Talk
Compromise“So,” Wendy says, clicking her ballpoint pen. “Joy’s moving to London, huh.”
Irene hums in response. Wendy writes, something about wars and a peace treaty, and Irene listens to the soothing sound of the pen on paper. Then Wendy clicks her pen again and puts it away.
“Can we talk after my exam ends?” Wendy asks.
“But we’re talking now.”
“No, not like that,” Wendy flips a page of her lecture pad, highlighted passages everywhere. “It’s, well, about us.”
Oh.
It isn’t that Irene has forgotten, but she kind of hopes they can just kiss and cuddle and hold hands but that’s naive and that’s not how relationships work, because she has seen movies and tv shows, and the scenes that aren’t shown, that’s the part missing in Wendy and Irene’s relationship, and no matter how much Irene makes up for it by kissing and cuddling and holding hands, it just isn’t enough.
“Okay.”
Wendy resumes writing, and this time, the sound doesn’t soothe Irene.
Irene is content with what they have, Wendy isn’t.
She needs a solution.
///
“What the hell?”
Irene doesn’t turn around. She keeps her eyes on her laptop, she needs to focus. “Welcome home.”
Joy’s footsteps become louder until they come to a stop. She must be standing behind Irene. “What are you doing?”
“I’m watching .”
“I can see that.” Joy sits beside her on the couch, “Why?”
“I thought it’d be good to learn,” Irene says. She stretches her arms and yawns. “They’ve been at it for 30 minutes and keep changing positions, aren’t they tired? And how do you bend like that, isn’t it uncomfortable?”
She has so many questions but most importantly, are they done yet? Is it supposed to be this long?
“You wouldn’t watch this unless something happened,” Joy says. “Tell me.”
Irene picks on a loose string on her shirt. She pulls on it until it’s the length of half her arm, then she examines it. “Wendy wants us to talk.”
“And?”
Irene bites off the string. “I thought it’d be good to learn.”
“By watching ?”
“Am I making you uncomfortable? Should I move to my room?”
“That’s not the problem,” Joy pushes back her hair, frowning at the video, but not at Irene. “Does it help?”
“Not really. I don’t understand, we’ve ordered pizza many times, but it never turned out like this.”
“ isn’t known to have the most realistic scenarios,” Joy says. “Is this muted?”
“I didn’t like the slurping and smacking sounds, and they swear a lot. Everything’s sticky and dirty, is this supposed to ?”
Joy opens , no words coming out, then finally says, “It depends.”
“Is something wrong with me?”
Joy’s answer is an immediate “no” and Irene finds it comforting. Irene sighs, letting her head flop onto Joy’s lap. Joy doesn’t protest so Irene stays unmoving. They sit in silence, Irene closing her eyes although she has no intention of sleeping. This whole thing is giving her a headache. Is this what everyone goes through or is she making too big of a fuss?
“Do you want to?”
Irene opens her eyes. Joy’s hand feels cool on her forehead and she likes it. “?”
“Yeah,” Joy says. “Do you want to?”
Does she? The people in the video looked like they enjoyed it but..
“I’m not thrilled about it,” Irene says. “Can I ask something?”
“Go ahead.”
“What does it feel like to be ?”
Joy’s face is unreadable. No frown, no grimace, no flinch. Nothing. “Why?”
“Because I need to know what it’s like,” Irene says. “I thought it’d be best to ask you directly, is that okay?”
Joy sighs. She does that a lot nowadays.
“It’s a constant buildup. At first you feel warm, then it starts to ache. It feels empty. You have this desire to be filled, each touch makes you hyper-sensitive.”
Irene shifts her head on Joy’s lap. Maybe it’s the lighting, maybe she’s imagining things, but Joy doesn’t look like her usual self and Irene doesn’t know how to describe it.
“It’s hard to concentrate,” Joy says.
“What do you mean?”
Joy rubs the front of her neck and clears . “You know when your heart is racing and you can feel your pulse? It’s like that but instead of your heart, you feel it down there. You want pressure and you want it now.”
“You mean being touched?”
“Anything.”
“Yourself or another person?”
Joy doesn’t answer immediately, and when she does answer, her voice wavers, “I’d prefer another person.”
“It’s not as good if you do it yourself?”
“It’s good but it’s better if you—“ Joy pauses, then she looks away and gestures to the laptop on the table. “I’m turning this off, it’s distracting.”
The video is on mute and Joy wasn’t even looking at it when they were talking, but Irene doesn’t say this. Maybe Joy isn’t feeling well.
“Okay. I don’t want to watch it anyway, it’s boring.” Irene sits up, “Thanks for explaining.”
Joy sighs, closing the laptop lid. “It’s amazing how you can talk about this so casually.”
“I don’t think is something to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed,” Joy says. “You shouldn’t be ashamed either.”
“I’m not.”
But Irene doesn’t sound very convincing, not to herself at least, so she says it again.
“I’m not.”
Still not good enough.
“I.. I’m..”
“Stand up.”
Irene is puzzled but she follows Joy’s order without asking why. Joy stands too.
“One more time,” Joy says. “Back straight, eyes on me, don’t stutter.”
Irene doesn’t see the point of this activity but she does trust Joy and that’s the only reason she needs. She takes a deep breath and counts 1, 2, 3. Back straight, eyes on Joy, don’t stutter.
“I’m not ashamed.”
Joy smiles. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Just because you’re in a relationship, doesn’t mean you have to force yourself to make the other person happy.”
///
Irene can’t explain why she isn’t fond of the idea of having . She’s bad at metaphors, but if she has to explain, it’d be this:
“It’s like eating your least favourite food. I can finish a tub of ice cream in 5 minutes but eating chicken? I can’t. I just can’t do it, not even if Wendy cooks it for me, and Wendy, she’s.. she’s an amazing cook — the best in the world. And I’m a stupid picky eater who can’t even stand smelling fried chicken.”
“I thought you lost your sense of smell.”
“For argument’s sake, Joy. And that was then, I can smell better now.”
“Can you smell my shampoo?”
Trick question. “Your shampoo is fragrance-free. Did you get a new perfume? I like it, it doesn’t give me a headache.”
Joy grins. “Thanks.”
Later in the afternoon, they go grocery shopping and stop by the meat section.
“What does vegetarian meat taste like?” Irene asks.
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
She puts a pack of vegetarian meat into their shopping cart. She’ll cook it some time next week, the expiry date is soon. “I’ll tell you when I find out.”
///
Watching , Irene decides, is not enough and she needs reading materials. Luckily, their bookstore allows their employees to borrow books. She makes a mental note to ask nicely from her supervisor.
“Can I borrow this, please?”
“Oh, that? Lemme have a look.” Suho picks up the book, gapes for a few seconds, then puts it back into Irene’s hand, face slightly red. “I never knew we had that in here.”
“There’s lots over there, do you want me to show you?”
“No, no,” Suho waves his hand and gestures towards a customer who just comes in. “That’s cool, good luck with your, um, research.”
“Thanks.”
When it’s lunch break, Irene goes to the doughnut shop across the street and reads, but she receives odd looks from strangers which means something’s wrong so she reads at home instead.
It turns out a isn’t her thing. She reads long descriptions of characters, as the novel puts it, ‘lost in the throes of passion,’ and Irene can summarize it to ‘they make out, do , and have .’ One thing in common is that all the characters enjoy very very much.
What’s so appealing about having someone inside you?
She can do it herself with her fingers, and it does feel a little good, but is it necessary to do it with another person?
Is it not enough doing it yourself?
This is all so confusing.
She reads until Joy comes home. Joy doesn’t say anything about her books on the table, and when Irene’s stomach grumbles, Joy offers to cook dinner.
“Did you know avocados are aphrodisiac?” Irene asks.
“I do now.”
“And salmon.”
“I see.”
“Celery too.”
“Irene,” Joy puts down the table knife. “Shut up and eat.”
“Okay.” Irene cuts the baked salmon into five pieces and takes a slice topped with celery and avocado. Delicious. “I’m going to miss your cooking.”
Joy doesn’t reply, and Irene takes that as a signal to continue although Joy told Irene to shut up and eat a minute ago.
“I know you’re busy with work, and it isn’t my business where you spend the night,” Irene says, cutting the salmon into smaller pieces. “Can you spend more time here? I’m lonely.”
“I haven’t left but you already miss me?”
“Because I know you’re leaving.”
After dinner, they watch a movie together, and Irene falls asleep next to Joy. The next morning, Irene wakes up on the couch with a blanket over her body although she doesn’t remember getting it. There’s a plate of poached eggs and toast on the table, and a note that says ‘let’s have lunch later at the new cafe down the block.’
It’s a quiet breakfast, but she’ll take what she can get. She finishes her food and gets ready for work, counting down the hours until her lunch break so she can see Joy again.
///
The next day, Irene eats 10 avocados — pure avocados and nothing else — for breakfast.
She throws up.
“I swear, you and Seulgi,” Joy says, rubbing Irene’s back and holding up her hair. “Don’t you dare do this again.”
“I promise I won’t.” She throws up a bit more.
Why can’t these things come to her naturally? If she can magically change herself before she and Wendy talk, that would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? Wendy will be happy. Irene will be happy. They’ll both be happy.
“Do you think I can change?”
Joy lets go of Irene’s hair, and when Irene turns around, Joy is frowning as if Irene has asked the most stupid question in the world.
“It’s a part of you.”
Irene leans against Joy. She must be disgusting, having just vomited, and now being this close to Joy, but Joy doesn’t push her away and to her surprise, Joy wraps her arms around Irene.
“A part of me,” Irene says. “You don’t think I’m weird?”
“How many times do I have to say this? There’s nothing wrong with you.” Joy pulls back, hands on Irene’s shoulders. “Do I have to say it everyday until you finally understand?”
That isn’t necessary, but Irene likes the idea, the fact that Joy cares about her enough to offer saying it everyday as a reminder.
///
Wendy and Joy aren’t the best of friends but they aren’t the worst. It’s hard to be on good terms with her girlfriend’s ex-girlfriend who’s smart, gorgeous, and has the whole package. There’s no way Wendy can compete, and thankfully, she doesn’t have to.
“What do you want?” Joy asks.
As blunt as ever. “Sit down, I’ll make you coffee.”
“Do you have orange juice?”
Orange juice? This coming from a coffee addict? Wendy grabs a glass from the cabinet. “Since when do you drink orange juice?”
“It’s evening, I don’t want to stay up late.”
“Why not drink water?”
“Because I want orange juice. Happy?”
Wendy snickers and sits across her. She hands over Joy’s drink. “Alright, Your Highness.”
Joy sips and places the glass onto the table with a soft clink. She unfastens her scarf but keeps it on.
“Talk.”
Wendy can never get used to Joy staring at her. Always direct, always forward, never hesitating.
“It’s about Irene.”
Joy makes a face, and takes another sip of her drink. “Of course it is.”
Wendy wouldn’t be surprised if Irene has been talking to Joy. She’s always been more open to Joy, 2 years of living together does that.
“Can’t catch a break?”
“You’re lucky I don’t charge you for my services.” Joy leans against the couch, arms and legs crossed. “Talk.”
Wendy’s starting to hate herself for asking Joy to come over and having this conversation, but she it up.
“When you were with her, was it like this too? I know you were only together for a week but you were living together so, maybe, at one point, you know, I mean, unless you didn’t.”
“You’re being too vague, speak clearly.”
“You know what I mean, not everyone can say it out loud like you and her.”
“Speak clearly.”
Wendy glares at her. “Fine. When you were with her, was she ever interested in sleeping together?”
Joy glares back. “We’ve been through this.”
“You left out the important part.”
It’s not like Wendy’s happy to have this conversation with Joy, damn it. She can pretty much guess Joy’s answer but she still needs to confirm.
“No.”
Yeah, she saw that coming.
“You don’t look surprised.”
It’s hard to be surprised when Wendy has experienced it herself. “She kept saying no, and the one time she initiated, I could see she was hesitating, you know? Like she was just doing it just because I wanted her to, not because she wanted to. I thought there was something wrong with me. Is it my body? The way I look? Am I that undesirable?”
Wendy has stood in front of the mirror many times questioning her self-worth. She isn’t a supermodel but come on.
Wendy’s, well, Wendy. Is that why?
Is she not good enough?
“Or is she just not interested?” Wendy asks.
To her surprise, Joy doesn’t look at her with disgust or pity. She looks, well, indifferent. Then again, it’s Joy, so maybe it isn’t that surprising after all.
“It isn’t my place to say what she wants or doesn’t want, ask her directly.”
“Was this why you broke up with her? When you said it didn’t work out?”
“I ended our relationship so we wouldn’t end up like this.” She reaches out and grabs her drink on the table. “End up like you.”
That sounds exactly what Joy would do, stop everything before it gets out of hand.
“Jerk.”
“Say what you want, I won’t apologize. We were incompatible, and that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s no in point in staying together if we both will be unhappy.”
It pisses Wendy off how logical Joy is. How she can say that so easily as if she’s talking about the weather. Wendy isn’t dumb, she knows there’s more, and if she has to play dirty to get Joy to talk, she’ll do it.
“Oh yeah? What about Seulgi?”
Joy frowns. “This has nothing to do with Seulgi.”
“Are you seeing her? You’re leaving in a month, and then what? Long distance for 3 years? You broke up with Irene when you were barely together, then you slept around, and now you’re suddenly in a committed relationship? You’re not as rational as you think.”
Joy clenches her fist and, for the first time, she doesn’t fight back. And yeah, Wendy feels a little proud for leaving Joy speechless because she has never won against Joy, but neither of them are in a position better than the other, and Wendy feels like an but she needs to get to the bottom of this.
“Did you sleep around because of Irene?”
Joy doesn’t reply.
“Because you were frustrated?”
Still doesn’t reply.
“Were you looking for a replacement? That’s why you slept around, and when you finally find someone who can keep up with you, you stick with Seul—“
Joy slams her glass onto the table. Orange juice spills and drips to the floor.
“Enough.”
Wendy flinches. She’s crossed the line.
“How I felt in the past doesn’t matter anymore. Right now, I love Seulgi and only Seulgi,” Joy says, eyes digging straight into Wendy. “And I won’t let anyone tell me otherwise.”
Joy sounds so confident, so sure of her feelings, so damn unshakable.
So unfair. “Why can’t I be like you?”
“Why would you want to be like me? I gave up when we barely started.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I don’t. I’ve told you, I love Seulgi,” Joy says. “Do you regret it?”
It takes Wendy a while but she does answer. “I don’t know how long I can keep this up. I know it’s selfish, but I wish she could see it from my point of view too.”
“If you’re too much of a coward, I can do it for you.”
Oddly enough, Wendy isn’t offended. “Are you doing it for me, or are you doing it for you?”
For the second time of the evening, Joy doesn’t fight back.
“Sounds like you need to talk with her too.” Wendy pats Joy’s back, and hopes her tone is light enough to lift up the mood, “Try not to be too harsh, you’re scary when you do that.”
Joy scoffs and ties her scarf. She gestures to the spilled orange juice. “Sorry for the mess.”
“No worries, I’ll clean it up. You surprised me back there, this Seulgi must be really important to you, huh?”
“She’s a handful.”
Wendy has a feeling Joy’s smile isn’t directed to her, but Joy looks happy, even just for a brief moment, so Wendy lets her be.
///
“Welcome home.”
Joy doesn’t reply, doesn’t look at Irene, doesn’t acknowledge her. But that’s okay, maybe Joy’s had a bad day. Everyone has that.
“I talked with Wendy.”
It’s strange for Joy to say this without Irene asking her first, and that’s how Irene knows something’s wrong. “About?”
Joy slumps onto the couch, one hand covering her face. “You.”
“Me?”
Joy keeps quiet, and Irene doesn’t press on. Irene chops the carrots and onions and scallion, keeps the flame on for no longer than necessary, cracks the egg against a glass bowl, and uses just the right amount of salt. She sets their dinner, spoons, and forks on the table
“You should talk with Wendy,” Joy says, picking up the spoon.
“We agreed to talk tomorrow.”
Joy looks down at her plate. She isn’t touching her food.
“She said she wants to talk about us,” Irene says. “I’ve been reading but I still don’t understand how Wendy feels.”
Joy scoops the omelette rice into , pauses, doesn’t chew, grabs a tissue paper, and spits out. She pushes her plate away.
That hurts.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Irene asks. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you did nothing wrong.”
But Joy puts down her fork and spoon, and her plate stays at the middle of the table.
“Then why are you not eating? Is the food bad?”
“No, the food is great.”
But Joy stands up and Irene winces at the sound of the chair screeching against the floor. Joy opens the fridge, pours a glass of orange juice, and drinks.
This makes her angry.
“Is something wrong?” Joy asks.
“Yes,” Irene stands up, ignoring the ugly sound made by her chair screeching against the floor. “You’re not eating.”
“Do I have to?”
Joy leans against the counter, pours another glass, and Irene wants to scream but she decides not to.
“You’re not eating the food I made,” Irene says.
“Does it matter?”
Irene slams her hands against the table. Her hands sting but she ignores that too. “Of course it matters, I cooked for you!”
“I don’t want to eat it.”
“I don’t understand. You say I did nothing wrong and the food is great, but you’re not eating. What’s the point of me cooking for you if you don’t eat it?”
She hates Joy’s blank expression, she can’t read Joy at all.
“How do you feel?” Joy asks.
Her head hurts, her heartbeat is too loud, she hates hates hates this. Irene must be raising her voice because is sore, “I’m sad and angry, I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
“You didn’t understand how Wendy felt. Do you understand now?”
“Stop it, you’re not making any sense, how is this related to—“
And then she remembers.
“Don’t you think it’s about time we do it?” Wendy asked.
“Do I have to?”
No.
No, no, no.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
She wasn’t, Wendy, she didn’t mean to..
“I thought you hated seeing me like this,” Wendy said.
“I don’t, you’re beautiful.”
“You say that but you never touch me like you want me. Even if I take this off, you wouldn’t do anything, would you?”
Oh God, what has she done?
Irene tears up. Is this how Wendy feels every time Irene turns her down? Unloved and unappreciated?
“It hurts,” Irene says. “I don’t like it.”
Really, Irene is such an idiot. She lost Joy and now she’ll lose Wendy too.
Ah.
Joy.
All this time.
“Did I make you feel like this too?”
Irene waits for Joy to answer but all she hears are Joy’s footsteps and they are becoming fainter and fainter until the door clicks.
“Wait, don’t leave, please, I’m so sorry, I’ll do anything, so please—“
“I didn’t want to force you.”
Irene struggles to speak but she has to say something, anything, to keep Joy from leaving. “You knew from the very beginning?”
“You weren’t subtle.” Joy smiles and it should make Irene feel okay but she isn’t okay at all, she feels like the worst person alive. “I was scared of getting hurt so I ended our relationship before it came to this. It wasn’t your fault, you were oblivious, and I gave up before we even got anywhere.”
“If I had done it,” Irene’s voice cracks, “would you have stayed?”
Joy smiles again, so gentle and so understanding like she always does. She opens the door — no, please don’t — her back facing Irene.
“It isn’t that simple.”
And with that, Joy leaves and Irene breaks down.
///
Irene doesn’t know for how long she cries. She just cries and cries until she can’t cry anymore. She doesn’t move, she stays at the same spot, waiting for Joy to come back. This isn’t the first time she waits for Joy, and she used to not mind because Joy always comes home, but this time, it feels like Joy is leaving for good.
She starts to cry again.
No good, she needs to stop crying, she doesn’t want Joy to come in and see her like this.
Joy will come back, right?
She wouldn’t leave just like this, right?
She doesn’t hate Irene, right?
Click.
The door opens and Irene scrambles to her feet, wiping her tears. Joy’s home. Thank goodness, Irene needs to apologize, it’s okay, they’ll be fine, as long as she has Joy, everything will be—
“What happened?”
But the person standing before her isn’t Joy, and Irene wishes she has a script she can read so she can fix everything, but life doesn’t come with a script, there’s no instruction manual, and whether she’s ready or not, it’s time for Wendy and Irene to talk.
Author’s note: It’s been a year, hi. ♡
I thought I’d abandoned this story, but apparently not. And we’ve finally reached the , but I can’t say the same for Wendy.
To Jia, I posted your work in the foreword. Thanks for the birthday gift!
To Chezca, thanks for being there. If I were you, I would have forgotten about this story. But you’re not me, so thank you.
Comments