“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee please. Thank you.”

Momo didn’t have any tea left but she was ready to run a couple of blocks to the nearest store to buy one if Nayeon had asked. Her problem now was dinner - in which case there was none. Nothing but a few slices of kimbap from FamilyMart and some pesto ingredients she had no idea how to cook. She scoured the kitchen, opening shelves that haven’t seen the light of day in months, looking for food like a homeless burglar cursing her luck for choosing this place. She conceded when all she found were a few unfinished boxes of crackers and a can of Vienna sausages one month past its expiration.

Momo peeked her head out from the kitchen and called out to Nayeon who was sitting on her couch. “Okay um...I’m not actually prepared for any guests tonight and I just bought like a few slices of kimbap so...we should probably grab takeout. Or just call for delivery. I’m good with anything so just tell me what you-”

“Momo, it’s fine,” Nayeon cut her off with a laugh she never thought she’d hear again. “I’ll gladly have the kimbap.”

“I mean I did buy ingredients for pesto. I’m...not sure how well I can make it...and it’ll probably taste like trash cause it’s my first time. But...I guess it’s better than nothing?”

Nayeon looked at her in surprise. “You wanted to make pesto?”

Momo caught on and suddenly felt embarrassed, remembering their lunch earlier. “I mean I was just curious how it’s actually made.”

Nayeon smiled at her and stood up. “I’ll help you,” she said, tying up her hair into a ponytail that Momo never knew she needed to see.

It irked her how unprepared she was for this visit; how unprepared she was for any sort of visits. The only person she was prepared for was Sana since they’d simply call for food delivery whenever she comes over. But this hadn’t always been the case. Once upon a time, her shelves were always filled with food and snacks and things to serve for guests she couldn’t bother to remember. Dahyun always stocked her up with food back then for dinner parties they held. More often, the people that came were Dahyun’s friends from work so she had to sit through work conversations she could never follow.

Momo quickly brewed a cup of coffee for her guest before starting with the pasta. Her kitchen was small with barely enough room to move for two people, so when Nayeon walked up to see what she could help with, she immediately panicked - sensing how close they were with only a few inches of space between them.

“Have you looked up the recipe?” Nayeon asked.

“Yeah. Wait let me…” Momo searched for the recipe she found in Google and was about to hand her phone to Nayeon when the woman - without warning - leaned in closer over her shoulder instead.

“You know, you should write these down on a notebook or something.” Nayeon’s voice seemed closer now compared to when she first talked to her at work. So close now that she could feel Nayeon’s argyle sweater brush against her elbows. This was the second time they had any physical contact. Momo remembered the first time earlier that day. Nayeon’s fingertips brushing against her creviced palm as she returned the wooden rabbit piece she made thirteen years ago.

“So what do you need me to do?” Nayeon spoke again.

Momo thought for a moment. “I’ll do the sauce, and you can do the pasta?”

Nayeon nodded slowly. “Right. Pasta.” She seemed to pause for a second before finally turning away to grab the pack from the paper bag on the table.

Momo let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and got to work on the sauce, crushing a few cloves of garlic and throwing them into a blender along with basil leaves, cashew, salt, pepper, parmesan, and olive oil. She glanced over to Nayeon and caught her reading the small instruction part on the back of the pasta wrapper as the water boiled. And she kept reading it with her brows furrowed as if the 2-step manual on how to cook pasta was a whole other recipe in itself. Momo wanted to ask if she needed help but this might offend her instead. So she watched Nayeon out of the corner of her eye for a while, holding back an amused smile at this revelation. A few minutes passed and there still wasn’t a single strand of pasta in the pot.

“Do you need help?” Momo finally asked.

“I...don’t have that much experience in cooking pasta,” Nayeon said with an embarrassed laugh. “I mean I know I just have to drop them in, but I always seem to overcook mine or undercook, or sometimes I put in too much water in the pot.”

She smiled at this and went over to help, teaching her the basics as some sort of recompense for this impromptu dinner. When it was done, Momo set the table and slathered both plates with the pesto sauce before adding in the pasta. They sat down next to each other on the table and she’d never been more happy about its small size. Nayeon said yes to beer and so she poured some into the fanciest glass she owned. Not as fancy as the one in Lapin et Pêche, but fragile enough to take the part.

She wouldn’t let Nayeon eat first as the dish could potentially be hazardous. It wasn’t, thankfully. But the flavor was just a bit too strong. A bit raw since they didn’t cook it with the pasta but was infinitely better than the one she had at lunch.

“Judging by how your face is still neutral, I take it this is way better than the one at lunch?” Nayeon asked, taking a long swig at her beer.

“Not to brag, but yes. It’s more...normal.”

Nayeon threw her head back and laughed. “And again, I apologize for the affront on your taste buds. May they never come into contact with bad pesto ever again.”

Momo laughed along with her, falling into a familiar sort of warmth that was once felt in this very room; beneath the yellow glow of the lamp; facing someone who wanted nothing more than to share a plate of food. But this was too idealistic and Momo couldn’t help but wonder why Nayeon came over in the first place.

“So...to what do I owe the pleasure?” Momo asked, trying to sound as casual about it as possible.

Nayeon looked down on her empty plate for a moment and Momo was ready to reassure her that the question wasn’t all that important.

“Honestly? I just felt bad about what happened at the apartment earlier,” she said. “I feel like I did something that offended you and I’m here to ask about it so I can try and apologize.”

Momo couldn’t believe what she was hearing. If anyone was to apologize, it should be her. It was her fault and her fault alone that she had conjured up that romantic scenario in her head. Knowing that Nayeon came all the way here to apologize for it just made her feel worse.

“No, hey you did nothing to offend me, okay? There’s nothing for you to feel bad about. What happened earlier was on me and I-”

.

Nayeon looked up at her. “So something did happen?”

She swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah. Yeah I mean my boss got mad at how long I was taking and they sent me a message to close the transaction soon so...yeah I had to leave.”

The pause was palpable as she watched Nayeon nod slowly, face confused as if still convinced that she had some fault in the matter.

“Look, you don’t have to feel bad about it. I enjoyed this afternoon and the punishment I got for it was inconsequential,” she said, downing her glass of beer.

Nayeon looked at her in surprise as if she said something odd, then smiled, more to herself. “Are you saying that now in your telemarketer voice or your Hirai Momo voice?”

She felt her cheeks slowly warm up. How impossibly wonderful it was to be given the option to choose. To be given the switch to turn this off so neither of them could confuse each other with who’s talking to who. Was this Momo talking to Nayeon? Or was this now Hirai Momo from Peach Cosmetics talking to Prospect #22 - Miss Im?

“I’m saying this as Hirai Momo,” she said. “I enjoyed this afternoon, so thank you.”

Nayeon grinned and Momo felt her heart swoon. “I’m glad you did.”

And so they moved past what happened so naturally as if that one sentence proclaimed the end of an era and now they were approaching a new one. One that doesn’t know any Hirai Momo from Peach Cosmetics or any Im Nayeon from a spreadsheet of crossed out names. Momo found it funny then that this had come to pass as they were eating or after they’ve eaten, just like how it started over plates of food. Knowing this now, she let herself ease into this new age, sharing more things about herself that she couldn’t otherwise have mentioned before. But before she could fully open up, there was one last thing she’d wanted to ask about.

“Who was that back in your apartment?” Momo asked.

Nayeon tilted her head. “I thought I introduced her to you?”

She shook her head and for some reason she felt nervous to know.

“Ugh, crap. I guess I skipped that part. She’s the friend I told you about. The one who lives near this area, Myoui Mina.”

“She’s Japanese?”

“Yeah, I was excited to introduce you guys.” Nayeon beamed but Momo could only nod.

She wanted to apologize for leaving the way she did back then but that would be taking a step backwards. Momo wanted to move on from that now. To move on from her friend, Myoui Mina and from her missing capri pants in Nayeon’s unit.

But then she remembered Nayeon’s arrangement with this friend from earlier. “Wait, weren’t you supposed to go to dinner together?”

Nayeon shrugged nonchalantly as if to say it didn’t, and it shouldn’t matter to her. “She won’t mind. We always have dinner together anyway.”

Momo nodded and asked nothing more of it, settling on the assumption that what they had was no different from what she had with Sana. Momo grabbed another can of beer but suddenly remembered that Nayeon still had to drive for the night. Nayeon told her not to worry about it but didn’t press her for a second glass. Instead they moved to the living room then sat on her couch made for two. Momo minded the space between them, careful not to trespass but somehow kept herself open to be trespassed on. They both found something to laugh at to keep the evening light, savouring this newfound freedom between them. Nayeon was the one who brought up her sculpted pieces and Momo found it flattering that she remembered. She went to her room to grab two of her favorite ones; a sculpture of a woman in carved in mahogany, her body flowing with the natural structure of the block as she posed demurely with her arms folded as if to embrace herself. The other one was in basswood, more abstract but resembled the sun with long winding forms that intertwined to form rays.

Nayeon gasped as she brought them out.

“These are some of the better ones,” Momo said, setting both of them onto the coffee table.

“I imagine they are. These are very well-made!” Nayeon effused, taking each piece and examining them.

Momo watched her in silence, her gaze following Nayeon’s slim fingers that travelled along the smooth curves of the wood like ice skates on a solid lake. Nayeon had a critical expression as she examined them. She didn’t over-exaggerate her praise and instead looked at them as how someone who knows woodwork would. Nayeon asked where she worked on them and Momo showed her the small corner of her bedroom with a small workbench and her tools in a messy drawer.

“It actually blows my mind that you can make these with such limited space, but you honestly deserve a bigger one. Your own studio.”

Momo laughed at the impossibility. “Maybe when I can afford a better apartment.”

“And for that, you better practice your sales talk for more prospects, hm?” Nayeon said teasingly.

“Hey my hustle is A-grade alright? I’m one of the top marketers on our floor and I’ve single-handedly attained the title ‘Top Caller’ for three months in a row.”

Nayeon made a shocked face in pure mockery of this. “‘Top Caller’? Wow. Guess I should feel honored that I’ve been picked by Peach Cosmetic’s top agent, huh?”

Momo bumped Nayeon’s shoulders playfully and was glad that it didn’t cause any weird, uncomfortable glances. It was her first dip to test out the waters on what was okay and what was considered a sin. This much was okay. It was more than okay. This was her first step towards Nayeon and she couldn’t have asked for a better reaction, which was a neutral smile that didn’t think much of the gesture.

It felt liberating to make fun of her job. Momo couldn’t do this with Sana because any topic related to it would only lead to Sana pestering her about getting a better one which would oftentimes ruin the mood. Nayeon seemed to take these as more of a satirical jab towards her work. As if she understood how Momo felt about her job but didn’t want to put any unnecessary weight on an already heavy topic, so instead she mused her sarcastic brags about being the best telemarketer in the company and how much she enjoyed her work on a Sunday.

“So it’s safe to say Sunday is your favorite work day, correct?” Nayeon asked as they faced each other on the couch, a lazy arm propping her head up against the backrest.

“Oh absolutely. Without a doubt. Like Sunday’s the best day to work, period.” Momo nodded a couple of times to affirm this. “I get to work on new pieces, finish old ones, work on my pesto, work on my Netflix binging skills, work on my eating skills.”

Nayeon chuckled. “Then I take it you’re always busy on Sundays then,” she said, and Momo couldn’t help but hear it as a question. An inquiry she felt was absolutely necessary to answer.

“No. Not all the time, no,” Momo replied, making sure each word was clear then prayed that Nayeon would find her flagrant ‘Yes’ underneath them. Prayed that she would ask for her time on a Sunday. Any Sunday. Hell, even on Mondays or Fridays or Wednesdays. Her answer would remain the same: Yes. I’m free on any day you ask from me.

But Nayeon didn’t ask. She simply smiled at this, then ran a casual hand through the length of her untied hair, her sharp cedarwood perfume wafting towards her as the locks billowed, causing an inevitable gulp to follow. This would haunt her for the rest of the night, Momo thought. Long after Nayeon had left, her scent would remain in every room like the ghost of someone whom she will never be ready to say goodbye to. She might walk into her room later that night and find Nayeon’s scent on the spot where she stood, telling her how small her work area was and that she deserved better. Come morning, she’d make coffee then might accidentally sit on the chair Nayeon had sat on during dinner and she’d find her there. She’d pretend that Nayeon had stayed for the night and that they shared not only dinner, but breakfast as well.

But this was too morbid. The more she thought about Nayeon becoming this oblivious ghost who - unaware, left traces of herself around her tiny apartment, the more she became aware of how much she’d have to suffer the minute she was gone. Even now, just thinking about it filled her chest with a phantom ache that had yet to arrive. And before she could even fully realize that this might really be their last meeting together, Nayeon’s phone rang.

She excused herself then stood up, stepping outside to the small balcony from the living room. Momo stared helplessly at the slight depression on the cushion where Nayeon was sitting. A precognition, she thought. But Nayeon’s voice distracted her from this. The balcony wasn’t that far from the couch, and without intending it, Momo heard parts of what Nayeon was saying.

“No...Yes, no, I had planned to call you this afternoon but-...no, I went out to get Mina’s birthday gift. I told you about it this morning...yes I did, and you even-...”

She caught Nayeon wincing for a bit before continuing with a more impassive tone. The type of levelheaded tone one would use when suppressing emotions and this made it harder for Momo to make out the rest of their conversation. When she saw Nayeon hang up, she brought out her phone and pretended to browse, hoping this would be enough to give Nayeon the idea that she had absolutely no interest in the call and that she was capable of respecting her privacy and was completely uninterested in the identity of the mysterious caller that evoked such grave reaction from her. Totally uninterested.

“Hey, sorry to cut this short, but I sorta need to get going.”

Momo clenched her phone.

“‘Sorta’?” She asked, genuinely curious as to why this tragedy had been moved to an earlier schedule. This was also going to be her only attempt at indirectly changing her mind because ‘sorta’ meant this wasn’t set in stone. ‘Sorta’ softened the ‘need’ in the sentence and so it might not be as urgent.

“Yeah, I have a meeting with a client tomorrow morning and I still have to prepare my update on the project,” Nayeon gave a half-smile.

This sprang up from almost nowhere and Momo couldn’t help but wonder if this was really the reason why she had to leave so soon. “Is that the one who called? Your client?” She asked in an offhanded tone so it won’t sound too intrusive.

“No. No, that was uh…” Nayeon paused and for the first time seemed hesitant to finish her sentence. “That was my fiancé.”

It hit her like a truck. The air knocked out from her lungs and she had to hold in a gasp that threatened to give away her absolute horror over this news. The blow felt like being told that someone she had cared for had died in a terrible accident, and that the person who had died was also her so she felt twice the anguish. But it felt worse than dying. She didn’t know what dying felt like and no one alive could’ve possibly let her know, but at that moment Momo knew it was incomparably worse. But after the initial shock that seemed to last for an eternity, a familiar sort of frustration settled upon her. She felt this before, earlier that day when Momo walked out from Nayeon’s apartment. When reality put her back to her senses that afternoon and she cursed herself for even thinking that there was something possible between them outside her profession.

Of course, Momo thought. She should’ve seen this coming like how she should’ve expected that nothing will become of this buyer-seller relationship that they have. Nayeon was undoubtedly attractive. So much so that she’d have probably mistaken her for some movie star if she hadn’t met her at the restaurant and had only passed her by the streets in the crowded lunch hour with her red blazer searing a trail through the flow of the mass like heated knife carving through butter. Of course she’d be engaged. This was the natural assumption to have, or a milder version of this was that she was already dating someone. Both realities being equally horrible, yet perfectly natural.

And so by ultimately thinking like this, her heart and mind clashed like never before, each side admonishing each other on the stupidity and naivety of both, and this in turn resulted in a sort of malfunction in her body - a glitch that hindered her ability to give a reply.

“Momo?” Nayeon’s voice called out to her and she realized that she’d been staring blankly at Nayeon since the big revelation.

“Yeah,” Momo managed to say before blinking out of her daze. “Yeah, I-I see. Yeah, I...I mean wow I didn’t know you were- I didn’t realize-...” She swallowed hard then gave an ugly smile. “Congratulations!”

Nayeon replied with a polite one of her own, more subdued like she plastered it on her face just for the sake of acknowledging her applause. “Thanks,” she nodded, and without waiting for a reply, went on to say, “I should get going.”

The haste with which Nayeon had said this scathed her even further. As if to say that by now having revealed this crucial piece of information, she had come to her senses and must leave this place before things get awkward between them.

“Yeah, yeah I um...please, don’t let me keep you,” Momo forced a laugh as she stood up from the couch. Her knees felt old and brittle all of a sudden; weak and heavy with each step she took towards the door. Whatever conversation they had while walking down the flight of stairs to the lobby had been drowned out by the constant throbbing in her head. Before she knew it, she was standing outside, beneath a lamp post in front of Nayeon’s car, staring at her own dimmed reflection on the tinted window of the passenger’s seat.

“Hey thanks again for dinner!” Nayeon called out from inside the car as she peeked from the now open window.

“Drive safely, okay? You’re technically still intoxicated.”

Nayeon laughed and Momo desperately tried to commit the sound to memory. “You should already know I make it a point to sober up first,” she said.

“And thanks for stopping by!” Momo quickly followed up. Her attempt to prolong the moment. She thought about asking Nayeon out somewhere. Anywhere. Do anything. Do nothing. Or maybe don’t and just ask for her number so she can talk to her again. Nayeon could be out in another country in the middle of nowhere, facilitating a construction on-site, and she’d be in her cubicle. Always in her cubicle. Talk about what? Talk about anything. Talk about nothing. Not even talk then. She’d dial her number and Nayeon would pick up and neither of them would need to utter a single word. Only the sound - the static buzz from whichever place Nayeon was at would grace her ear and she could survive with that. They didn’t have to be together, no; that much was a luxury now; a dream that didn’t even last a day.

But then it came again like a rogue breeze from last Winter’s chill, blowing the warmth from her shoulders. Nayeon was engaged. Momo tried to find the sinner in herself that told her keeping some form of contact was still within the acceptable limits of her morality. Maybe take her obvious infatuation aside, and then take the plunge. But then what? She'd call her and they'd talk and laugh about things they had in common and with each call they'd grow closer. Then at some point, they'll become close enough to realize that they've been walking in parallel lines from the very start, free to walk closer but would never, in this life, coincide. An infinite gap forever in-between them.

Suddenly, the idea scared her, and so Momo took a step back onto the sidewalk, holding back the words as she watched the car hum to life.

It wasn't until her grievings became too heavy to think about, that she had noticed that the car was still in front of her. Momo raised her gaze from the pavement and saw Nayeon, one hand on the wheel, face forward, looking at something in front that wasn’t there. The street lamp was the only reliable source of light to stave off the evening but she could make out Nayeon’s pensive look as if she was utterly lost in thought.

Before she could call out, Nayeon turned to her, and from the lowered windows of her sedan, asked, “Are you free this Saturday?”

“Yes.”

Nayeon paused to think for a second and Momo had already died a hundred times in the same span.

“I’m meeting the client I told you about at the construction site due west outside the city. Maybe two, three hours away. And there’s this gallery on the way there; ‘Grain Box’. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“No.”

“Well I heard they have a lot of good woodwork pieces."

Yes.

“And if you’re free, maybe…”

Yes.

“Do you want to go check it out with me?”

“Yes,” Momo answered. “I’d love to.”

Nayeon smiled at this and it was one of her indecipherable smiles Momo still couldn’t figure out. “Okay great! I need to be on-site by around 10, so I’ll pick you up at around 8? Is 8 fine?”

“It’s perfect.”

“Perfect,” Nayeon echoed and she loved how they both seemed to agree that it was. Everything was. Nayeon strapped her seatbelt on, and with half the window already closed, said “I’ll see you Saturday. Enjoy your night, Momo.”

“Good night, Nayeon.”

Then the window fully closed and she couldn’t see inside because of the tint and the night. With a smooth hum of the engine, Nayeon drove off into the maze of the city. Momo followed the tail lights of her car until it made a turn and finally disappeared from view. She stood frozen by the sidewalk for a minute because her brain was still processing what had just happened and couldn’t be bothered with running her body’s motor skills. The whole debacle since Nayeon’s big reveal felt like[1] being on board the Titanic as it slowly sank. A sense of looming dread hovering over her as she heard the harrowing footsteps of the inevitable doom that would come of their parting, only to then be saved and pulled out from the frigid waters and into a lifeboat. Momo stood there now, both in disbelief and in joy and neither of the two let her get any sleep that night.

But this sleeplessness stemmed now from more than just knowing she’d been saved thrice that day. It came from more than just the giddy little smiles and laughter and furtive glances they stole from each other. This restlessness that made her toss and turn as she lay in bed that night was from the sudden, almost intrusive and completely baseless idea that might’ve nabbed her the title ‘Most Presumptuous of the Decade’, that Nayeon might have reciprocated a sixteenth of what she felt by asking her out. The audacious idea that this childish infatuation she had with Nayeon had stepped up from the ranks of being laughable to simply pitiable. Maybe this was pity. Or some variation of it. Maybe the overwhelming dread she felt earlier had somehow manifested in her words and in her movements and on her face that it became noticeable and Nayeon took pity on her, leading her to hand out the sudden invitation this Saturday. Momo considered it for a while, but then shrugged it off like a fly on her shoulder. She couldn’t care less if it was pity, or if it somehow turns out that the only thing Nayeon reciprocated was the cold air in-between them. The only thing that mattered now was Saturday. And she said it in her head with a newfound sentimentality that would transform her idea about all the subsequent Saturdays after this one. Suddenly, Saturday had become her favorite.

Saturday.

Nothing else mattered except for Saturday. Besides maybe the clothes she’d wear.

The Friday that arrived the following morning might as well have been a blip in her life. A day in the timeline her memory had forgone to record. If aliens had returned to earth(because she was absolutely certain that they had already landed in the past) this particular Friday, she’d have no recollection of it ever happening because her mind was too preoccupied choosing between her jeans and brown pants for Saturday. Friday was the intermission, she thought. A day to prepare her wardrobe change, reread her script, go over the scenes and how she should play it out tomorrow. To play it cool and detached as if the woodwork was the only thing that interested her? Or greet her with a warm smile and try to let Nayeon do the talking as she tries not to get too distracted by the delicate motion of Nayeon’s lips, or the casual way Nayeon’s eyes dip down for a split-second when talking to her as if her top had a distracting stain she didn’t want to point out?

Momo considered all these things with their reality in mind. The reality that this wasn’t a date. But then what was it? An excursion? A friendly road trip? Because Nayeon had assumed her love for woodwork was so great that she couldn’t possibly refuse an invite to a gallery outside of the city? The more she analyzed this, the more she realized just how much she actually didn’t care. And if someone were to put a label on this, then it would simply be called ‘their time together’. This was their time together and it was everything she could’ve asked for.

Saturday came with a defeated alarm clock because Momo had been up an hour before the time she set. She got up, made coffee, ate scrambled eggs and toast, then sat on her couch to pass time because she didn’t want to take a bath too early. She waited, and waited, and waited, then checked the time; 6:30. She groaned. The wait was insufferable. And this was the kind of waiting phase she dreaded. The 11th hour before a momentous event starts. The phase where all the butterflies in her stomach wake up in turmoil as the caffeine starts to kick in, causing the impatient leg bouncing to follow. This was when all her leftover excitement from yesterday morphed and mutated into something resembling anxiety because the two were always interchangeable.

She survived it eventually and took a bath at around 7. She had bought a new body wash yesterday that smelled of peach and jasmine from a completely different brand. After much brainstorming, Momo eventually decided on wearing her jeans that she cuffed at the ends. She wore a clean white shirt and tucked it in, then put on her black oversized blazer to fend off the Spring chill. Sneakers would do, she thought and slipped on her only pair which were a bit worn out to a dusty white. By 8:10, her doorbell rang and she was so unaccustomed to hearing the tune that when the three different bells chimed, she paused for a second as she tried to figure out where it came from.

“G’morning,” Nayeon smiled which made her heart do a little flip. Momo wondered how many flips it could take that day. “Sorry I’m a bit late. Had to run and grab breakfast.” She lifted a box of donuts but Momo’s gaze roved over her outfit instead. Nayeon wore a beige trench coat that she kept ed as it stopped above her knees. Her white button-up fit her perfectly and was neatly tucked in her black pants that stopped just before her black Chelsea boots.    

Before locking up the unit, she ran back inside to grab her lucky rabbit piece she brought home from work yesterday, placing it in the pocket of her jeans. The morning air was crisp and somehow felt more refreshing now compared to when she commutes to work.

“How’s Friday?” Nayeon asked as they both reached for their respective seatbelts at the same time. It sounded strange when Nayeon asked it. Strange in a good way, that she sounded genuinely curious unlike the countless others who had thrown the same question just to stave off any awkward silences.

“Uninteresting,” Momo answered but she felt like Nayeon knew about this already. Knew about her plan to forgo Friday completely in anticipation of Saturday.

Nayeon looked at her then, an amused yet sorry sort of smile on her face. “You really do hate your job.”

Momo laughed because it was half-true and because taking it with a serious tone would ruin the day. “Maybe, but I’d rather not think about work on a Saturday morning. Or any mornings.”

Nayeon gave an understanding nod then made a mouth-zipping motion.

They rode west from the city. Crossing the large suspension bridge that loomed over the river that ran parallel along the edges of the metro. They didn’t talk much during the first thirty minutes or so. When one of them did, it was always Nayeon pointing out a certain shop that sold a certain item she bought that she found memorable enough to mention. This in turn, intrigued Momo and she listed every shop name on her phone as if she had the money to buy anything from them. But this wasn’t her intention. Momo listed these names as if gathering puzzle pieces to paint a fraction of a picture as to who Nayeon was. These little pieces of information that formed a window frame into a house she was knocking at. One particular item Nayeon loved wasn’t bought from any of the shops she mentioned but brought it up anyway since she had brought it along with her. It was a vintage silver Minolta TC-1 film camera she got from an old couple that commissioned her to build their house. It was her first commission after passing licensure 5 years ago. When the elderly couple - armed with the relentless generosity often seen in one’s grandparents - found out, they handed her the thousand-dollar camera like a loaf of fruitcake on Christmas day. Nayeon refused, but - as oftentimes with tenacious grandparents, she eventually found it futile to decline.

“Christ, they wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Nayeon said, shaking her head in affection as if she was talking about her own grandparents. “Feel free to snap a few shots by the way. I don’t get to use that too often anymore.”

Momo was far from being a seasoned photographer but took a few anyway. Her subjects were limited as they were still on the road, so she took the interiors of the car; the leather seats, the digital display of the radio, Nayeon’s left hand gripping the wheel, Nayeon’s right hand perched on the gear stick, Nayeon’s eyes cropped into the rearview mirror, Nayeon’s immaculate side profile, Nayeon’s smile when she noticed how long the camera’s been pointed at her.

“Seriously? Aren’t there better subjects to take pictures of?”

“No,” Momo answered. Then, sensing that it might’ve sounded hasty and misleading, she retreated with, “Not really.” ‘Not really’, as if she had no other choice and was forced to settle with Nayeon being her muse. The blatant lie of it all.

Nayeon replied with an amused huff and she didn’t know if this was because she had seen right through it and chose to play along with her childish deflections, or it simply bothered her having her pictures taken. Either way, Momo changed her subject and instead pointed the camera at the window beside her, curious to see what the photo would show; her own reflection, or the blur of houses that dwindled down as they drove further away from the city. It was her first time traveling along these areas which were mostly residential. Commercial buildings still peaked out every now and then but were only as high as her apartment. A few miles further, trees suddenly outnumbered houses, although most of them were still planted strategically like in the city.

After an hour and a half, they turned right at an intersection somewhere then turned again after a while to a small guard house that gated a suburban neighbourhood. Nayeon stated their purpose and was given an obnoxiously large gate pass which was laminated and barely fit into the middle compartment of the car.

“You’d think this doubles as a baking tray,” Nayeon commented as they passed through.

Momo held a laugh. “Not sure if plastic’s the best conductor for heat.”

“Not sure if a baking tray’s the best replacement for a gate pass.”

After passing rows of manicured lawn fronts and prized hedge walls, they arrived at the construction site which was still mostly barren save for the rough house framing made from plywood. Even then, it already stood out from the rest of houses in the area with its simple modern corners and cuboid shapes that were stacked upon each other. A long rectangular strip that was dug out and filled with concrete and plaster, passed directly under what looked to be an overlooking hallway that connected two rooms on the second floor. They both got out onto the dark damp soil that’ve been dug up and immediately the smell of dirt and ammonia from fresh concrete invaded her nose. Momo tried not to let the smell expose her sensitivity to it but ultimately failed and raised a pathetic hand to cover her nose.

“Here,” Nayeon held out a folded light blue handkerchief with a recognizable Sakura blossom pattern. “Promise it’s clean,” she smiled.

It could’ve been pulled straight out of the cement mixer and she would’ve still taken it. “Thanks.” Momo held it lightly over her nose, consciously avoiding the perfumed cloth to touch her lips in fear that she might soil its purity. It smelled of lavender and sweet orange that made her swallow a hunger that suddenly arose. Amidst the dirt, the wet ammonic concrete, the haze of sweat and spit that have mixed with mother nature; amidst all the robustness, there was this. A gentle scent that parted everything wrong in the world, offering her a safe passage through. And like a helpless child led astray by her curiosity, Momo wondered as they walked towards the rubble; how this single piece of cloth from Nayeon would taste against her lips.

She regained a bit of her sanity when a burly man that reminded her of a bearded lumberjack approached them. Nayeon greeted him as Mister Gwan and he replied with one firm nod before ushering Nayeon to another area on the site. She turned to Momo with an apologetic smile and told her their talk might take a while, which meant this was the boring architect talk. “You can go around if you like,”  Nayeon told her like a mother letting her kid run loose in the playground while she took care of business. Momo nodded with an awkward smile and tried not to let this casual brushing aside bother her.

There wasn’t much to “go around” to in a bustling construction site. Either an area was off-limits or the area was pretty much impossible to traverse with large holes in the ground or piles of wood and metal beams or heavy equipment littering the space. But eventually, a garden; or what’s bound to be one when the whole place is finished anyway. Flat stones that bordered an unfinished pathway s around the back of the house where some Kousa dogwood saplings have already been planted along with a bunch of potted plants ready to be arranged. Momo looked over to where Nayeon was talking with Mr. Gwan on a raised platform and noticed how different she looked. Her eyes looked more attentive and so impossibly focused that they looked completely different from when she was with her a few minutes ago. Her posture was straighter and despite Mr. Gwan’s obvious enormity over her, Nayeon seemed to stand on equal footing and sometimes even towering over him as she waved her hand over some area in the site. The glaring difference between the Nayeon now and the Nayeon who offered her a handkerchief a few minutes ago took her by surprise for some reason. As if suddenly she wasn’t sure who the person she’s been riding with was.

But then Nayeon caught her looking and shot her a smile that melted this initial shock. Momo smiled back but more awkwardly because she was still gathering her thoughts. Then she blinked and Nayeon was talking to Mr. Gwan again with the same stoic, professional look. Momo thought this should’ve intimidated her or alarmed her at least; this complete 180 when their backs were turned. And to some degree, it did. Not because of this hard, almost cold look she was wearing, but simply because Nayeon chose to hide it from her. Yet with the same growing wariness came a newfound degree of respect for the commitment Nayeon was displaying with her work. Momo wondered if she herself had ever made the same face since first occupying that cubicle.

When Nayeon’s business was done, they left the site and made their way back to the guard house.

“Ah, here it is,” Nayeon handed the gate pass back to the guard, holding it with both hands.

“Thought I misplaced this thing somewhere,” she gave a tight sarcastic smile.

They drove back the opposite direction from where they came then stopped at a roadside diner for lunch. She ordered two sausages with a mac & cheese side along with coleslaw while Nayeon had their smallest sized burger, eaten with a fork and knife which didn’t help much in her attempt to eat it without smearing its glorious grease all over her lips. Her idea to deconstruct a diner burger only brought on sidelong glances from the waitress and other customers.

“I love burgers but this grease pool on my plate can’t go unnoticed,” Nayeon commented as she examined each part of the burger with her chosen utensils as if she was looking for the valve to stop the grease from running.

Momo’s attempt to suppress a smile was useless. It was too much and Nayeon shrunk with embarrassment when she noticed.

“I’m guessing you’ve never eaten a burger from a diner before.”

Nayeon scoffed and straightened back up which only really made her look like a pouty richling. “I have, actually. A place called McDonald’s. Ever heard of it?”

She almost spat out her soda. “McDonald’s isn’t a diner!”

Nayeon rolled her eyes and proceeded with her grease inspection. “It’s a glorified diner with a drive-through. Point is, it’s not that hard to assemble a burger that’s not swimming in its own sweat.”

She laughed at the pettiness and her decision to lump one of the biggest fast-food franchises in the world with a roadside diner in one category, but made no attempts to argue any further having written it off as just plain adorable.

After lunch they set out for the gallery, driving off the beaten path and uphill into a narrower road lined with lush Cypress trees and farmhouses with green open grazing fields on both sides. Momo found it hard to imagine that just a couple of miles away from the bustling metropolis, there was this scene that looked like it belonged in one of those old country movies set in a farmhouse where a helpless stablehand falls madly in love with the farmer’s daughter.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Nayeon snapped her out of daydreaming. “You’ve been staring at the sky like you’ve seen a UFO or something.”

And I guess you’ve been glancing at me instead of keeping your eyes on the road or something.

“Just taking it all in,” Momo replied. “It’s not often I get to see this view. I mean I see it all the time in movies, but nothing in person.”

Nayeon gave her an incredulous look. “You really don’t go outside the city? Not even on holidays? Or business trips?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit embarrassed now at her lack of travel experience as it magnified her reality of living in a box. “Well I go out to the beach with a friend every summer. That counts, right?”

“What about visits to your parents?”

Momo tensed up. She brought her gaze back onto the open hills and wondered if she should just pretend to get lost in a daydream again. “I don’t really visit my father anymore.”

A pause lingered in-between them as the quiet hum of the car’s engine filled the silence. She couldn’t decide if she wanted it broken or kept hanging until they got there.

“...What about your mother?” Nayeon asked all of a sudden as if she took three whole minutes to contemplate on this follow-up question.

“She died a long time ago.”

She saw Nayeon glance briefly at her but didn’t bother to know what it meant this time. Nayeon apologized for bringing it up to which she replied with a shrug and a casual “It’s fine.” This was what she had to rehearse years ago as they lowered her casket that windy afternoon beneath the shade of a lone maple tree in Fall. These lines she had to carry throughout her years that’ve been said as often as a “Thank you” or a “Good afternoon”, “Good morning”, “Sorry to bother you”.

Momo couldn’t remember if she had rehearsed this even before the cancer had won; and she couldn’t remember at what point it even won. But she remembers her father always saying it to his new acquaintances or co-workers who visited the house. She’d hear him say it so often that at some point the word ‘died’ in the sentence seemed to have shrunk and have shied away, while ‘a long time ago’ came in bold, confident, almost audacious bellows as if this was the whole point in saying it. And whenever his guests offered the apology of bringing it up, he’d brush it off like dust that'd collected on his shoulders. ‘It’s fine, it’s fine!’ he’d say with a hearty laugh and a wave of a hand like he was waving away some foul odor.

She died a long time ago.

Saying it now, Momo couldn’t figure out if her dwindling sense of remorse about it was because of the gradual passage of time, or her father’s gradual shrugging-off until he’d become too numb to feel even an ounce of what was lost in both their lives. Or maybe he was still grieving. She wouldn’t have the guts to ask him, so she’d have to ask his third wife about it. Did he grieve when the second one left him? Did he wave that one away too?

The Grain Box was less of a box and more of a rectangular L-shaped building with a single floor and a generous parking lot in front. There were no other people in sight and Momo had somehow already expected this when she lost track of how many turns they’d made since getting off the highway. Situated on a flat hilltop, the nearest establishment from it was an old gas station managed by an equally old man who filled the car’s tank with about 3 dollars more than what Nayeon had asked for. She paid him 5 more and asked that he kept the change.

There was only one other car parked in the vicinity and it was directly in front of the building’s backdoor. She would’ve guessed the red pickup truck belonged to one of the personnels but then she noticed ‘The Grain Box’ word art painted on its side doors. The office truck. Much as expected, they were the only ones there. And she thought that they might’ve just been the only ones who knew of this building’s existence out in the middle of a small hill.

“How do you know about this place?” She whispered to Nayeon as they entered the double doors.

“A friend of my fiancé told me about it.”

Immediate regret hit her for asking and she said no more.

A middle-aged man with curly hair and receding hairline greeted them from the entrance booth. He said admission was free but there was a small donation box situated beside the stanchion with velvet ropes that cut off the entrance from the rest of the gallery. Momo felt the man’s critical gaze on their backs as they walked towards it, watching them like one of those ushers in church who hands you a basket for the offertory collection. She stopped in front of the box and searched her handbag for some coins to drop but Nayeon waved a hand and pulled out a handful of rolled up bills from her pocket, dropping two ten-thousand won bills in the slit. She heard the man cough out behind them as Nayeon gave her a cheeky wink before proceeding in.

The whole place was quaint with a straightforward touring route that followed the shape of the building. The L-shape structure was divided into three sections with the longer area divided into two: the furniture section and the woodturning section with exquisitely designed bowls and vases with intricate shapes and patterns. There were only two colours present inside the whole gallery; dirty-white from the walls, and some shade of brown from everything else including the patterned wood of the floor. They followed the touring route and strolled each section as she tried not to geek out. It was hard not to when the last woodwork gallery she’d ever been to was back during a high school trip, and despite the building’s disregard for a more aesthetically pleasing display plan, each piece was evidently well-made.

“So how’d you get into all this?” Nayeon asked as she studied an ornate vase in the woodturning section.

“My aunt on my mother’s side worked in a wood research institute,” she said, idly thumbing the rim of a bowl. “She was like a second mother to me. And so when I was a kid, every time she came over she’d give me a wooden toy figure she crafted and I’d just be over the moon about it.” She smiled remembering the pieces.

“They must be very special.”

Momo nodded, feeling a wisp of sadness wash over her as she stared blankly at the bowl. “She moved to another country a few years after my mom died. Haven’t seen her since.”

“You lost contact?”

She shrugged, unsure about it herself. “I guess. My dad never really liked her. Says she’s too free-spirited and irresponsible and he said I shouldn’t talk to her too much. Of course I never believed him, but I think he contacted her about it. I don’t know what he said, but whatever it was, effectively weakened our relationship.”

“Christ,” Nayeon huffed. “A bit manipulative, don’t you think?”

Momo let out a wry laugh. “A lot, I think.”

They made their way to the last section where all sorts of wood carvings were displayed when her breath caught at the sight of a bust sculpture of a woman at the center of the room. Her features were strong and her gaze intense with confidence and empowerment as if nothing in this world or up above could ever put a dent on her resolve. The stunning piece was made entirely out of black walnut which was perfect for its color and grain. It stood on top of a marble pedestal where it seemed to part every other piece in the room but in contrast, drew her in with a sort of magnetizing allure. This, she suddenly realized, was the only thing that managed to completely take her mind off of Nayeon for a moment that day.

“It’s beautiful,” Nayeon said in a hushed tone as she approached.

“The detailing on her hair must’ve taken days.” Momo ran her fingers against the slender shapes of its hair, feeling the grooves and edges of each strand. “And these slight creases on her brows just add so much more to the intensity of her eyes, and look...” She took a step back and held its chin with a finger. “See how her chin’s raised up a bit? It’s actually the perfect angle because any more than this will make her seem haughty or arrogant and any lower just looks off. But this is just perfect. Just the right amount to make her seem confident or bold. And more than the quality of the wood, which did you know, black walnut is really, really expensive like it can cost about 20 thousand won per board feet. But more than the wood material, it’s really the small details and the amount of time you put and the level of artistry you’ve acquired through practice that makes or breaks a masterpiece like this and not only that but-”

Momo snapped out of her monologue. She turned to look at Nayeon who was staring at her with an amused smile, arms crossed as if she was judging a business pitch.

“Well don’t stop there. What else?” Nayeon asked and she half-expected her tone to be teasing and sarcastic yet her voice carried nothing but an encouraging push and genuine curiosity. She was hesitant to ramble on at first because this sort of response was unusual and a bit suspicious like someone plotting a cruel joke and she was going to be made the punchline. But the only joke Nayeon told was how the sculpture resembled her in a way. She laughed when Nayeon insisted it wasn’t a joke.

“I don’t exactly see why you’d think it’s a joke,” Nayeon told her as she ran her fingers against the smoothness of the wood.

Momo chuckled. “Probably because the only similarity I have with this is that we both have dead cells.”

“And,” Nayeon looked to her with sincerity. “You both have the same fearless look in your eyes.”

She snorted and hung her head in embarrassment, letting her fingers tail the same lazy line Nayeon was trailing. “I’m far from fearless,” she mumbled and watched as their fingers traveled, hers lagging an inch behind Nayeon’s.

When Nayeon abruptly stopped, their fingers bumped and she immediately retracted her hand before anyone could accuse her of some type of stalking.

“Your job takes some grit, you know? Not a lot of people can handle that many calls with that many people in one day. And then you’d have to deal with some rude rejections, some canceled transactions and then you’d have to deal with sickos like me,” Nayeon laughed.

“You’re the nicest sicko I’ve ever met,” Momo blurted out and it took her a while to notice the silence that followed. She glanced at Nayeon just in time to see a pursed smile disappear as she looked the other way.

“My point is, you obviously possess this same kind of confidence and all you need to do is direct it at whichever path you want to take.”

“Yeah well that’s the problem. I don’t know which path I want to take.”

“Yes you do,” Nayeon answered without missing a beat as she held her gaze; steady and familiar like the one she had back then in her unit as if she saw something in her that she herself couldn’t see. “You just need to put in a bit more courage in taking the first step. Kinda like dialing a stranger’s number.” Nayeon smirked and Momo could feel the heat slowly rising to her cheeks.

She wondered then when they were making their way back to the entrance; what would’ve happened if she put in a bit more courage earlier when their fingers met. If she took the step forward and let the accident happen as if fate had meant for it to happen instead of forcibly opposing it. And maybe then it wouldn’t be an accident, but rather, a result of an underlying desire when she willingly chose to follow Nayeon’s fingers as it skated against the flow of the grain.

Momo wanted it to happen. She just didn’t have enough courage to handle being caught with it. But then what did she have to lose? To be caught red handed with this debased desire to feel the warmth of her skin if only for a fraction of a second behind the pretense of an innocent accident. Was it really too much to ask? Was there another wall she wasn’t aware of besides the one they had torn down two nights ago? How many more walls existed then? How many more in the seemingly infinite space between their fingertips?

The casual invitation to drink should have rattled her. Should’ve made her brain go haywire yet again because this was Nayeon’s first genuine invitation to simply hang out. To go somewhere without the intention of business and that it wasn’t some sort of field trip. This was Nayeon, asking her if she would like to hang out at eight in the evening. At a bar no less. But the impact didn’t come. Or maybe it did but it went off like a lone firework exploding in heavy rain, the sparks dampened the moment they flew off. So what if she asked her out to drink? It would change nothing between them. Not if the walls persisted. No matter what changed and no matter what shifted, the results were already rigged by a faceless man who put on the glaring diamond ring on Nayeon’s finger. The same finger she touched then immediately pulled away from.

But it was impossible not to hope. It was impossible not to laugh at her laugh. Impossible not to smile at her smile. Impossible not to notice how she always looks the other way every time she runs her fingers through her hair. Impossible not to notice her perfume rising above the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Impossible not to be utterly smitten whenever she laughs a bit too loud and her two front teeth come in full view for a few seconds before she hides behind her hands. She’d wet her lips afterwards and it was impossible not to notice that she’d been wearing the ‘Peach - Timeless Pink’ lipgloss despite saying the scent was a bit too strong and knowing she didn't usually wear lipgloss. Painfully, hopelessly, impossible.

“Feel free to tell me if I have something on my face,” Nayeon said with a smile as she nursed her third glass of whiskey.

Momo blinked and immediately straightened up as she cleared . How long had she been staring at her? How long had Nayeon noticed?

“I think it’s starting to hit,” she said, adopting a slightly drunk tone like an absolute creep who hides her embarrassment behind the alcohol.

Nayeon chuckled.  “A bit lightweight I see.”

“Hey I’m a beer person, okay? You can’t just straight up throw a goldfish into a brand new aquarium. It takes time getting used to.”

“True, but no one actually forced you to order whiskey.”

She shrugged and at that point her third glass really was starting to hit. “I mean you ordered whiskey.”

Nayeon looked at her with a raised brow. “Doesn’t mean you have to have one too, Momo.”

She gave a silly grin then took another sip. “I like how you say my name.”

Nayeon laughed and Momo swore it was the prettiest laugh she’d ever heard.

“Christ, was I like this when you first called me?”

“Kinda. I think you were more hooked on pizza than that Chardonnay though.” Momo slurred, making minimal effort to recall.

“It was a Cabernet. And in my defense, ‘Brick’d Pizza’ is best pizza, period.”

“That is a very debatable opinion and I can drop a few names who can easily top Brick’d but I won’t because you took me on a field trip today. Oh and did you mean what you said back then?”

“About what?”

“That you liked my voice?”

Nayeon shot her a surprised look that eventually melted into a coy smile. She looked away towards the glass of whiskey she was holding up as if the drink itself contained the answer. “I did,” she said.

“‘Did’? Well what about now?” Momo pouted.

She heard Nayeon scoff out a laugh. “Yes. I still do, Momo.”

Momo grinned from ear to ear, her head leaning on one hand as she faced Nayeon sitting beside her on the bar top. Despite her intoxication, she was well aware that this wasn’t like her. This was Hirai Momo on her third glass of whiskey. The Hirai Momo she envied and despised at the same time. The Hirai Momo who could stare unabashed at anyone in the room and not flinch if they stare back because she knew she could win against anyone who wasn’t drunk enough. But tonight’s opponent was tough. The toughest one she’d ever faced. So tough that one glance from the woman was enough to send her reeling back, stumbling and tripping with all that useless whiskey in her veins that would instantly evaporate into thin air against that smoldering look that challenged her. Not even alcohol could help.

“Back then at the gallery…you said I resemble that woman.”

“I did.”

Her head was spinning now; full like a heavy fishbowl on the verge of spilling. When her arm couldn’t keep her head steady, Momo stretched it out on the bar top as her head followed down on the cold, marbled surface, her gaze never leaving Nayeon’s. “I think you resemble her more though,” she mumbled with strands of hair sticking to her lips.

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Like back at the construction site, you had this fierce look in your eyes when you were talking to that lumberjack.”

“Mister Gwan? The construction head?”

“No I mean the lumberjack that looked like Popeye’s lover...or was it nemesis, uh...Bruno!”

“Bluto.”

“What the hell is Bluto?”

Nayeon turned to face her then, chin resting on a palm as an amused smirk lined her face.

“But yeah anyway, when you were talking to Bruno, you had this deadass serious look? And I was kinda scared at first? Cause you looked completely different and I thought you were some y CEO with a huge stick up her and-”

Nayeon burst out laughing. “Wow I-...alright, that’s a first then.”

“No shh, listen, listen! I thought you looked like that but you’re not okay? You’re a nice person. Actually you’re too nice. Stop being so nice.”

“I...am far from being nice actua-”

“You’re the nicest person I’ve met,” Momo said with just a bit too much sincerity in her voice that brought on a meaningful silence right after. When the soft jazzy piano in the background and the hushed chatter of poshly dressed people slowly took over, she continued. “And back then when we left the site, I just thought, ’huh, maybe she’s just taking her job very seriously. Maybe she just really loves what she’s doing here. And maybe I just got too intimidated because I’ve never been good at recognizing the look of someone who really cares about her work.’”

Her vision was starting to blur and the lights that hung above the bar top seemed like searchlights above her head. Momo tried to keep her gaze steady and her eyes open as she looked at Nayeon who was staring back at her with a strange, fond look in her eyes. Or maybe this was her mind playing tricks on her. A cruel trick of the eye. A side effect of the same potion she had to drink just so she can look at Nayeon in the eyes without her mind crumbling into pieces. And somehow in her drunken stupor, she thought one more sip would help seeing her face better. So Momo propped her head up from the table, steadied her hand as she held her glass, then slowly brought it up to her lips, only for it to be blocked by Nayeon’s hand that reached for the rim.

“I think this much is enough for one night, don’t you think?”

It wasn’t nearly enough. Not enough to say the things she wanted Nayeon to hear. Not enough to let her know, to clue her in. Not even enough to let slip a faint whisper that carried her word of a complete surrender. But then maybe it will never be enough. How many more glasses of whiskey would she have to drink just to tell her how much she adored the curves of her hands? How many more to whisper her love for that laugh? How many more to ask if she could take a picture of her smile with that camera the old couple gave her? If she asked for the photo, how many more will that cost? Or could the trick be to drown yourself in whiskey and be lost in the hallucination where everything was possible and you needn’t ask a thing?

Momo thought about pleading for one last sip but her mind had started to crumble as Nayeon’s cedarwood perfume entered her brain. Her hand was too close. Why was it so close? Too close to her nose; too close to her lips. How many glasses did she drink for this hallucination to manifest? Did it even matter now?

One more sip couldn’t hurt.

She closed her eyes and leaned in closer towards the warmth before eventually blacking out.

Momo dreamt of that summer thirteen years ago with her aunt. The scent of redwood steeped in rain; the warm cup of hot chocolate against her lips; and a tender voice calling her name.

She woke up in the car. It was still evening outside, and above her head - cast through the tinted windows, was the lonely light of the lamp post at the parking lot outside the bar. Another side effect of that wonderful potion: the sudden clarity of all the moronic clownery crashing down in the form of a massive headache.

“Here,” Nayeon’s voice woke her up completely. She was sitting beside her on the reclined driver’s seat, looking as clean and bright-eyed as she was this morning as she handed out a box of aspirin along with a bottle of water. “Might help.”

Momo popped a tab and finished half the bottle before recalling an important question that needed to be answered. “...What time is it?”

Nayeon breathed in deep and her pause was probably enough to answer. “About 2:15-”

“Holy I am so, so sorry! Oh my god I-”

“Hey calm down! It’s alright, okay?”

“No!” Momo scrubbed her face with both hands. “It’s not alright, like this isn’t fine I-... I’m so sorry I...I shouldn’t have drank too much. And I made you wait on me for hours jesus christ.”

“Momo,” Nayeon grabbed her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “It’s fine,” she repeated. “I probably should’ve stopped you on your second glass, but I’m telling you, I really don’t mind the wait.”

“That’s...hard to believe. I mean you had to stay here for hours just waiting for me to ing wake up like-..., I’m so sorry.” She groaned and let herself crumble from the weight of the shame, folding herself as she hid behind her hands that were determined to scrub away whatever vile muck was ingrained in her head that let her think this recklessness was permissible. “How’d you...how’d you even get me back here?”

Nayeon chuckled. “Well that part wasn’t easy I admit but-”

“Oh god.”

“But...I managed. With a little help from my annual gym membership and some degree of knowledge regarding angles,” she said with a smirk and Momo couldn’t help but laugh a bit despite her impudence.

“Hey look, I’m pretty much sober now. I’ll just grab a cab home and you can-”

“Absolutely not,” Nayeon said sternly and with such a commanding tone that some repressed, depraved part of her shivered for a moment. “I’m not sending you alone out there at this hour. Not if I can help it.”

Momo nodded obediently before mumbling another apology.

“And that’s enough sorrys from you,” Nayeon snickered, pushing Momo’s shoulders playfully. “If you apologize one more time, I’m not taking you out to another gallery,” she said with a mildly threatening tone that sounded more alarming in Momo’s head. She wanted to ask about it. Just to confirm that there was another “time together” waiting after this one and how Nayeon knew about it while she didn’t. When was this planned? Where? For how long? Will it end at another bar? This bar? Or was she getting ahead of herself when it was in fact really just a ruse to stop her from apologizing. One of those tricks parents use on their kids to get them to do what they want.

“You’re taking me to another one?” She asked, trying to sound more skeptical than overeager.

Nayeon stared at her for a minute, a smile slowly lining her lips as if she already knew just how much Momo wanted it. “Do you want me to?”

Her breath caught in . Do I want her to?

“Yes,” Momo answered. Without thinking, without caution; without fully realizing that this could very well be a confession. As reckless as an answer could be. And if Nayeon should catch her slipping, then so be it. Better to be caught now than later so they could both move on or away from this.

Nayeon’s smile grew, and when she’d realized this, she bowed her head to hide it. Did she figure it out? She opened her lips to say something when the buzz of a vibrating phone shook the silence and dispelled whatever spell was cast between them. Nayeon sighed deeply and grabbed her phone from the middle compartment. It’s him. She excused herself and stepped outside to answer.

The sound of the door closing snapped her back to her senses; dragged her back to reality and what awaited was the faceless figure of truth, glaring down in judgement for all the crimes she’d done and was willing to do. It followed her everywhere. Looming; lurking behind in the shadows. Ready to pounce and eat her alive the moment she strays too close to the invisible boundary. It was always going to come to this. No matter how many Saturdays they spend in whatever god-forsaken gallery or bar, this would always be how it’d end. They’d go their separate ways; Nayeon’s fiance calling her home, and her; passed out in this car after losing miserably. Night after night, drinking her woes away like the countless heartbroken saps who can never seem to make up their mind. Or could never gather the courage to anyway. But then the real tragedy, she supposed, was how this whole affair was already over before it even began.

“Because I went on-site this morning, I already told you...yes I talked to Mr. Gwan...yeah I already told him about the changes. He said it’ll take two more-...wha-...you know that’s impossible, right? We still haven’t gotten in-touch with the contactors and-...don’t raise your voice at me...” Nayeon’s hushed but stiff voice came from just outside the car. And again, Momo was dragged into their conversation without intending it. The unspoken third-party. The thought made her sick for some reason so she had to hug herself to soothe the uneasiness. Was this already a violation? Had she stepped out of line? But then what crime has she done so far except get drunk on feeble hopes and whiskey? Was it when their hands bumped back at the gallery? When her lips touched Nayeon’s perfumed handkerchief back at the construction site? Or was it back when she decided to step foot into this car that morning? Back when she opened the door to greet her?

Or could it be that the sin had already happened the moment she hoped for something to bloom from whatever this was?

Nayeon breathed out a tired sigh as she entered back into the car, her shoulders slumped and she had lost the earlier glow on her face.

“Is...everything okay?” Momo asked.

Nayeon pressed her lips together as the hum of the air-conditioning floated in the silence. She nodded after a suspicious while and said a barely-audible, “Yeah.”

No one could believe that. But prying too much might seem weird. “I’m...probably the worst candidate for this but if you don’t mind, you can always talk to me Nayeon.”

Nayeon looked at her and she tried her best to look straight back as if this was part of a job interview to see if she was good enough to become Nayeon’s punching bag. She was ready to mention her considerable experience in listening to countless rejections and senseless profanities but decided not to as it might come off as an attempt to fish for sympathy.

When Nayeon let out another sigh, Momo thought she had rejected the offer until, without warning, without a preemptive opening remark, without even sounding off any kind of alarm, Nayeon asked, “Have you ever been in love before?”

The question stunned her. Once when Nayeon had said it, and again when it echoed in her head as if she was asking it to herself.

Have you ever been in love before?

In love with what? A person? A thing? A place? A moment? She rifled through the locked drawers of her memories, searching for a period in her life that would fall under the category but found nothing. The closest instance she could think of was the summer with her aunt thirteen years ago but doubted if this was what Nayeon had meant. And then it came to her as the image of Dahyun flashed in her mind.

"No. I don't think so."

Nayeon gave her a calculating look. "You don't think so?"

"I mean how can anyone ever really tell if it's love anyway?"

"How can anyone ever tell if it's not?"

It made her think for a moment. “Maybe when you find it easier to say that it’s not, than to admit that it is.” When it’s easier to say that you don’t love someone, than to say that you do despite feeling miserable about it.

No reply. Nayeon turned her gaze outside where the passing glow of headlights moved to and fro in the languid rhythms of the 2 A.M. scene, casting their momentary gleam on her face. And only for a moment, whenever a passing light touches her, did Momo see an exhaustion that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it had always been there and she was only seeing it now. A burden that sat on her shoulders, making her seem more vulnerable, and in some way, more approachable. Before Momo could ask any further, Nayeon confessed in a whisper she almost couldn’t catch. “I don’t think I’ve been in love before either.”

“But...aren’t you…”

Nayeon breathed in deep, her gaze still fixed outside. “It’s more of a convenience thing. More of a ‘trophy wife’ bull[2] . Like picking a rug for your home kind of nonsense.”

She blinked. “Wait, what?”

“He’s part of the city council. Has his up sitting comfortably enough to try and run for mayor next term in two years so he needs to schmooze with the higher ups, and pretty much everyone else. And for that, he needs me to smile and look pretty by his side apparently.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Momo expected her to snap back with a solid no. Maybe even get infuriated at her for asking such a stupid question. Maybe slap her for good measure.

But the silence stretched on as the distant howls of cab horns filled the air outside. Momo swallowed hard and asked again in case the question got lost in the faded noise. “Nayeon, are you okay with that?”

“Remember Lapin et Pêche?”

“Yeah.”

“The owner who commissioned me was a former member of the council,” she said.

“...Okay well you didn’t answer-”

“And the house this morning,” she added. “For the police chief’s brother.”

She was starting to see the pattern.

“Fact of the matter is, he has connections. Even though some of them are shadier than the rest. And those connections have even more connections. And it’s like a dirty web built on dirty money passed around between even dirtier hands. But connections nonetheless. Connections mean commissions. Commissions mean recognition and work and money.” Nayeon shrugged. “Like I said, it’s more of a convenience thing.”

“But he’s literally just using you as a trophy I-...that’s not okay!”

The smile Nayeon made sent an ache in her chest. “Isn’t it? Aren’t we both just using each other for our personal gains? Shouldn’t that be fair?”

“He’s degrading you into an actual trophy, Nayeon. An object. No one should be reduced to that.”

“I know,” she said. “I used to think so too back when I was just starting out.” There was a wistful sigh behind her words that seemed to carry the years on her shoulders. Nayeon brought out her box of cigarettes and opened her window, letting a cool breeze enter the car. She lit one stick and clamped it between her lips, drawing on a long breath as if going for a dive. “Then I realized that this is what this whole web was built on. And that going up against this by myself was like stopping a wave from crashing on the shore with my bare hands. It’s been built long before our grandparents were even born. Lies, bribery, shady dealings, a certain level of compromise, a certain level of status, and so much up that’ll break your cheekbones.” Nayeon breathed the smoke out into the city night.

“So you’re okay with this?”

“With letting him use me as a trophy wife who smiles and waves and greets every other night in exchange for all the commissions and recognition I gain as an architect? The job I’ve been dreaming of since I was seven? The job I’ve sweated on and bled on and cried on to get?” Nayeon looked her in the eye. “No. But like I said; a certain level of compromise.”

“...That’s too much,” Momo whispered to herself.

“Maybe,” Nayeon looked out the window and drew on her cigarette. “But then what’s really the harm in a little political marriage?”

“Well don’t you want to marry someone you actually love? Or maybe just be with someone you love?” Momo asked with a speck of caution and Nayeon turned to face her as if she had heard another question in tow.

“I’m 30 years old, Momo,” she said with hopeless surrender. Like someone who loathed her own age but was tired of complaining about it. “I’ve waited too long to get this job. I’m not sure I can sit around any longer, wondering what is and what isn’t love.”

Momo wanted to tell her. Wanted to ask her. Just wait. Wait a little longer. I’m not sure what this is but I’m asking you to wait for me. This would be the only request I’ll ever ask from you. And I know I just got here, but I’m here now so please just wait a bit more. Please don’t settle for someone like him. Please don’t settle for someone who’ll introduce you through a memorized script. Who won’t mention how infectious your laugh is, or how warm your smile makes them and how much you love your work that you’d give up everything for it. Please give me enough time to tell you.

But the whiskey had run dry. And so she said nothing at all.

At some point, when neither of them spoke again, Nayeon finished her cigarette and closed her window. They should head home, she said. Momo could only nod in reply. And then it came to her as they sped along the elevated highway overlooking the evening cityscape; as the starless sky melded once more with the shadows of skyscrapers; as the light of the passing street lamps zoomed over her head. It then just occurred to her that she was stuck yet again. Between wanting something and being fine with how things already were. Floating in a constant state of being perfectly fine with everything and everything was perfectly fine being constant where she’d start hoarding these little moments between them like coupons, hoping she'd collect enough to buy herself another Saturday with Nayeon until eventually she’d get married.

Stuck in a cubicle, stuck with her job, stuck with Dahyun in the same building, stuck in the same starless city, stuck outside the invisible line that separates the life she could have with Nayeon.

The time was 3:15 A.M. Sunday. Saturday was yesterday and it had left, never to return. At least, not the Saturday they shared.

When they finally arrived at Momo’s apartment, it felt like Saturday truly was ending, and her reluctant first step out the curb was the last tick of the clock that ushered in a new day. This again, she thought with a sigh. How many more times would she have to suffer the same tragic farewell? How many more was she willing to go through for a chance to be with Nayeon for another day? Another afternoon? Another hour?

Then an anguish that grumbled and whined suddenly reared its ugly head. How was it possible that someone like her, who, just a couple of days ago, was living in the quiet sanctity of her cubicles and familiar routines, minding her own business and getting lost in her office daydreams, had suddenly been preyed upon by the unforgiving jaws of a childish infatuation. One of those high school crushes back in the day when you’re still so insecure about the pimples that peppered your face or your neon green braces that glowed in the dark or your voice that would croak and crack the second you decide to say something just to break the perpetual air of awkwardness hanging in-between. Then you find out she was already dating the high school douchebag. From then on, your life would be a series of ups and downs; you - the resident nobody, stuck between making a move or saving face, and her - oblivious to your suffering and chained to an unhealthy but beneficial relationship.

And now she’s 28. Still somehow insecure, still somehow stuck with an infatuation that didn’t feel childish anymore yet persists to be because she still hasn’t grown all too much from then. Still very much like a helpless child who struggles to make any kind of decision for herself, this was always going to be the ending. With her, saying goodbye to Nayeon, not knowing if she’ll see her again next Saturday or possibly ever again.

But Momo didn’t expect her to turn the engine off and step out onto the curb with her.

“I’ll walk you up,” Nayeon said, and already her mind was half-hoping she would walk her into the unit as well. Then maybe even further in to her bedroom or the cramped bathroom. Maybe just up until her perfectly squared living room. The kitchen, why not. A few more hours and they could have breakfast together. She’d pretend Nayeon had just stayed the night and she’d cook pancakes or eggs. Both. Or she could run straight out to buy whatever else Nayeon wanted to eat or drink. Coffee or tea? Both.

“Thanks for coming along.” Nayeon stopped at her doorway, one foot already angled to turn and walk away. “I...had fun today. Honestly, something of a rare occurrence lately,” she smiled warmly then brought her head down a bit, taking on an air of reluctance. “And I’m sorry if it ended kinda weird. I didn’t mean to ramble and spoil the mood.”

“Hey, no. It wasn’t weird,” she said. “I’m more than happy to lend an ear, Nayeon. Anytime you need it.” Nayeon looked up and their eyes met, neither of them looking away.

To ask now? Or to die later?

Both.

“Well, good night Momo. It was nice-”

“Are you free next Saturday?” Momo blurted out. Her reflex on ‘goodbyes’ acting up.

Nayeon blinked. “I think so. Why?”

“Do you want to do something? There’s this great diner I know and I promise it has less grease.”

She chuckled, not quite giving an answer yet.

“And I’d honestly love to see more of your designs. Like Lapine et Pêche. Oh and there’s this museum on architectural designs uptown called um... what’s it called…”

“Museum of Modern Designs?”

“Yeah! Yeah that.” Her laugh was shaky. “Of course you’ve been there.... Oh and there’s this- this um, public gallery at the park I think. I’ll try and look up which park it was again but I saw they have those building models on display so maybe we can-...you can-…we could grab coffee while we’re at it. If you want.”

Nayeon smiled at her as she tried to recall if her voice croaked or cracked. And so armed with nothing else but her unwavering belief that Spring meant new beginnings, new opportunities, and new adventures; Momo clutched the wooden rabbit in her blazer, then held her breath.

“I’d love to.”