“I remembered her name really easily because she’s got the same surname as you,” Tiffany chirps out, head moving from side to side so quickly the lag on the computer screen can’t quite keep up with her.

“That’d be more impressive if Jung wasn’t the fourth most common Korean surname,” Jessica replies. “Right after the Kim-Lee-Park trio.”

Tiffany huffs on the other side of the video chat, checking puffing up. “The point is I remembered it.”

“It’d be really embarrassing if you couldn’t remember your own girlfriend’s name,” Jessica says, level.

Tiffany scrunches up her eyes, a poor attempt at a glare (she could never manage to look that angry at anyone, whatever the reason) and pouts. “Jessica, give me a break, okay? I’m not good with names.” She pauses. “Korean names.”

“You didn’t get used to them at all? I remember thou used to be pretty good with names when we were younger. You were like a phonebook. You knew everyone.”

Tiffany rolls her eyes. “Always exaggerating. That might make for a good business pitch but I bet it’ll come back to bite you in the one day.”

Jessica sticks out her tongue. “It only gets this bad with you. You bring out the worse. You’re a terrible influence.”

Tiffany reciprocates the gesture, pulling down the skin under her left eyelid to boot. Maybe she’s really gone native and the immersion of living in South Korea on that language exchange programme really has ‘reconnected her to her cultural roots’ or whatever else was the reason her parents had for agreeing to ship her off there the year after college ended. 

Tiffany blinks and presses one finger to her lips, tilting her head on the other side of the screen. “Where was I?”

“You were just about to start gushing over your girlfriend.”

Tiffany’s eyes light up. She squeals and rubs her hands together. A clap. “She’s adorable, Jess! The best. Cold on the outside, but squishy and fuzzy on the inside.”

“Sweet and squishy and fuzzy on the inside doesn’t sound like a good combination. Reminds me of an ice cream that’s been dropped on the floor.”

“Ugh! Stop teasing.”

“Sorry, sorry. But you don’t have to sound so soppy either.”

“Aw. Is someone upset about being single? I don’t know why. You’re such a workaholic. What would you even do with a girlfriend?”

“You were the one who was a workaholic,” Jessica corrects. 

“Yeah and it didn’t get me very far, did it?” Tiffany replies a bit sharply. Jessica winces. “I just want to have a little fun, okay? It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

“Then I’m starting to feel a little bad for your girlfriend. Does she know she’s just bing used like this?”

“It’s not like that!” Tiffany insists, jumping up a little on her bed — so hard, in fact, that her computer jolts a little with the movement and the display on Jessica’s screen shudders along with it. A sore point, maybe. Tiffany realises the magnitude of her outburst and, eyes downcast, repositions the computer and herself so her image is square in the window.

“Right, sorry,” Jessica mumbles.

“I know. You didn’t mean it like that. It’s not like you’d know either.”

“Just…sorry,” Jessica says.

Tiffany gives a little eyesmile. Her voice still isn’t as chirpy, though, but she’s recovering. “It’s okay.” She looks up. “But I really mean it, Jess. I’m not just messing around.”

“Okay,” Jessica says, more of an exhale than words. “I believe you.”

Tiffany shakes her head and pats her cheeks like she’s waking herself up in the morning. “Enough about mood-killing stuff like that. We should be happy, right? I’m happy. I’m coming back, after all! Home at last!”

“You sound pretty cheerful for a girl who’s going to have to start going long distance with her girlfriend,” Jessica says, doing to best to make it clear she’s teasing as much as possible.

“Not long distance yet!”

“Tiffany, I’m all for living in the moment, but you can’t just ignore the fact you live in America and she lives in Korea and that you’re going to have to come back pretty soon in the immediate future.”

Tiffany shakes her head. “No. The point is, she’s coming back to the States too!” 

“What? Like, permanently or to visit.”

Tiffany ignores that little interjection. “Isn’t that exciting? We could all hang out together.”

With situations like this, it’s better to just let Tiffany get her way and lead the flow.  That was how she always was and, to be honest, it’s a little nice to see her take charge and pushy like this again. After college ended and the intricately crafted clockwork plan of dreams Tiffany set up just fell out of sync, she seemed out of it. Tiffany’s girlfriend, whoever she is, at least has managed to perk her back a little to the hyper (maybe overly) focused go-getter she used to be. And Tiffany’s Korean always neededd some help anyway. (Jessica’s own decent Korean was a major factor in how much Tiffany’s parents liked having her around.)

So Jessica just laughs a little. Pushy Tiffany is comfortably familiar. “That’s great. I’d love to meet her.”

Yet in truth, Jessica would not like to do anything of the sort.

She’s not sure why it rubs her the wrong way so much, but it just does and it gnaws at the back of her brain like a fire eating away at a dry forest under the hot sun. Dust and smoke. Uncomfortable and suffocating away the rest of her thoughts. 

“Oh my gosh, Jess, it’ll be excellent! Count on it!”

Jessica smiles. It’s the only thing she can do.

“Sooyeon-ah,” her mother calls. “Jung Sooyeon-ah! Jessica! Where is my daughter and why isn’t she answering me?”

Jessica groans, peeling her blankets off her. She manages to make it to the doorway, leaning slumped into the frame guarding her bedroom and replies, blearily, “I was taking a nap.”

“Aigoo.” Her mother reaches over and ruffles her sleep-tousled hair so hard Jessica head bobs a little side to side, like she’s one of those decoration in a car. She lets it. There’s no need for any resistance. “What are we going to do with you?”

Jessica offers a sleepy grin and her mother smiles back at her. The two of them, just like this, is enough.

“I’m just joking. You know, right? I know they work you too hard at that job of yours. You should rest when you can.”

“Hmm, thanks,” Jessica says and yawns. Going back to sleep would be pretty good too.

Then her mother says the words that make her freeze.

“Soojung is coming over.”

Jessica hasn’t seen her sister in years. Years and years. Once a year, she gets a birthday card from her father with a neat message from her sister tucked away in the corner, an accompaniment to the way her fathers, clear, blocky writing crowds out the rest of the paper. She doesn’t sign her name since their father does it for them, Your father and sister, she translates. Your appa and dongsaeng, in Korean, only in Korean, like he wants to test that she can still understand it. No names, just titles. She’s never even seen the way her sister writes her own name.

But she’s seen her sister’s handwriting. It must be something. Scribbled, scrawl letters slowly evolving from back to front things, painstakingly traced over what must have been her father’s writing, onto the cards into more confident that flowed into each other—the pen lifting off less from the page as the hand that held it got more steady through the years.

Her mother has a copy of her little sister’s first passport. The one she had up until she was about six and they had to get a new one. (There’s no signature in that, just a thumbprint.) He’s never asked for it back. So that’s the clearest image has of her sister, Krystal Soo Jung, (Jessica’s own Korean name is romanised unorthodoxly on her birth certificate as Soo-youn) born October 24 in San Francisco, passport likewise issued there. They don’t live in San Francisco anymore. The rent got too high, the cost of living too, for one person to support after their father left. They moved elsewhere in California, a sort of sleepy university town with a reputation for good schools to match the world class college that was the heart and centre of the town and the livelihood of most of its inhabitants. Jessica had heard something like eighty percent of the jobs in New Haven went on a break when Harvard was out. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but something similar happened in her town too, with  the summer population exodus that followed the outflow of students.

It was one of the reason she and Tiffany got so close, growing up in the same neighbourhood. There was nothing else to do, so they spent all their time together. Friends out of habit, they used to joke.

As good as sisters.

Tiffany has a sister, so it never felt like it should be offensive that Jessica had one either. (Had vs has—there’s something to that but Jessica doesn’t need to be thinking about that.) Jessica tries not to think about her much anymore.

Did they like each other? Did they not? Did they get along?

If she tries hard, she can dig up the memories and at least recall hazy fog impression of emotions. But remembering Krystal just reminds her she’ll be remembering where Krystal is and just who she’s with.

It needs to be made clear: Jessica has no father. She has a mother, though, a great one.

The two of them, just the two of them. It’s always been enough.

At the airport parking lot, reasoning that she doesn’t even know how the kid looks anymore, Jessica decides a sign in an appropriate thing to have on hand.  A photo is one thing, but how much has she changed? (Jessica sure has, not that she’ll let anyone see the documentation of her stint with braces however perfect her teeth are today.)

Jessica makes the sign hastily. The only paper she has left is the rejected document proposal she just printed at work. After that crushing blow to her self esteem, the words she’d meticulously fretted over for weeks, printed onto nice pristinely white paper and stapled just so had been tossed into the back of her car as she dealt with the drudgery of fetching coffee and dry cleaning in between the few scraps of actual educational experience she got from the whole internship. That’s all done with now, so Jessica tears off the front page, wondering if printing things double-sided was her downfall. Did it make her seem to stingy? This is one of the few pages that’s actually got nothing on the back so it’ll have to do.

She always keeps a pen in the passenger side compartment (because she likes to be over prepared and because it means she has one less thing to worry about in her life) and digs around. There’s two at the moment now, actually. Some ballpoints she stole from every hotel she managed to visit, a marker that she picked up on sale the other day, some  really old, half-empty dying pens that she used to collect at college career fairs because she was too cheap to buy any. (Well, too lazy, really, but frugality was a better quality to self-identify with.)

She settles on a marker, uncapping it with her teeth. The tip presses into the paper and the ink bleeds out into a ugly dot all the way to the other side while it waits for her to decide what to write. 

Krystal or Soojung?

Jessica bites the inside of her cheek. The ink keeps bleeding through the paper but she can’t lift her hand off the page.

Krystal or Soojung?

But Soojung, then. It’s probably Soojung after years and years of living in Korea. Soojung is easier for most of them to pronounce, shorter too. If it’s Korea, then surely her baby sister’s been going by Soojung for convenience’s sake all through the years.  Soojung, unless maybe she likes being different. Then again, if she lived there, Jessica’s sure she wouldn’t let anyone call her Sooyeon. 

Jessica wouldn’t know. She doesn’t have a clue.

Jessica tries to remember what her sister liked to be called by, but she’d always responded to any old sort of noise Jessica would make, scampering over, eager to play or do anything. There was a time where Soojung would do anything she was told as long as someone older asked. It was the source of many a cute photo with cuter poses. They lost the video, but Jessica recalls coaxing her into an adorable dance that would probably be the source of intense humiliation today. Maybe that’s for the best.

In the end, Jessica writes her sign in messy hangul which is really just as much of a copout as she can manage. She tells herself it’s because it will make the sign more noticeable amid a sea of other signs in English, but, holding in up in her cold, clammy hands, she wonders if her sister will get offended and think she thinks she can’t speak English anymore or something.

She could say their mother made the sign. She says ‘Soojung’, after all.

Since when has she been so nervous? And she needs to pick up Tiffany too, after all. Maybe she should have made another sign for her best friend. But she could spot Tiffany’s head, even from the back, out of any crowd around. A sign seems unnecessary. (And yet Tiffany always did like those sorts of cheesy gestures—it’d be a nice welcome back after so much time away.)

It just figures they’d be coming in on the same flight. The airport is a few hours drive away from home, but the ride back isn’t so bad. The flights from Korea turned out to be surprisingly infrequent, though, so she supposes by the law of statistics and the tendency for flight prices to rocket in the upcoming weeks, that it wouldn’t be that weird that her sister and Tiffany might be coming back on the same flight. It only ran like twice a week to their place anyway, after all.

Ugh, she’s thinking herself into circles. 

Jessica first swore to be less pensive and more action-oriented when Tiffany left her. She couldn’t rely on her friends to always cover her faults like they used to. It was just time, and they had to go their separate ways. Even after the transition from high school to college had culled Jessica’s social circle down to the bare bones, Tiffany had stayed by her side. But then Tiffany left and the deficiencies that Jessica had been happy to let fester had to be made up for at last. And there wasn’t anyone much left to confess much of anything to.

Her mother’s different. It’s not right. She can’t burden her like that, with petty woes and all the small things that somehow made her so miserable, the small things that could suddenly be so life ruining. Not after all her mother had done. It would just seem ungrateful. Ungrateful and rude and maybe a little part of Jessica was scared of getting scolded and rejected too for brining up such trivial problems so she just couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Even when her mother who she so admired asked her about her day, she wouldn’t stoop to whining about those things to her. To this day. 

Tiffany would listen to her, but Tiffany was also a dozen timezones away. Some things couldn’t wait that long without driving Jessica’s nerves raw and then the crying would—

No, she was trying not to cry so much these days. (Was because the actual achievement of the goal continued to be slightly…lacking.)

Tiffany’s return is a good thing. Should be a good thing. But after a year of fending for herself, Jessica wonders if Tiffany’s presence, reassuring as it may be, might lead to a backslide. The habits, the stone cold face, the thicker skin she’s fashioned for herself: with Tiffany around, will they just fade away like atrophying muscles?

Jessica scoffs under her breath. She really must have some rotten personality if she’s afraid her best friend being around will ruin her.

Tiffany’s just something special and indescribable and various parts of Jessica’s brain shut down around her, but her presence is also required to make certain parts of Jessica’s brain function even close to the normal human baseline. That kind of dependence isn’t the healthiest per se, but it seems a lot better than her solo operating stats. It must be like that for Tiffany too, otherwise why else would they have lasted this long?

She looks back to her backseat. Tiffany has a habit of bringing unexpected amounts of luggage with her, no doubt at least partially influenced by her tendency to impulse buy at the duty-free section of the airport, so there’s enough room there just in case. And just in case her sister has the same habit, they should just about be able to manage it. Jessica’s car isn’t exactly big, but it’s enough to get most jobs done.

Two birds with one stone. Tiffany and her sister. At least she can count on Tiffany’s never ending talking to break any awkward silence in the car. Better than trying to think over inane songs on the radio. And if her sister finds Tiffany annoying, however half-heartedly, they can always joke about that. Jessica knows, for all the good of mutual interests, nothing relays sparks off a conversation as a mutual dislike. And Tiffany’s tendency to talk to much is harmless, almost endearing for all the annoyance it provides. 

Speak of the devil, her phone blares with a notice about a text message from Tiffany. She’s bringing her girlfriend back with her, unexpectedly, and could Jessica please help provide transport from the airport for her too?

(Well, it’s not like Jessica will ever say no…)

Tiffany could have told her if her girlfriend was coming back on the same flight. She knew the other girl was coming to America, Tiffany was so excited about it after all, but she hadn't anticiapted it being so soon. Warning would have been nice. Jessica’s car can just about squeeze four people, but only now that she's managed to move all the junk in her backseat into the trunk and at home. That many suitcases and people might be tight. Tiffany better help, her girlfriend too, if she wants to say thanks in anyway for the free ride. (Tiffany's creative, Tetris order level of packing skills was a thing to behold.)

Ah, that reminds her actually. Front and back seat. Where to put her sister? Where she wants to go, is the safest bet as any. Well, Tiffany will probably want to sit next to her girlfriend anyway. Back it is for those two, then. Her sister can take the front. It will probably be less awkward for her, trying to sneak glances to the side instead of behind. 

She really is useless, though. She doesn’t even know what name to call her sister by. What name did she use to call? (But, embarrassingly, she also remembers just proudly shepherding around her sister by proclaiming, ‘the baby needs to go here’ or do this or drink that.)

Soojung, wasn’t it?

The inflection is a little rusty but in the background of those old home videos, she swears she hears herself saying it. Soojung-ah, come this way. Don’t fall down. Soojung-ah, be careful.

“Soojung,” Jessica tries out but it comes out in her ‘English’ voice. She tries again, clearing and talking more like her mother does, the way her mother said it. Better accent. “Soojung. Soojung-ah.”

It feels familiar.

“Soojung-ah, welcome home,” she tests and then cringes and the sound. Maybe that’s excessive. “Hey, Soojung.” No. “Hi. Soojung, hi.”

English? The first words are going to set a very clear precedent of what’s happening here. And Jessica is the older one, so she should probably be the first to talk. Jessica’s fingers thrum up and down, tapping against  the steering wheel. 

She needs to get out of the car anyway. Maybe some fresher air will help her think.

She makes it to the arrival hall of the airport and doesn’t feel much better. Holding the sign up gives her something to do with her hands but it also makes her feel a little , her intentions bared for all to see.

There are some other people waiting for their families or friends too, but they have much more personal signs decorated with hearts or smiling faces and in brightly coloured crayon. Small children linger nearby the sign holders. Jessica is only reminded how small Soojung was the last time they saw each other. She looks away.

There are the more impersonal signs too. Taxi drivers holding things with name and companies and hotels printed on them. Jessica looks down at her own sign and hold back a little frown at how similar they look. Her sister’s not going to read that much into it, right?

As for a face to look out for…

Tiffany’s she knows. She would know even if her eyes were closed. It’s not something she can forget anymore. But to her embarrassment and shame and horror, she realises she hasn’t seen anything resembling an adult photo of her sister. Just handwriting — a signature, really — that got steadier and clearer as time passed. And she never wrote back to ask for one. Four-year old Soojung is bound not to be overly like Soojung today. Jessica’s own face has changed leaps and bounds (thankfully to good ends after the awkward hell that was puberty) so if it runs in the family…

But Soojung always looked like their father, after all. She can’t do much extrapolating from her mothers face the way she does into her own when she looks into the mirror. And she could, but she doesn’t want to, think of how a father’s face translates down to his daughters. Jessica can see it a little sometimes in her own. Subtract her mothers smile and eyes and nose and see what’s left—only guessing where it came from. She could google a picture—he’s enough of a kind of guy, that kind of guy, that it wouldn’t be too hard. She doesn’t. She hasn’t. It’s not even a matter of self-control. She just doesn’t.

It’s almost regret when she realises she doesn’t know Soojung’s face, but she remembers the silhouette of her father, cutting a shadow through the light of and airport departure gate, and feels it fizzle into steam into invisibility in the air. Soojung and her, they’re just unfortunate almost casualties trying to get by.

Practical matters are all she needs to focus on now. Practical things. The sign. She keeps her grip loose but firm. It’s scrap paper, but she doesn’t want to make any creases on the sign. Soojung should have a nice looking sign, at least, to welcome her alongside her lacklustre sister.

Yeah, the sign.

The sign was a good move then. Soojung is a little common as a name, but if there is another Jung Soojung on the place, they should probably know who they’re waiting for and guess it’s not her unless it’s her Soojung who doing the looking around. Probably.

Jessica’s not been this nervous in years, ripping open those college acceptance letters she didn’t know were acceptances until the envelopes finally got open and set into the light.

She takes a deep breath and reminds herself she needs to drive. She needs to stay composed, aware of traffic and not act like a total weirdo in front of her best friend and sister.

Someone clad in too much pink steps through the automatic doors and Jessica recognises who it is at once. Of course she would. Tiffany even has sunglasses on. The frames are a pastel pink. Jessica picked it out as a high school graduation present. They were more understated than anything else Tiffany had in her collection and the classic cut would be something that could last a little longer than the trendy things she usually liked. She had been concerned it was too much her conservative style, but Tiffany must have liked them to keep wearing them after all these years.

And then Jessica realises Tiffany isn’t alone.

Tiffany walks with her girlfriend, arm in arm, all linked together, side brushing against side, one hand just barely free to tow their luggage behind them. No trolleys. She should be pleased Tiffany opted to travel that light. Tiffany leans over, one arm still tangled up in her girlfriend’s, and lands a big, sloppy, prolonged kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. The girl looks away, not quite blushing, keeping Jessica out of her eyesight.

Yeah, the feeling’s pretty mutual. Tiffany is exceptionally loveable, but she can be a bit…much. Jessica's waiting over a year to have her best friend back. The reminder she has to share is...reluctantly recieved. 

“Jess!” Tiffany squeals and since her girlfriend releases her as though prompted by the sound cue, she goes in for a hug. She stopss, interrupted by, “Cute sign.”

In what way? 

Tiffany points to the paper. There’s a heart in the corner, or what could vaguely be construed as a heart, just bled through ink meeting an accidental swipe of Jessica’s hand sending the pen across at one point. Tiffany’s girlfriend looks over too. Well, at least she follows wherever Tiffany leads. That could be good. Tiffany’s last flame was much to assertive, much like herself, and what started off as great synergy turning into too much of a good thing turned into a whole load of fighting.

The girlfriend looks away from the sign, something akin to embarrassment on her face. Gosh, it’s a sign for her sister. Who cares if there’s a little heart on it? What’s her problem? Jessica wouldn’t care. (Okay, she cares a little bit too. That’s too cheesy to be her style, but still. Ah, fine. The secondhand embarrassment is strong. It wasn’t even an intentional move.)

Tiffany’s girlfriend (gosh, did she ever get a name apart from Jung Something or Other?) holds onto her arm a little tighter. Jessica’s heard she could be intimidating, but this is a tad excessive, isn’t it? (And, true, she’s not exactly warm to the idea of Tiffany’s girlfriend for some reason, but does that mean she was really staring daggers at the girl? …Okay, so it might be a little bit her fault the girl is so awkward.) 

Jessica’s contemplative face must look very much the same as her resting face which is very much like an icy dip getting thrown off the Titanic, or so she’s heard. She flashes a smile, some attempt at a peace offering, to Tiffany’s girlfriend who she’s no doubt already made a terrible impression on.

The girl flinches. She pulls Tiffany closer and whispers something into her ear. Ugh. Excessive PDA to the max. Forget Tiffany being too much, they’re a match. She just needs to leave it alone and get over it. Why is she being so sensitive anyway? It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

Tiffany lets go of her girlfriend long enough to swing one arm around Jessica’s shoulder and manoeuvre the other one around her girlfriend’s. She declares, “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we, girls?” 

Jessica looks away, awkward. She kicks at invisible dust on the airport floor. “Well, we just need to wait for my sister now, and then we can go…”

“Jess,” Tiffany says. She smiles. “You found her already. Great.”

“Huh?”

The girl almost rolls her eyes, before unwinding Tiffany’s arm from her shoulder. She looks Jessica in the eye and says, “Long time no see, sis.”