“I guess it’s probably time I introduce you to my best man,” he said easily, as he took another one of the boxes from the hallway and moved it into the bedroom that we were meant to share.

            I sniffed. “I always thought I’d be the best man at your wedding, and not your wife.”

            “You’re a girl.”

            “So? This is the twenty-first century. Girls can be groomsmen if they want.”

            Jong seemed to be thinking over this little detail more than normal. I took the moment of his contemplation to my advantage, and began to scan the box-cluttered room for some means of organization direction.

            The room that we were to share… it still seemed weird, no matter how many times I thought it over. We’d been engaged for four months, no one in this world happier than our parents, and he’d even got to the effort of getting me a ring on his non-existent salary (we had yet to get "real" jobs), which I appreciated tremendously—even if my inner-female need for remarkable jewelry was left somewhat disappointed by the small stone and simple band. It was just sweet of him to offer me anything, really; for such an impromptu and “non-fantasy” engagement, I really hadn’t expected it.

            We’d graduated three weeks prior to our move-in date, our leasing contract with the university dorms giving us the remainder of the month to move out; it was the first time we’d be living together. First and last time, being that we were going to be Mr. and Mrs. Kim—at least, eventually. We hadn’t settled on an actual date; there wasn’t a specific day in the year that carried any importance. One day seemed as good as the rest, and though we opted to simply get married at the civil office, our parents were set on a lavish wedding—one traditional ceremony, and another more westernized one. So, being that they were footing the bill, we agreed. Now, all that remained was to announce an ineffectual date: the last thing standing between our official status of affianced. And though neither of us said it, we rather liked the barrier between the “official” and the “unofficial,” the “now” and the “forever.”

            Jong let out a delayed laugh. “Now that you say it, it does seem kinda fitting.”

            “Eh?” I replied, totally clueless. “What are you talking about, Rex?”

            He shifted his eyebrows and threw me an innocent scowl. He never cared for my nickname so much—but he really did have a dinosaurlike expression at times, and before long, that childhood comparison of a Tyrannosaurus just stuck.

            “You’re gonna have to start calling me something a little more… coupley when we get married.”

            “Like what? Mr. Rex?”

            “Pfft. Whatever, Squishy.”

            “You mean Mrs. Squishy.”

            “Or, Mrs. Rex.”

            I smiled, even though I really didn’t like the tone of either. “Whatever. What were you gonna say, anyhow?”

            “Oh, yeah,” Jong replied, only just then remembering. “Well, just that bit about the twentieth century and gender-role switching, and such.”

            “Twenty-first century, babe. Twenty-first.”

            I took one of the boxes he’d moved into the center of the room marked “Raina/bath” and hesitated to open it. I knew what was in there: the birth control pills I hadn’t yet started taking, the pair of “special” underwear that my mom couldn’t resist buying for me the very day we announced our engagement—tags still securely affixed.

            He shrugged, totally oblivious. “Same difference.”

            “What about it?”

            “Well, my best man—I mean, he’s gay and all, so it’s kinda like having a girl as a best man.” This clearly seemed to amuse him.

             “Oh, that ‘Key’ guy you met in high school? Why haven’t I ever met him, anyway?” I asked, throwing him a playful scowl before cutting a seam in the tape with a box-cutter. I’d heard of him briefly here and there, but knew nothing at all about him. “Are you embarrassed to have a gay friend?”

            “What, embarrassed? Me? No, why would I be?”

            “Okay, so why haven’t you introduced us? The first time I’m going to meet your best friend—that isn’t me—and it’s going to be at our wedding? He can’t be that good of a friend…”

            The topic seemed to derail his efforts. He sat on the ground and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, even though we’d only started the day and even though it was hardly hot inside our vacant apartment. “Um… I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t think you guys would hit it off, exactly.”

            “Oh, this sounds like a bad sitcom in the making,” I mused. “Wife and best friend always at odds; husband always caught in the middle.”

            “Key is just… Key is Key. That’s the best way to describe him.” Jong looked away as he said this, as if uncomfortable.

            “That’s hardly a proper description of a person you love and respect.”

            “Who said I love and respect him?”

            “Pfft. Whatever, you nerd.” I stuck my tongue out at him, a gesture he soon returned. “At any rate, I still want to meet him.”

            “Well, you’re in luck.”

            “Wae?”

            “Because I invited him over to meet you on Friday.”

            “This Friday?”

            “Yes, it’s okay, right?”

            “This Friday—as in tomorrow Friday?”

            “What’s wrong with that?”

            I slouched over the still unopened box. It was only one of many to get through. “Have you seen this place, Jong? How the hell are we going to have company over now?”

            “Oh, don’t worry about that. That’s a bonus to having a gay guy over, right? He’ll help us organize.”

            “So offensive, I swear…” was my wilting reply, and as I shook my head, quickly followed with, “Kim Jonghyun, you can be a real bastard.”

            Jong shrugged his shoulders and threw a self-assured smirk that made my stronger resolve turn into putty, even after all these years. “Well," he said, smile unyielding, "it’s a good thing you love me then.”