Tiffany

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Tiffany couldn’t have been more beguiled by Kwon Yuri if she tried. Because the noodle shop Yuri chose—somewhat larger than a one-car garage, yet accommodating more seats that legally relegated—had no candlelight. Not a maître d’ nor a sommelier in sight. Gusts of steam detailed the visible kitchen in hissed intervals. The packed, cramped space made her and the patron at her left’s elbows quite acquainted. Heat from the kitchen raised the shop’s temperature, compelling her her to discard the adorably light jacket she borrowed from Yoona (unbeknownst to Yoona, who hadn’t warmed to the idea of Yuri being a regular character in Tiffany’s life). Kwon Yuri didn’t shower Tiffany with luxuries on their second date. And it was unpretentious, romantic.

“It’s so lively here,” Tiffany shouted over a raucous group of grannies toasting to a birthday. “Is it a favorite of yours?”

Yuri put extra effort into her hair this evening, curled slightly and swept in a gentle wave. Grinning, she nodded and carefully tucked into her creamy ramyun. Clearly, she’d been ashamed of their meeting spot, citing a dip in money before even saying ‘hello.’ “Yeah, come by when I can. It’s kinda out of the way for me.”

“Well, it’s incredible,” Tiffany chewed another mouthful to prove her case. Honestly, sharing this corner of the bar, wedged into one another, stripped her of an appetite.

Yuri pointed to Tiffany’s bowl of seasoned redness. “Are you a huge fan of spice?”

“That I am.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

Tiffany grinned as wide as she knew how, pushing already touching arms. “Everyone needs some spice in their lives.”

She blushed, laughing. “I can’t stomach too much.”

God, was Yuri precious. Ignoring her hard heartbeats adding to the overall noise, Tiffany leaned in to whisper, “So, if I kissed you there—” The end of her chopstick dabbed Yuri’s bottom lip, “would you burst into flames?”

Tiffany went back to pretending to eat as Yuri giggled into both hands, probably on the brink of combustion. But, she loved teasing this one. Her actions weren’t coached by years of fake mannerisms and grooming. Which was y. “Tell me more about your day.”

Yuri coughed, sheepish at the topic. This seemed to be a theme. “We threw a surprise party for a coworker. She’s three months pregnant. Our manager ordered a -ton of food, meaning free lunch for days.”

“Do you want children?”

“Yeah.” Something about the sad stir of Yuri’s spoon affected the mood. “I doubt I’d be a suitable parent, though.”

Tiffany pouted. “Why not?”

“I’d…I’d like to provide for my child, you know? Can’t do that on a retail associate salary.”

“Your coworker is.”

“She and her husband make a great team. I believe in them.”

Grinning softly, Tiffany intoned, “It’s not economical, but I’d be thrilled to have at least three.”

Yuri’s jaw dropped. “At least?!”

“It’s an inkling. While shopping, I sometimes take a detour through the children’s section and pick out onesies or a little hat with frog eyes on top. It’s become a compulsion.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to just dress babies?”

Tiffany cackled and bumped Yuri’s shoulder, heart hiccupping at the contact. “Our generation’s cynicism about childbearing’s missed me. When I see kids, I…” She smiled shyly at her lap. “The domestic side of my future excites me. A devoted partner, homeowning, pregnancy or adoption. I swear I have all this love spilling over and it’s meant for a child.”

“Or three?”

“Or three.”

Nodding, Yuri scooped up some broth. “I see.”

“Am I scaring you off?”

“Nope.”

“Thank god.”

“This could go unsaid, but,” Yuri met Tiffany’s gaze, looking both enamoured and vulnerable. Dark brown eyes deep enough to fall into. “you’d make a beautiful mother.”

Jesus, she needed to kiss her. “You’d make a beautiful anything.”

“Unnie?”

Electric spell broken, they turned around to a tall, gawky woman. Wobbling her hands within hoodie pockets, pipe cleaner legs crossed in a teeter-totter stance. On instinct, Tiffany smiled. Yuri smiled, too, but it came off unhinged—terrified.

“Sowon, hey,” Yuri muttered, bowing.

“I missed the Craftie’s baby party! I miss everything,” she whined, whipping around a pretty head. “Are there leftovers? I don’t feel like bringing lunch tomorrow.”

“Bet on it. They’re taking up ninety percent of the fridge.”

“Hella!” Sowon pumped her fist, upping her awkwardness. She angled towards Tiffany, blushing furiously. “Yuri unnie, you and your friends are too glamourous.”

Ah, so she didn’t catch them mooning over each other. Tiffany fought the urge to place a proud, flirty hand on Yuri’s knee. “With your proportions, you could rule the world. Do you two work together?”

Sowon glanced to either side as if searching for a chair to make herself comfortable. “Mmhm. I owe unnie for getting me the job.”

“Is that right?” Tiffany shot an approving grin at Yuri. Unfortunately, her date had gone from pale to ghostly.

Oblivious, Sowon resumed. “I’m cousins with Taekwoon’s best friend’s girlfriend and I’m strapped for cash, so Yuri put in a good word for me.”

“Taekwoon?”

“I remember his Facebook post of the vintage desk he bought you,” she gushed, shaking like a terrier. “He must be crazy strong to carry it up three flights.”

“Um,” Yuri folded her arms, eyeing the floor. “I helped him.”

A waiter lugging five bowls of ramyun on a platter swung in from the kitchen, heading to a table of girls close to Sowon’s age. She her lips after him. “That’s my cue. See ya in the AM, unnie!”

“Enjoy your meal.”

Two minutes. Two minutes of silence (amongst the noise) tolled by, second by wretched second. As they remained in their positions, sitting away from their dinner, waiting for the other to speak first.

Tiffany didn’t have the patience. “You live with this Taekwoon?”

Yuri whimpered. It’d be endearing if Tiffany’s blood wasn’t boiling. “Yeah, I do.”

“Is he…your brother?”

“No.”

“An affectionate cousin?”

“No.”

“Gay?”

“Not at all.”

“Yuri,” she closed her eyes, praying to the biual gods, “are you gay?”

“I’m…I’m trying to figure that out.”

“Are you in an open relationship?”

Yuri’s arms clasped onto each other, denting skin. “No, we’re monogamous.”

“Then, what is this?” Tiffany gestured between them with a pointer finger. “Am I your experiment? B-because I can’t be the reason you make your little boyfriend jealous.”

“It’s not like that, at all.”

She rose from her seat, stuffing her arms through Yoona’s jacket sleeves. “Amazing.”

“Please, I was going to—”

“Tell me!?” she gritted out, unwilling to cause a scene. “When? After I start feeling…”

Dark circles had formed under Yuri’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Tiffany frantically rifled through her tote, counting out her share of the bill. “I thought you’d be different. I, I thought this could’ve gone somewhere.”

Tiffany took in the effects of that statement on Yuri—a trembling lip, slumping posture—irrationally pissed at herself for distressing this sweet, bashful woman.

“It can. It just—”

“No,” Tiffany interrupted eyes tearing of resentment. Damn, her luck with women was . “It can’t. I don’t date straight girls.”

With that, she left.

…

Tiffany Hwang had excellent credit. She enjoyed junk food in decent moderation. Her friends, without irony, described her as ‘intuitive’ and ‘emotionally available.’ Every month, she donated to local charity drives. She let dogs shyly sniff her hand before going in for the ear scratch.

Damnit, she had a 401k!

Alas, how did she get here? How did she wind up moping on Hyoyeon’s uncomfortable leather couch, sipping a weak screwdriver?

Had the fates erred on her side, Tiffany would still be out with Yuri. Possibly holding hands. Definitely giggling at one of a thousand stories they didn’t know of one another.

“A fresh new failure, huh?” Yoona asked, pouring herself a not-weak helping of vodka. “What’d she do?”

Hyoyeon hovered. Appraising with her head tipped to the side. “Or rather, how’d you break your own heart this time?”

Tiffany sighed into her glass. “And that means?”

Her friends exchanged smirks before Hyoyeon explained, “No offense, lady, but your heart’s too open too soon. Remember Taeyeon?”

“Ugh, stop,” Tiffany launched herself backwards into the hard seat. “Say that name three times fast and you’ll hear her missing soul wailing through every bank in Seoul.”

“Kim Taeyeon’s one twirling mustache away from a villain and yet, you two were face twenty minutes into your first date.”

“And?”

“And she dumped you after two of the most—and I quote—‘mentally and spiritually depraved’ months of your life.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes at herself. She’d been such a lovesick knob. “Her…her agreeable moments made the hard times worth it?”

“Translation: Taeyeon’s a vajayjay whisperer.” Yoona shoulder nudged her, grinning. “Hot does not a girlfriend make.”

“I succumbed to a physical relationship. Sue me.”

“She was a human leech in Dior, babe.”

“Multiple s every time.”

“Shut up. Every time?!”

“We’re derailing here,” Hyoyeon broke through a memory lane that’d lead them all downhill. “Taeyeon was bad for you because that’s not you. You have available feelings and . And being someone’s slave wouldn’t pay for all that damn therapy you’d need if the relationship lasted any longer.”

Yoona loudly swallowed a gulp of her drink, grimacing. “Can I just save you the time to say Yuri’s a disaster waiting to happen?”

“And you know that how?” Tiffany nibbled her straw, prepared for a snooty answer.

Thus, she delivered. “This woman works at that crafting place which screams ‘fast food dates forever,’ unless you foot each bill. She’s obviously an obtuse, awkward dweeb with a knock-off purse.”

Hyoyeon sneered at Yoona’s attitude, but she stayed on track for her interrogation. “Does she know you have money?”

Tiffany pieced long, lightened strands behind her ear, mumbling, “I may have told her I co-own THY.”

“Ah-ha.”

“Smug isn’t cute on you, Hyo.”

“When women find out you’re as financially stable as you are, they change.”

“Into?”

“The demons of dating past! There was,” Hyoyeon counted on her manicured fingertips, “Taeyeon the emotional vampire, Sunkyu the manipulator, Dasom the serial-cheater, Sunmi the identity thief, that ing Jung Sooyeon you met in Prague who stole your handbag—”

“Not the things in my handbag. Just the handbag. It was limited edition.”

“How many of those snakes did you fall for?”

“My memories refreshed, okay?” Tiffany wiped at her cheeks, hoping tears illustrated her shame enough. “I thought I loved them all. And…and I can’t afford to let it happen again.”

Y