken aback by it because wow, this is how long she’s been gone, and this is how far they’ve come ever since she met Tzuyu at the age of eight, not long after she moved to this country.
She remembers the child Tzuyu used to be, the little girl who liked to accompany her dad to work because she loved seeing and being around animals. The girl who, after having been inspired by the way her dad takes care of these beautiful creatures of life, decided that she wanted to do the exact same thing.
Tzuyu achieved her dream. She’s living the life she always wanted for herself.
Nayeon wonders for a moment if she’s happy.
-
The ranch’s horse stables were always Nayeon’s favorite place within the entire Im property. Well, aside from the expanse of the ranch itself.
When she came to California, the first living thing she fell in love with was the white stallion in the stables who, at the time, was only a newborn foal.
It was only her second day in California. She was woken up by her father sometime after lunch, and if it wasn’t for the offer he made at that moment, she would’ve been in a sour mood considering it was her first time waking up in a foreign country with a man she just met the previous day while also struggling with jet lag.
The offer he made was a strange one—Nayeon never thought she’d be asked that in her entire life.
“Would you like to witness the miracle of life?”
Little Nayeon said yes, and so Mr. Im took her downstairs and out to the ranch, where the stables were waiting with the surprise of a lifetime.
The father-daughter duo entered the stables, and true enough, Nayeon did witness the miracle of life.
(Although, Nayeon wasn’t exactly sure how to react to seeing a horse giving birth.)
Nayeon and her father weren’t the only humans there, though, for inside the stables was another man who was also watching the whole process. Later on, Nayeon would learn that this man was Dr. Chou, a Taiwanese native who had migrated to the United States from his homeland to study and become a veterinarian. He settled in Sonoma Valley after getting married and having a daughter.
The daughter in question was standing a safe distance behind her father, appearing to be very interested in the scene that was unfolding before her. Nayeon caught sight of the little girl and wondered how it was possible to enjoy watching something so perplexing when she even looked to be younger than Nayeon herself.
It took a few more minutes for Nayeon to understand what beauty that little girl saw in the process of a horse giving birth, and it happened when Dr. Chou was already towelling off the newborn foal’s white coat of fur. It was her first time seeing a baby horse, and the experience left her in awe over the process that creates such a beautiful creature of life. She thought about how majestic the frail little animal would look when it grows up, and she thought about how she would love it more than she already did at that moment.
She glanced towards the other girl and noticed her wonderstruck expression, and it was enough to confirm that she was, indeed, feeling the same thing that Nayeon felt.
Later on, Nayeon would learn that the name of this girl is Chou Tzuyu, and the two of them would become fast friends, then best friends, who would share everything just like they shared that first moment together in the stables.
-
It had been too long since Nayeon stepped foot in the stables, and yet her feet take her there in a way that feels like muscle memory from walking in those very same steps throughout her childhood and teen years.
She stands at the entrance, leaning on its wooden frame as she takes in every little detail that she never knew she missed so much—scratch that; she knew, but she chose to ignore it for what she claims was her own good. There’s a new crack on one of the beams, she thinks, somebody should probably fix that.
She counts the box stalls inside the wooden structure, none of which are occupied except for one, and the sight of it saddens Nayeon as she realizes there’s only one horse left in there. Her eyes land on the stall that holds the very same horse she witnessed the birth of, and then grew up with.
Bon-hwa stands tall, in all of his glory, his white coat glowing and clean and perfectly groomed. Tzuyu must be doing a good job of taking care of him because despite being over two decades old, he still looks like a big, strong stallion.
She enters the stall quietly, raising a hand over Bon-hwa’s muzzle until it’s hovering slightly over his forehead.
“Hey, Bon-hwa,” Nayeon tells him in a whisper so as not to startle him. She caresses his forehead ever so gently, and the stallion lets out a low huff of recognition.
The response from the creature makes Nayeon’s heart melt, because in all honesty, she was expecting the worst-case scenario wherein her own horse wouldn’t remember her and subsequently end up kicking her harshly in the shin.
“You should take him out for a ride.” Nayeon whips her head around at the sound of her father's voice; he’s standing outside of Bon-hwa’s stall, leaning his back on the frame of the one right across. “Tzuyu texted that to me, by the way.”
Nayeon almost tenses up at the mention of Tzuyu’s name, but the idea that she opted not to take Bon-hwa out herself so that Nayeon could do it instead makes her feel warm instead. She lets herself smile at that thought while she readies the horse's saddle and reins.
Horseback riding always brought a very distinct feeling to Nayeon. She would describe the experience as gaining a particular rush of freedom, a sense of running away from any and all negative thoughts that plagued her brain every now and then. She went out for rides across the ranch during times when she was happy and during times when she was sad—in fact, she used to do it everyday. It was a routine that she loved, and it was one of the most difficult things to let go of when she left the States.
Today, Nayeon finally feels that rush of freedom once more, a feeling she hasn’t felt during all of the fifteen years she spent in Korea, where the only thing that was consistent in her life was her law career.
She savors it as she rides like the wind, all throughout the afternoon until the sun begins to set.
-
“Now, if you place your fingers here along his jawbone, you can feel his pulse and count the beats...”
There is something utterly mesmerizing about seeing Tzuyu in her element, Nayeon thinks as she watches, from the barrel she’s sitting on, Dr. Chou teaching Tzuyu some basics in horse care.
Her legs swing and dangle idly from the edge of her makeshift seat and she concentrates her attention on the way Tzuyu knits her brows together when she focuses on finding Bon-hwa’s pulse, then the way her lips move when she mutters hushed numbers to herself, counting the beats she feels on her fingertips.
There is something about seeing Tzuyu like this that makes her heart swell with an affection that she finds hard to describe, difficult to pinpoint, but she knows for sure that she has experienced this feeling before, maybe once or twice whenever she caught Tzuyu gushing about the things that made her happy.
It took a few more minutes for Dr. Chou to finish his check-up with Bon-hwa and the other horses before giving Tzuyu some last-minute, typical parent sounding reminders like don’t stay up too late or something more jokingly like don’t give the Im’s a hard time—she never does—since she was sleeping over that weekend, like she usually does.
He bids them farewell then leaves the two girls alone in the stables. When Tzuyu turns to look at Nayeon who hasn’t left the improvised barrel stool, she catches Nayeon still staring at her with a dazed look on her face.
“What?” Tzuyu’s voice breaks her out of her reverie, and it’s only then she realizes what she’s been doing. She feels her face heat up in a furious blush that she hopes isn’t too obvious in the stable’s dim light.
“What?” Nayeon throws back innocently.
“You were staring.” Tzuyu is approaching her now. From atop the barrel, Nayeon meets her eye level, and she wants so badly to look away but she finds herself drawn to Tzuyu’s brown pupils.
And now she feels caught in the act, so her best line of defense at this point is to deflect. “You know what we should do?”
Tzuyu rolls her eyes at Nayeon’s attempt, but goes along with it anyway. “Watch movies like we always do?”
“No,” Nayeon chuckles, and now the look she gives Tzuyu sends a message that should feel like a challenge. “We should go for a ride.”
Nayeon feels pleased with herself when Tzuyu appears genuinely surprised at the suggestion. “What? Nayeon, you know I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
“I know.” Nayeon jumps off the barrel, then momentarily loses her balance leading Tzuyu to hold out her arms to catch her and steady her. “I didn’t say you’d ride your own horse.”
Moments later, they both find themselves mounting Bon-hwa’s back after Nayeon sets up his saddle and reins, and since it’s Tzuyu’s first time she even gives the younger girl a helmet to wear so she can feel a bit more secure. Nayeon mounts Bon-hwa first, then she extends a hand to assist Tzuyu in occupying the space behind her on the colt’s back. She guides the horse out the stables carefully, but the sudden movement seems to startle Tzuyu because her arms are suddenly wrapped tightly around Nayeon’s waist. Nayeon tries not to flinch and remains focused on getting outside, but she can’t help feeling aware of the younger girl’s grip on her.
They stop outside the stables for a moment to bask in the sun’s rays and the summer breeze.
Nayeon takes a deep breath and inhales the crisp, clean air that smells of grass and earth. Behind her, she hears Tzuyu do the same thing as she leans her head on Nayeon’s shoulder blade.
Nayeon turns her head slightly so she can see Tzuyu from the corner of her eye.
“You ready?” she asks.
Tzuyu looks up at her and nods. For some reason, the sight made Nayeon’s heart leap. She chooses to ignore it for now.
Instead, she gives Tzuyu a grin before facing front once more.
“Hold on tight.”
When she feels Tzuyu’s grip tighten once more, she secures her hold on Bon-hwa’s reins before getting him to break into a full run. She hears Tzuyu let out a shocked yelp behind her as she pulls herself closer to Nayeon, but eventually she breaks out into a laughter that says she feels that same sense of freedom Nayeon loves so much.
It makes Nayeon’s heart leap once more, but instead of landing back in its place, it begins to soar. It makes Nayeon feel like she could spend the rest of her life just like this, on the back of a horse with the wind in her hair and Tzuyu holding her close.
The feeling terrifies her immensely.
“Have you started thinking about college?”
“College?” Nayeon says, throwing a glance at the girl next to her. Tzuyu is sitting on the grass with her back against the tree behind them, hugging her knees close to her chest. Just a few feet from them is Bon-hwa, who has his reins tied to one of the tree branches. “Why do you ask?”
Tzuyu shrugs, looking straight ahead over the hilltop they’re on, which looms over the expanse of the Im family vineyard. “I’ve been looking at some schools lately, but I realized that I don’t want to go anywhere that isn’t in California.”
“Why?” Nayeon tilts her head.
“Well, for one I want to stay close to my parents.” Tzuyu picks at the grass near her feet. “I don’t want to be somewhere that’s too far from home.”
Nayeon lets out a chuckle, endeared by Tzuyu’s sentiments and unadulterated affection for her family. And again, she feels her heart swell with that same affection that she doesn’t have a name for, the one that feels eerily similar to the way she felt on the day they met, when she saw Bon-hwa for the first time and her tiny eight-year-old body was overwhelmed with the need to spill every ounce of love it had.
“I’m just amazed that you’re already thinking about college when you’re just an incoming sophomore,” she jokes instead, unsure how to properly articulate that feeling without significantly changing the atmosphere that surrounds them.
“Hey, it’s better to decide early!” Tzuyu lightly pushes Nayeon’s arm, eliciting another chuckle from the older girl. “Which brings me back to my question: have you thought about it? You’re about to be a junior so I’m hoping you at least have some kind of plan.”
It was an excellent question, one that Nayeon has, in fact, thought about before. She knew from a very young age that all she wanted to do was to study the law and become just like the woman her late mother was, because in her mind, that was the best way to keep her memory alive. She was already preparing for it—keeping her grades high and participating in appropriate extracurriculars like the debate team and Model United Nations—but actually deciding on what particular school she should go to had been nothing but a fleeting thought so far, the reason being that she simply didn’t know where to start.
Maybe she should follow Tzuyu’s example and choose a place close to the things she loves.
“I have,” Nayeon answers, pressing herself closer to Tzuyu’s side and leaning her head on the younger girl’s shoulder, basking in the tranquility of this one moment in time where all she feels is the summer breeze on her face and the warmth of Tzuyu’s presence, “And honestly, I don’t want to be somewhere that’s too far from you.”
Later that evening, they coop themselves up in Nayeon’s bedroom, surfing through website after website for universities in the California state with programs for both pre-law courses and veterinary sciences. They narrow their choices down to a few that are within close proximity to Sonoma Valley.
For Nayeon, it’s Sonoma State University and Santa Rosa Junior College.
For Tzuyu, it’s the University of California, Davis, and Santa Rosa Junior College.
For both of them, the decision is easy.
-
In Nayeon’s early life, Saturdays were always reserved for spending quality time with Tzuyu, as even back then it was the day allotted for the horses’ check-ups with Dr. Chou. Throughout the years, they spent their Saturdays doing anything and everything, from sharing toys to watching their favorite movies and TV shows to helping each other with their homework. In high school, Nayeon and Tzuyu even learned how to ride a horse together, and even that became a frequent ritual for the two of them.
Now that Nayeon is aware that it’s now Tzuyu who comes over every Saturday morning for Bon-hwa’s weekly check-ups, she makes it a point to avoid Saturday mornings like the plague—which isn’t exactly hard since she’s still adjusting her body clock and wakes up in the afternoon everyday for the next two weeks.
She isn’t ready to face Tzuyu, not after seeing the look on her face when they encountered each other again for the first time in fifteen years, so she leaves her body clock alone and perseveres in having lunch for breakfast.
“Have you decided how long you’re staying?” Mr. Im asks again at the dinner table on a Friday evening as he’s reaching for a serving of kimchi fried rice, and once more Nayeon can feel the weight of the question which she, in fact, still doesn’t have an answer for.
Nayeon doesn’t look up from her meal, preferring to avoid her dad’s gaze like she’s avoiding the need to make a decision about her career. After all, she did leave her post at her law firm in Seoul with an indefinite leave of absence, a period of time where she’d be earning no income since she’s not doing what she has trained herself to do. Although the company has mentioned that they would support whatever choice she makes in the end, and that they would still be there should she choose to return, she also knew that she couldn’t leave them hanging for too long.
Don’t get her wrong, she loves knowing the law and bringing justice and putting bad people behind bars, and she is considerably good at it—one of the best, actually. But the recent events in her career have made it more difficult to perform with gusto, and if she were being honest, the only thing that’s been keeping her so driven was the promise she made to herself to be just like her mom, and the fact that she left everything behind so that she could pursue this dream.
She left her father who was responsible and kind enough to take on the duty of raising Nayeon and being a parent to her even though he already had his own life. Despite the decision to separate from her mother in pursuit of his own dreams all the way across the world, she knew that deep within his heart, he never really stopped loving the woman, and actually grieved her death for a significant amount of time.
She left her favorite horse Bon-hwa, who was the companion she never expected to meet, who helped her feel free from her troubles.
She left Sonoma Valley, the Im family estate, the vineyard, the ranch she grew up in. The place where she fell in love with the California summer sun and the fresh air that healed her with every breath she took.
But most of all, she left Tzuyu. Tzuyu, whom she reserved her Saturdays for ever since the day she met her when they witnessed the miracle of life together. Tzuyu, whom she once knew better than she knew herself, who she shared everything with, who she grew up with. Tzuyu, whom she was now steering clear from every weekend because she was too afraid to confront the woman who had every right to be mad at her, every reason to hate her for suddenly dropping their plans of going to college together in Santa Rosa in favor of attending law school at Korea University, instead.
She left Tzuyu, who had become her home, just as much as California had.
(As if none of it meant anything to her.)
“Nayeon?” Nayeon looks up at her name being called to see her father looking at her with concerned eyes, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s been mindlessly pushing her rice around as she stared off into space.
“I think Tzuyu resents me,” Nayeon blurts out, knowing fully well that that isn’t the answer to what she was just asked.
Mr. Im seems taken aback by the revelation, but he quickly recomposes as if the notion doesn’t surprise him. He sets his utensils down, then folds his hands together and rests his chin on top of them. “Okay, then. Let’s talk about that.”
His sudden icy demeanor makes Nayeon feel suspicious, but she doesn’t have time to ponder on it when he gestures for her to continue speaking.
“You know why I left for Korea, right?” Nayeon asks, opening the floor for discussion.
“I do,” Mr. Im answers, quicker than Nayeon expects, then after a beat he adds, “I just don’t understand why you never came back, even just to visit.”
Nayeon furrows her brows, then throws back, “I got really busy, you know that.”
“Yeah, you’ve been busy for fifteen years, Nayeon.”
There’s a bitterness in the way he says it, and it’s enough to validate the thoughts that Nayeon was absorbed just a few short minutes ago. In that moment, she believes that maybe even her own father feels the very same resentment that she assumes Tzuyu feels for her now, and she wonders if they’ve been feeling like this ever since the moment she got on her one-way flight to Asia.
“I’m sorry,” she musters the courage to say, but not enough because her eyes fall onto her meal once more, “At first, I thought it was for the best. I wanted so badly to be just like eomma, to live the life she had so that her memory could live on somehow, and I really thought that the way to do it was to let go of the things that tied me here. But the years went by and being in Korea just felt so lonely— I started to regret leaving, and I wanted so badly to come back, but I just couldn’t face this place knowing that I left the way I did.”
She feels like her explanation sounds stupid. Her hands are shaking now and she’s holding back tears, while expecting her father to toss at her some kind of argument or a sermon that will confirm her insecurities. But when she looks up to meet his gaze, his face shows that he’s attentive, he’s listening, and he wants Nayeon to keep talking.
She continues, “I also thought that coming back would mean that everything I’ve worked for in Korea, all of the hardships and the lonely nights in my college dorm room and my apartment, would’ve been in vain considering how far I’ve come. I got what I wanted, after all. I was successful. I knew that especially when the death threats started coming in and I had to be put in witness protection until the people responsible for them were prosecuted. That’s when I realized that it wasn’t worth it anymore.”
It’s then that her father softens, because this is actually the part that he knows about. Nayeon knew she couldn’t just come back home out of the blue and without warning, and at the time she still wasn’t even sure if it was the best course of action, so she contacted him about it first and told him all about how she had become the target of certain people with too much money and a bunch of connections. His reply to her lengthy email only consisted of a mere five words, but those five words were what did it for her. It’s time to come home.
Immediately, his coldness is replaced by the warmth that Nayeon has always associated him with, an aura that practically screams paternal instinct , and Nayeon feels herself relaxing as she basks in how safe this man has always made her feel, from the day she stepped foot in this once-foreign country up until now.
He gets up from his seat and Nayeon does the same when he approaches her, then he pulls her into a firm embrace. At this point, Nayeon concedes and lets her tears stream down her cheeks because there’s really no point in preventing them from doing so.
“It’s okay,” Mr. Im coos softly, rubbing soothing circles on Nayeon’s back as she sobs into his hold, “You’re safe, you’re home. Everything is okay.”
“But it’s not,” Nayeon says, arguing but without any fight left in her, “It’s not okay because I still left her, and I had the audacity to convince myself that I did it because I loved her.”
Mr. Im pulls away to lay his hands on Nayeon’s shaking shoulders reassuringly. “I think you should tell Tzuyu that.”
“What?” Nayeon asks, wiping her tear-stained cheeks.
Mr. Im crouches down slightly, making himself eye-level with Nayeon. Nayeon looks into his eyes and catches the warmth in them even if her vision is still a little blurry.
When Mr. Im speaks again, it sounds like a gentle suggestion that’s meant to push Nayeon in the right direction.
“You should tell her that you love her.”
-
Nayeon’s flight is scheduled on a Sunday in the middle of the summer before the fall semester starts in Korea University, where she will be attending as a student of the Humanities and Justice department before moving on to the School of Law.
She recalls the events in the previous year that led her to this moment.
There was one particular night before her senior year began, on the death anniversary of her mom, where she walked by her father’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and from it she heard the sound of muffled sobs. She slowly peeked into the room, and when she saw her father with his back against the door, his shoulders shaking and his head buried in his hands, she very quietly entered and took a seat beside him.
That night, they talked about her mom. Mr. Im told her about how even though they split up all those years ago and never saw each other again, he still loved her deeply, and everyday he wished he could go back in time and do things differently. Maybe they would’ve been a happy family. Maybe it would’ve prevented her death.
Prevented her death. But, didn’t she die in an accident? Nobody could’ve prevented an accident.
“Appa,” Nayeon said, tilting her head down a bit to try and meet her dad’s gaze, “Do you know what happened to her?”
Her growing maturity over the years gave her a vague idea of the answer to that question.
But it didn’t lessen the shock and the hurt she felt when she heard the words said out loud.
“Your mom knew the risks of the career path she took.”
Nayeon spent the rest of that night curled up on her bed, crying herself to sleep. For years, she had managed to keep her grief over her mother’s death hidden away in a chest in a deep corner of her brain. For years, that chest held so many unanswered questions about why her mother had to leave so soon, so suddenly, without anyone giving her a reason as to why. And now, it was as if that chest had been pried open, and all of the feelings that she had been bottling up for so long had exploded, and she wasn’t prepared for it at all.
Back then, Nayeon didn’t know what a lawyer was. She only realized it years later when she finally got around to doing some research on the topic, seeing as it was what she had chosen as her path for her future. She wanted— no, had to be like her mom if she wanted the woman’s memory to live on forever.
It was her own personal way of grieving.
But apparently, Legally Blonde and Law & Order weren’t good enough reference points because they didn’t tell her the things that actually happened in and out of the courthouses that her mother frequented. Sure, they showed her how lawyers worked, how cross examinations were done and how they served justice for the people, but no movie or television show told her how often a lawyer was targeted by the people they faced in trial.
Nayeon’s mom was good at her job. Too good. So good that she got on the bad side of a very powerful man.
Did it scare her? Did the information threaten to keep her away from the legal track so as not to end up having the same fate as the woman she looked up to?
Yes, it did. But it also made her angry.
And she used this anger to set her dreams in stone. More than ever, Nayeon solidified her resolve in pursuing her ambitions, her desires to follow the narrative she wrote for herself at a very young age. She couldn’t let anything change her mind if she wanted people just like her mother’s murderers to get what they deserved.
The revelation pushed her over the edge, and for the first time in her ten years of living in California, she didn’t feel like she was at home.
When her senior year began, she still sent in her applications to Sonoma State and Santa Rosa just like she had always planned, but it was with the addition of an application to Korea University, the same school where her mother graduated. She put extra work into perfecting that application and making sure her chances of getting in were high. (It was a very good thing she still spoke Korean frequently at home, with her dad.)
She never told Tzuyu about any of this. It was the only secret she had ever kept from the girl she referred to as her best friend.
(Well, one of two secrets.)
Tzuyu only found out about it a few weeks before Nayeon was bound to leave. She didn’t take the news well, obviously it hurt her, and she subsequently avoided Nayeon for the rest of that time. It was the first time in a long, long time that Nayeon spent her Saturdays without Tzuyu’s company, and it was agonizing.
At first, Nayeon thought it was for the best. Maybe having Tzuyu hate her forever was a good thing because all it did was make it easier for her to leave.
But it didn’t.
She spends her last Saturday in Sonoma, her last day before she leaves that country, lamenting on everything that she was throwing away. There could have been a chance to make things better, to fix whatever could still be salvaged from their friendship, but the thought of those ties scared Nayeon immensely.
She decides she can't leave without at least properly saying goodbye.
On the morning of the day of her flight, before Mr. Im takes Nayeon to the Sonoma County Airport, he takes her to the Chou residence.
Nayeon steps up on the porch and knocks on the door in a specific rhythm that she and Tzuyu always used to signify that it was one or the other standing on the other side.
She shouldn’t be surprised when it’s Tzuyu that answers the door, but she is, because it’s their first time seeing each other in weeks despite being on summer vacation, and it’s the first time they’re seeing each other after a fight. Tzuyu is just as shocked, possibly even more, as she stands frozen and completely speechless in the doorway.
“My flight is in a few hours,” Nayeon says, even though she’s sure that Tzuyu is aware of it, “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Tzuyu lets out an indignant scoff, and Nayeon winces at it. “You were so close, though.”
Nayeon, in her shame, keeps her hands behind her back while her eyes stay focused on her shuffling feet. “I’m sorry.”
“Is it still possible for me to change your mind?” Tzuyu asks, and it’s not hard for Nayeon to catch the way her tone saddens.
But she barely hesitates when she answers. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Will you come back?”
“Maybe. I’ll try to visit. I promise.”
“Can you at least tell me why?”
Nayeon looks up, and the evident hurt in Tzuyu’s eyes is almost enough to convince her to spill it all out, to tell her all about how she’s still grieving over her mother’s unfair death and how she believes there nothing else would make her feel better besides this decision. But she doesn’t, because she feels like if she does, then Tzuyu would find a way to make her stay.
So instead, she lies.
“This place doesn’t feel like home anymore,” Nayeon says, and it is what she believes to be true in that moment, “It’s time for me to go back home.”
And just like she hoped it would, any glimmer of hope in Tzuyu’s face fades away completely. She’s done the damage. There’s no turning back now.
But even after the blow that Nayeon sent her way, Tzuyu still lunges forward and wraps Nayeon in a crushing embrace that Nayeon immediately melts into. She feels it again, the years’ worth of affection that she always harbored for the girl before her, the feeling that she could only compare to seeing a baby horse being born right in front of her. It feels like coming home and it feels like the California summer breeze blowing through her hair while she races across the vineyard on Bon-hwa’s back.
That feeling overwhelms her, and once again she feels threatened to spill every ounce of it from her being.
The words she wants to say rest at the tip of her tongue.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you, Tzuyu.
“I’ll see you soon, Tzuyu.”
She pulls away, already missing the warmth and the safety of Tzuyu’s arms wrapped around her, and gives her one last look before she has to get back into her dad’s pickup to go to the airport and board the plane that will take her twelve hours away from here. Away from Sonoma Valley, away from her dad and her horse, and away from Tzuyu.
-
For the first time since arriving in Sonoma three weeks ago, Nayeon wakes up before noon.
The talk she had with her father the previous night helped Nayeon realize some very important things: 1) the things that happened to her in Korea made it hard for her to do her job without constantly feeling like there was a target on her back, and 2) the moment she chose to drop her adolescent and idealistic plans back then was also the moment she chose to run of her larger-than-life feelings, all out of an immature and irrational fear that those feelings would keep her from what she thought was her life’s purpose.
The answer to her dad’s initial question suddenly became an easy one. She deliberated on it for a bit, weighing out her options and the pros and cons of each, but it ultimately ended in her sending an email to her law firm in Seoul, informing them of her decision to resign. There was no reason for her to go back to Korea if she wasn’t happy there.
The only question that remained was what she would do now. How would she move forward? Would she continue practicing as a lawyer in America, but in a different field? Would she consider a profession in teaching?
These were all questions that she could save for later.
For now, she only had one thing in mind.
She jumps out of bed and speeds through her morning routine, only to end up stalling as she takes her time in picking what to wear, but eventually settles for an olive green flannel tucked into some denim shorts, and of course, a pair of brown cowgirl boots. She gives herself one last look in the mirror, brushes a hand through her hair, then she lets her feet lead her to the horse stables the way they’ve always known how to.
She arrives there at the perfect time, and for the first time in more than a decade her heart swells with an affection she knows all too well when she catches sight of Tzuyu stepping out of a wooden gate, leading Bon-hwa by the reins. She isn’t wearing her doctor’s coat today, just a simple dress shirt and jeans.
Tzuyu freezes in her place when she lifts her head from watching her and the horse’s footsteps and sees Nayeon staring right back at her.
“I have to say,” Nayeon starts, trying to sound more relaxed than what her rapidly beating heart threatens to reveal, “You two look pretty good together.”
It elicits a very, very small smile from Tzuyu, who is also trying to appear more calm than she actually is.
“Trust me,” Tzuyu says, extending the reins for Nayeon to take, “I think you’re a better match.”
Nayeon can’t help but smile at that, too. She steps closer to Tzuyu and takes the reins from her. She tries to ignore the way their hands brush together and instead looks at the tall, white horse before her, raising her free hand to stroke its neck. When she looks at Tzuyu again, the younger girl has her hands in her jeans’ back pockets and her gaze is on the dead grass beneath them.
“Did you want to take him out for a ride?” Tzuyu asks tentatively, and the way her voice stutters and trembles sends a wave of guilt through Nayeon, because this is what she let them become.
She could run away from this moment right now, avoid the awkward tension and the possibility of leaving their bond in even more ruins than it was in before, but she doesn’t. That’s not what Tzuyu deserves.
“Actually,” Nayeon says, “I came here to see you.”
Tzuyu looks up at that, meeting Nayeon’s gaze with a look that says she was not expecting to hear that. For a brief moment, Nayeon catches that same spark, the one she saw when they came face to face that day three weeks ago.
And again, the spark fades, as if Tzuyu just remembered that she’s supposed to be mad at Nayeon, and Nayeon gets the feeling she wants to run now, too.
She’s proven correct when Tzuyu moves to walk past her, but Nayeon’s quick to wrap a hand around her wrist, rooting her in place.
“Tzuyu, wait—”
“No, Nayeon.” The younger girl doesn’t fight her grip, but she doesn’t look back either. “You can’t just leave with a promise to ‘try to visit’ then suddenly come back after a whole fifteen years thinking everything will be the way you left it.”
She had that coming, Nayeon knew that. But it didn’t take away how the words weighed heavily in her chest and prevented her from coming up with a decent rebuttal.
Though, it’s not like there’s really anything else for her to say in this moment, other than words she should’ve said long ago.
“I’m sorry, Tzuyu, for leaving the way I did.” She feels Tzuyu soften under her hold, and Nayeon takes a deep breath before continuing, “And I’m sorry for not being honest with you sooner.”
Now, Tzuyu looks back at her, curiously, searching through Nayeon’s expression with knitted brows as if trying to understand what she meant by that. Nayeon knows that there’s nothing she can do now; there’s no route for her to escape this confrontation, and there are no more lies for her to tell.
(She’s done the damage. There’s no turning back now.)
She tells Tzuyu all about that night before her senior year, when she stumbled across her father in tears on the anniversary of her mother’s death. She tells her about discovering and understanding the truth about how her mom died, and how the revelation unlocked a whole new level of anguish towards the event and the woman who she shaped her life after. She explains why she chose Korea, why she thought it was where she was meant to be, but she also talks about how the bustling streets of Seoul could never compare to living in Sonoma, where the breeze felt like freedom and the sun shined like rebirth.
Tzuyu listens attentively to her story, listens when Nayeon tells her that she never wanted to hurt her the way she did.
But then comes the time for Nayeon to really explain why she did it.
“I know I should’ve said all of this sooner,” Nayeon says, her gaze trailing down to where her hand is still wrapped around Tzuyu’s wrist, “But I had a very strong feeling that if I did, you would’ve made me stay.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Tzuyu asks, and it breaks Nayeon’s heart to hear it.
“Not at all!” Nayeon is quick to correct her, though the outburst suddenly makes her feel very shy. “I mean, I actually... think a lot about what our lives could’ve been like if things happened that way.”
Tzuyu hums at that. “I ended up in Davis, you know,” she says, “It’s where my dad graduated, and it’s the best school for veterinary sciences. There wouldn’t have been any point in me going to Santa Rosa if it wasn’t the place you picked, either.”
Nayeon chuckles. Her mind plays a montage in her head of memories that could’ve been real, of them going to the same college and reaching their dreams together.
“I was just scared.” Nayeon’s free hand fiddles with the hem of her shorts. “Because, when I found out about my mom and I started changing my plans, and I thought about the things that could possibly change my mind... all I thought about was you, and that’s when I knew I would actually drop everything if you asked me to.”
Nayeon finally decides to glance up and is immediately met with Tzuyu in full disbelief of what she’s hearing. She’s processing the words, Nayeon knows, but she needs to continue saying what she’s trying to say or else she’ll never get another chance.
“It scared me when I realized that, and that’s why I couldn’t let you know it before. I didn’t want you to use that power on me.”
Again, Nayeon feels Tzuyu tense up under her grip, and for a second she fears that Tzuyu might try to run away again. Maybe it’s what she deserves. Maybe it’s the perfect karma.
But Tzuyu’s feet are rooted to the ground and she’s holding Nayeon’s gaze with a certain intensity that’s keeping Nayeon’s head in place and instilling her with a newfound bravado.
“Tzuyu,” Nayeon takes a small step forward, the look in her eyes not wavering for a second. Her hand on Tzuyu’s wrist trails down and she slides her fingers in between Tzuyu’s own. “I love everything about this place. I love my dad and I love my horse, and I love the grapes we grow here and the way the fresh air fills my lungs. But what I’ve always loved the most were the Saturdays we spent together and the way we planned our lives around each other, and it really, really sucks that I ruined all of that because I was so selfish and—”
She doesn’t get a chance to finish because, in one swift motion, a hand is on the nape of her neck and the distance between her and Tzuyu is closed completely in an all-consuming kiss that’s been years in the making, that both of them have waited for for what feels like their entire lives. Nayeon easily loses herself in the easy motions of their lips moving against each other—together, the way they were always meant to—as she lifts her free hand and rests it on Tzuyu’s waist, where it fits perfectly, just like how Tzuyu had always fit into the spaces of Nayeon’s life.
Every worry she had in that moment, every fear of the worst case scenario that Tzuyu would actually hate her forever and never speak to her again, is all washed away with one kiss.
When they pull away, Nayeon feels lightheaded and is in the most pleasant haze because, indeed, she has been waiting for this for what feels like her entire life. It feels like the first sip of water after days and days of trudging through the desert. It feels like finally being able to watch the finale of an agonizing drama she’s been following for weeks, the kind that she and Tzuyu would watch on a typical Saturday back in high school.
(This is it. She’s finally home.)
Tzuyu rests her forehead on Nayeon’s and they stay like that for a while, simply basking in each other’s presence, something they’ve both been deprived of for too long.
“You were rambling,” Tzuyu says in a whisper.
Nayeon rolls her eyes playfully. “I bet you were just waiting for the right moment.”
Tzuyu shrugs. “Maybe I was.”
She lets out a chuckle, and Nayeon thinks she could drown in the sound for the rest of her life.
The words are still resting on the tip of her tongue.
“I love you, Tzuyu,” Nayeon says, and it’s a bit hasty, but it’ll have to do, “That’s what I meant to say.”
“I figured.” Tzuyu chuckles again, then looks at her with a look so soft and endearing. “And, I love you, too.”
“So, what are you going to do now?”
Nayeon buries her head into Tzuyu’s neck, nuzzling it softly. It’s much later in the afternoon as they sit on the very same hilltop from once upon a time, overlooking the expanse of the vineyard. They both rode up there on Bon-hwa’s back, as he is the only horse left in the ranch, and it must have been some convoluted twist of fate for that to happen because it gave Nayeon the privilege of feeling Tzuyu hold her close from behind as she raced the horse across the hillside.
“Mm, I’m not sure yet,” Nayeon answers, “I can’t practice as a lawyer in court anymore, that’s for sure.”
“I’m still really sorry that you went through all that.” Tzuyu’s hand finds Nayeon’s and takes it, as if to comfort her.
“It’s fine.” Nayeon’s thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on the back of Tzuyu’s hand. “At least I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Behind them, tied to the tree they’re leaning on, Bon-hwa lets out a low nicker while he enjoys nipping at the grass. They both look back at him with fondness.
“You could be a horse racer,” Tzuyu suggests, though it’s more of a joke than a real idea.
“From lawyer to horse racer? Not bad,” Nayeon muses, playing along with her humor.
They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, Nayeon still tracing circles along Tzuyu's hand and Tzuyu resting her head on Nayeon’s.
Then, Tzuyu perks up with a sudden realization. “Have you ever thought about teaching?”
Nayeon lifts her head from Tzuyu’s shoulder and looks at her with furrowed brows. “Teaching? Like, in law school?”
“Something like that.” Tzuyu rubs the back of her neck with her free hand, suddenly a bit shy. “It’s just that, I just remembered there’s an open spot in the Paralegal Studies department...”
“Paralegal...” It takes a moment for the pieces to come together in Nayeon’s mind, but when they do she lets out an exaggerated gasp. “You teach in Santa Rosa?!”
Nayeon’s reaction makes Tzuyu laugh again, then she nods.
“That was the major you wanted, right?” Tzuyu asks, “When we, uh, made those plans.”
Nayeon hums to confirm. She can’t help but break into a smile at the thought of both her and Tzuyu teaching at the same college they planned to attend together before. Yes, things changed and happened differently, but Nayeon felt thankful for this second chance. A chance to say all the things she never said and do all the things she failed to do.
And when that overwhelming affection sets in once more and she feels a strong urge to to act on it, she acts on it.
She cups Tzuyu’s cheek with her free hand and pulls her into a soft kiss that says all the feelings she can’t formulate into words.
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
(For Nayeon, the decision is easy.)