Too Many

It is with a sense of trepidation that wears Wendy down, when pointless conversations turn deep, with something she has understood far less in her life, becomes the main topic. She sits in the passenger’s seat, listening and refusing to speak-her brows furrowing at how each of her friends had decidedly taken turns to define something undefinable.

            “You alright?” A soft and familiar voice snaps her out of the trance and she looks at the driver, whose eyes were still focused in front of them, one hand on the gear, ready to shift any time. Wendy only shrugs it off and instead, gazes at her with a contemplative look. Irene made no indicative moves to show that she was aware of what Wendy was doing. She looks over her shoulder when she realizes that the noisy conversation slowly dies down and sees the three lulling into dreamless sleep.

            “Peachy.” She finally answers, shortly. Irene ran a hand through brown locks, seemingly bothered that she did not tie it up so that the wind doesn’t mess with it. A knowing look finds its way onto her face, her porcelain skin glowing because of the dim light that pierces the glass of the impeccably clean car.

            Wendy swallows the lies in , nervous jitters suddenly spiking up within her. She averts her eyes and sighs heavily, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, arm propped up on her crossed leg. Irene did not look surprised when Wendy speaks.

“Love is undefinable.” She offers, throwing the ball in Irene’s court.

            One of her fingers that held the steering wheel twitched, to show Wendy that Irene heard what she said. “Is that what it is?” Irene answers after a beat. She raises a brow, lips curling into a thoughtful smile. “Can you really call something undefinable just because it has a lot of definitions?”

“What else is there?” Wendy shifts in her seat, wondering if Irene’s statement had any hidden meaning then what it literally is about. “If it has a lot of definitions, that means that people don’t agree with each other. So why is it that people are keen to place a definition on it?”

“On what?” They reach a red light and Irene finally looks at her.

            Wendy finds an uncomfortable feeling welling up within her and she shivers at the challenge in Irene’s low voice, interest seeping in every feature of her face. From the way her brows arch, to how her nose wrinkles in thought. But they both know what Wendy was referring to.

“Love.” There is some sort of distaste she feels when that word rolls off her tongue. She makes a face, which elicits a laugh from her companion. Familiar buildings come into sight and Wendy knew that they were close to home. The atmosphere changes and both of them grew eerily silent, as Wendy waits for what Irene would say.

When they pass through flickering lights that illuminate an abandoned Mcdonald branch, it is when Irene finally replies. “Love isn’t supposed to be defined, I think.” Wendy resists the urge to point out that those very words would most likely be Irene’s own definition. Instead, she gives her a curious look. “How so?”

Irene pauses, eyes sliding towards her and very deliberately, it’s like she’s seeing Wendy in a new light; it was an expression that Wendy didn’t know the meaning. “Before someone called it love, people felt it. It’s a feeling. It’s something that we can never describe with the same words.”

The sudden engagement of Irene to the topic sends Wendy into another spiral of thoughts. Love is a feeling? Then how did it earn its reputation of being more important than other feelings? Somehow, Irene’s contribution only makes Wendy feel more confusion. She moves the gear when they turn around a corner that heads to their street and she did not say anything else, leaving Wendy to ponder until they reach the parking lot and Irene pulls over.

The three were still sleeping soundly in the backseat, the two youngest, Joy and Yeri, leaning on each shoulder of Seulgi, who had open, head resting on top of Joy’s. Irene stares at them with a fondness that Wendy recognizes to be mirroring on her face at times.

“Love can be beautiful beyond description. Maybe too wonderful for comprehension.” It was quietly said and quickly hangs over Wendy’s head. “It varies from person to person, but that proves that it exists.”

“What does that mean?” Wendy answers with equal silence, watching Irene lean back on her seat, turn her head and a wry smile forming on her rosy lips. Wendy catches her breath when she sees a new light finding its way in Irene’s chocolate, brown eyes and she wonders what the woman was thinking.

“You exist, Seungwan. You’ve felt it before, it’s just that you can never define it directly.”

For some reason, Wendy understands that immediately but at the same time, knows she can’t place a finger on what exactly she understood. She only nods and blinks before she reaches out to take her seatbelt off.

This time, Irene watches her carefully and Wendy realizes that the softness in her eyes had so much meaning that Wendy cannot hope to possibly define each one. But she knows that it all leads to one word.

Irene was looking at her with love. A love different from when she looks at someone else. A care different from the actions she does with someone else. It dawns on Wendy that this fluttering feeling, the butterflies in the pit of her stomach and the prickly, red flush that creeps on her cheeks, had a name. Has a real name.

            She placed her hand atop Irene’s, soft and deliberate, sure and confident, but gentle enough to allow Irene to pull away if she wants to. But Irene does not. She stares back into Wendy’s eyes with a glint Wendy supposes she should know. Irene turns her hand and her palm is quickly covered by Wendy’s own. Their fingers interlaces and it fills Wendy with glee at how perfect it molded together.

            Wendy’s lips breaks into a grin and she raises both of their hands, kissing Irene’s pale and yet warm, knuckles.

“If that’s the case, then you exist, Joohyun. You are that definition.”