SEVENTEEN

There were a lot of times I felt bad for Tiffany.

She gave me so much: excitement in my otherwise monotonous—fun, but monotonous—life of watching dramas and TV shows, drawing, and playing games all day; barrages of compliments to satisfy my non-existent self-confidence; and above all, comfort despite the situation in which talking to my best friend felt dangerous. In return, what did I give her?

Obviously, I never voiced that concern. Tiffany had enough on her plate with what was happening with Jessica; however, even if she was perturbed by the fact, she never showed it. Was she hiding her problems, as I was mine? It was presumptuous to assume that Tiffany was always open about herself because of how she acted, but it just really felt that way.

No matter how I thought about it though, I could never completely dismiss the possibility that Tiffany was putting up a front for me. Why she would want to do that, I didn’t know. Maybe because she thought it strange to talk to me about my best friend spying on her (or, theoretically, me)?

I would be lying if I said the thought that Jessica was sent to Korea as a spy didn’t perturb me at all; why would Jessica take such a job? Was she given some benefit she couldn’t turn down, or maybe she was blackmailed? The Jessica I knew would never partake in shady business … but when I thought about it, the only shady part was the spying itself.

That seemed to contradict itself, I know, but it wasn’t like she was doing anything illegal or anything: she was just observing one (or both) of us and presumably sending reports back to Tiffany’s father. Its sort of like stalking, but not necessarily for a malicious reason… I really wasn’t making this sound any better, was I?

My point was that I couldn’t understand why Tiffany was so insistent on her anger towards Jessica, especially if they were, in their ‘previous lives’, or back in America, lovers—a couple. It couldn’t be that I was biased from being Jessica’s friend since Tiffany and Jessica were once … well, they dated before. Tiffany even seemed really eager to accept Jessica back into her life, and Jessica the same—but that changed because I had to open my stupid mouth, wasn’t it? Before, people (Jessica and Tiffany) would always tell me how it was endearing, but now that it’s caused problems, if I never fixed this about myself, then who knew what other trouble it could cause?

I sat down with my lunch in front of the TV, preparing to watch a movie that was recommended by others on the internet, when my doorbell rang. “Fany, I’m eating right now,” I replied, not even bothering confirming whether or not my guest was whom I expected.

“You’re not sitting on the couch, watching movies by yourself again, are you?”

I immediately reached for the remote and turned off the TV. “Noo…” I replied, moving to the kitchen area for good measure, placing my plate down before opening the door.

“You totally were about to watch a movie, weren’t you?” Tiffany said happily, letting herself in and taking off her shoes.

“No,” I repeated innocently, closing the door behind her, walking back into the kitchen, “I was just about to eat.”

Tiffany, donning the pink slippers she always did when coming over, walked into the residence, looking around. “Are you sure? You know that I don’t like liars, right?”

Whereas 99% of me knew that Tiffany was being playful, that lingering 1% feared for our friendship. Just as I resolved to admit the truth, Tiffany cut me off, claiming, “That remote isn’t where it usually is. You were about to watch a movie!”

She definitely sounded playful … but was she seriously not going to get mad at me?

“You liar, I ought to punish you for doing that,” Tiffany said, wrapping me into an embrace from behind.

I jumped inside my skin as she back-hugged me. Her hands ended up wrapping themselves a little closer to my breasts than I was comfortable with, but I didn’t have the courage to tell her that.

“I—I … sorry,” I replied, trying to break out of her embrace, “But let me finish my lunch first~” I whined, attempting to lace my voice with a little aegyo.

“Oh? What did you make?”

Evidently, it worked as Tiffany let it go just like that. I took conscious effort to make sure my mouth remained closed as I thought, why couldn’t Tiffany just forgive Jessica like that?

“Kimbap,” I responded.

“Oh, can I have some?” she said, following me.

“Did you not eat yet?”

“Yeah,” she replied casually. Her response hung in the room for a brief moment, after which she retorted. “What, are you judging me? Are you calling me fat?”

“If I did, I would be wrong,” I giggled, sitting down and sliding the plate to the side for her.

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” she said, taking the seat next to me, “What were you about to watch?”

“I don’t know, it was a recommendation I saw on the internet,” I replied, beginning my meal.

Tiffany laughed, saying, “How could you not know?”

“What?” I replied, slightly flustered, “I don’t know half of the titles of movies I watch.”

“You’re strange,” she said casually, reaching for a piece. “Did you make this yourself?” I nodded, to which Tiffany promptly put a piece into her mouth. “Wow, it’s really good.”

“Yah, finish chewing before you speak,” I scolded her, chuckling regardless.

“Yes, mother,” she said after a few seconds, “By the way, did you learn to cook so well from your mom?”

“Sort of,” I told her, “My parents were always really busy people, so my mom didn’t really have much time to cook. She only knew how to cook a few things, and kimbap was one of those things. She taught me the basics, so I did some research and experimented a few times before I got it like this.”

“Wow, I bet you would make a really good wife,” she casually commented.

I scoffed at that. I would make a good wife? Me? What about me would make me a good wife? My social awkwardness? The debt I accrued from four years of college? I couldn’t even serve as a trophy wife or a house wife since I didn’t want to just push all my debt onto someone else, not to mention that I didn’t fit those roles in more ways than one.

“I don’t know,” I responded, removing thoughts of post-college from my head. These worrying topics always sprouted seeds of doubt and anxiety in me, and the solution I had adapted was to just avoid it; wipe my mind of the topic and think about something else.

“What are you thinking about?” Tiffany inquired, reaching over the table and grabbing the hand that was holding my chopsticks, “Keeping negative thoughts bottled up inside you is self-destructive and only leads to bad things, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

“Hm?” I said, refocusing onto Tiffany, “Oh, I have been told that sometimes, my resting face looks like that, but don’t worry about me.”

Tiffany eyed me, to which I simply smiled innocently and reached for a kimbap myself. “Are you going to eat any more?”

She shook her head. “I want to know what’s going on inside that cute little head of yours sometimes,” she said, setting her chopsticks down onto the plate.

“I wish I knew myself,” I said, chuckling to myself as I met her gaze.

I wasn’t one for eye contact. I hardly talked to people in general, so the most eye contact I would make would be with a server or the employee working the cash register. I had extended conversations with very few people, but of the ones I did, I’ve never really been impacted by a gaze such as Tiffany’s.

It was a soft gaze, like a mother to her newborn; her eyes were curved ever so slightly, a gentle smile teasing the corners of her lips. Just looking at her made me feel warm and safe, as if I was standing next to a fireplace indoors on a rainy day. I found myself opening my mouth, not knowing that I was about to revealing my thoughts until I caught myself in the action.

I quickly closed my mouth, quickly diverting my gaze. Even as I retrained my eyes onto the kimbap, her warm gaze and soft smile lingered in my mind; I have always had trouble reading people, but even I could see the worry and caring written on her face. My heart was pounding inside my chest for some reason, like I just finished walking up three flights of stairs. Why? What’s happening?

Shit, what was wrong with me? Was I blushing?

I sighed and continued eating. How could a simple smile and a brief locking of the eyes cause this? This wasn’t my normal heart rate, was it? Maybe it was and I just never paid attention to it … no, there was no way my heart normally beat this quickly. What was wrong with me?

“Why are you eating so fast? Are you in a hurry or something?”

Tiffany’s laughing voice caught me off guard; while I was conscious of the fact that I was eating, I only realized what Tiffany was saying after seeing that there were only two pieces left on the plate.

“Oh,” I said in response, unwilling to meet her gaze in case the same thing happened again.

Now that I thought about it, there was one time I felt something similar, but that memory was a part of an experience I resolved to forgetting.