EIGHTEEN

One of the things I disliked the most about sitting at the bar was the lack of a backrest. I already had enough trouble with slouching my back as it was, considering how much I spent in my room at my desk, but now that there was absolutely nothing to support my back, I could feel it every time I started slouching. Sometimes, it would take me half an hour to realize that I was slouching.

I submitted this complaint to Tiffany, to which she responded by saying that she would forward the complaint to her manager.

“Taeyeon, what’s your ideal type?”

Tiffany’s elbow was planted on the smooth black-marble counter, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes directed straight at me. Coming to this bar as often as I have accustomed me to Tiffany’s sudden disruption of my thoughts, appearing in front of me. However, after the revelation I had the other day, I suddenly found that remaining calm was becoming increasingly hard. I started to notice little things, like how her eyes were curved upwards slightly, how her fingers wrapped around her chin and rested on her cheeks, the way her plump lips tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Was I being creepy?

“Hm? Is it me?” she replied, standing up straight and pointing at herself, exaggerated shocked expression adorning her face.

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” I warned her, smiling nonetheless. “My ideal type? Why?”

She shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

I tapped my fingers against the bar counter meticulously, hoping to stall long enough for the next customer to call for Tiffany. “What are you going to do with that information? Are you trying to set me up?”

“You’re stalling,” Tiffany accused, crossing her arms, “You’re stalling for the next customer to call for me so that you won’t have to answer that question.”

I sighed. This was something else I had gotten used to: Tiffany’s ability to read my mind. “Fine,” I conceded, “My ideal type?” I pondered a bit before continuing, “Since I’m normally the quiet type, I would like someone who’s outgoing and adventurous, but also someone I can talk to easily. Also, I like people who are determined and hard-working, but most importantly, that person has to love me and cherish me a lot because—” because God knows I can’t do that for myself.

“Because why?”

I hesitated. What was I supposed to say now? I racked my brain for any excuse, any filler, and eventually came up with, “Because that’s what’s the most important in a relationship, right?” I finished, immediately providing a hastily crafted justification with, “Wow, that’s so cheesy, I can’t believe I said that.”

Tiffany smiled mysteriously, placing her elbow back on the counter and leaning forward. “Your description matches me really well, doesn’t it?”

My heart constricted; my eyes went wide in panic as I ran over what had just come out of my mouth. Did I really end up describing her? It certainly could be seen that way I guess—why did I say that? Oh god, would Tiffany think I was weird?

“I—I don’t—I wasn’t really—I mean, you could say that about a lot of people, probably,” I stammered, my brain running at a million miles an hour through a foggy haze, “Not that I think a lot of people love me, I guess, but I mean, well, I don’t think that—”

I was interrupted as another customer called for Tiffany. “I was just pointing something out, no need to get flustered over it,” Tiffany, who was smiling and watching me make a complete idiot out of myself, noted cheekily.

I wanted to punch myself. I really, sincerely, genuinely wanted to just beat myself up.

That feeling has noticeably increased ever since I’ve met Tiffany. Then again, I’ve never met someone who was so willing to talk to me before. Statistically speaking, the more someone like me spent talking, the more times I would mess up like and end up feeling like this, so I guess it made sense. Still, why did I have to embarrass myself so much in front of her?

I stared into my drink. Tiffany’s words had merit, though; all she did was point something out. I was the one who jumped to conclusions and assumed she was accusing me of describing her, specifically, as my ideal type. Why would I do that? Usually, I’m extremely careful about jumping to conclusions; doing that in the courses I was taking almost always hurt more than it helped, not to mention that I learned about jumping to conclusions the hard way in my younger, more naïve years.

I lifted my head and watched Tiffany in her sleek work uniform, gracefully presenting the customer his drink and conversing with him. All other thoughts tuned out as I just watched her. Her uniform really did fit Tiffany well—perfectly, even. Despite the bar’s ambient background music, Tiffany’s voice shone bright and loud, cheerful in its demeanor as always. Staring at her was like standing in front of a blazing fireplace on a cold snowy day: I was filled with the warm feeling of comfort. Before long, I found a smile unknowingly forming on my face; it was only after Tiffany turned around that I realized what I was doing and wiped the smile off my face, bringing my cup to my face, hoping Tiffany didn’t notice. My heart racing a mile a minute, I nervously sat there, slowly drinking my cold, fizzy drink.

As I peered over the edge of my cup, I breathed a sigh of relief seeing Tiffany washing the cocktail mixer at the sink. What was I doing? It wasn’t even that I was staring at her absent-mindedly while thinking about something, it was that I was actively looking at her.

I frowned to myself, pulling out my phone to check the time.

“Taeyeon, actually, have you seen last night’s episode of ‘Love or Death’?”

My eyes lit up. “Yeah! I did!”

I put down the cup, sitting up straight. I took a brief second to wince, once again just realizing that I was slouching. “What did you think of it?”

I was a sucker for dark dramas, and the drama/zombie apocalypse ‘Love or Death’ was one of them. Jessica and my high school friend always questioned my tastes, so I guess it was unusual, but there was just something satisfying about watching characters struggle against such hopeless situations that appealed to me.

“Oh, I didn’t know you watched it! I really loved it; I had a feeling that their situation was too quiet and that something would happen, but of course it had to be the father—was he ever given a name? Anyway, I feel like he’s way too selfish, so on one hand, I’m glad that he had to face the consequences for his selfishness, but on the other hand, their safe spot is gone. Honestly though, I don’t feel like his intentions were bad—he’s just really strong in his beliefs and I hope he can be redeemed later on. But also, I think—”

I suddenly cut myself off, my cheeks suddenly started to burn.

Tiffany was situated in front of me, giving me that warm motherly smile that she had whenever I was rambling like I was at the moment.

“Um, sorry,” I said quietly, taking another sip of my drink.

“No, its ok! It’s really cute, seeing you that excited!” Tiffany laughed.

It didn’t feel cute. It felt embarrassing—really embarrassing. That was the second time in how many minutes?

“I liked it too. You know, I don’t really like those kinds of scary dramas because they always make me squeamish, but when I started watching it, I couldn’t stop watching because it was so interesting. The last few episodes weren’t so bad, but now I feel like it will get scary again.”

“Yeah—wait,” I replied, “I don’t think…” I trailed off, digging through my memory reserves, “Have I ever told you about that show? I don’t think I ever said its name directly.”

“Hm? Oh, you mentioned a TV show like that in a text once, so I looked it up and binge watched everything up until the latest episode,” she explained casually.

Did she start watching it just for me?

Don’t be stupid, Taeyeon. Of course a friend would want to watch a TV show another friend is watching if she thinks it’s good. That’s called ‘word of mouth’.

We proceeded to talk about the show for the next few minutes, and it was in these next few minutes that I came to understand why I felt the way I did with Tiffany.

With most strangers, I felt an unnerving kind of discomfort; I think most people claim this to some degree, but for me, it was almost like a fear. Fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of reading something incorrectly, fear of seeming rude … the list went on.

However, none of this existed with Tiffany. With Tiffany, I felt like I could speak freely; our conversations always put me at ease, and I never had to use the brain power I did for team projects in high school and college. Despite only knowing Tiffany for a month, I felt like I’ve known her ever since elementary school.

It was only after Tiffany got called by another customer that I realized the amount of time that passed. I found myself watching her again, soon realizing that Tiffany was returning to the same man. This time though, the way Tiffany’s conversation panned out concerned me. In front of the man were probably around two dozen shot glasses, Tiffany pouring alcohol into each glass carefully. I could tell that she was reluctant by that if-you-say-so smile she told me she had to use sometimes while working here, but that wasn’t even the most worrying thing.

To me, at least, the most worrying thing was the man’s already semi-drunk demeanor. He was being boisterous and cheerful, which generally wasn’t unexpected; however, given that it was a Sunday night, and the man looked very much like a normal, standard employee who worked Monday-Friday, his behavior was highly unusual.

A balloon of anxiety built up inside my chest; my fingers uncontrollably tapped against the table, my legs yearning, aching, needing to just stand up, walk over there, and tell that man to leave Tiffany alone. I held myself back because Tiffany had informed me of past encounters of rowdy customers and I elected to trust her. Still, it was immensely unsettling to just sit there and watch the two interact like that, especially after the man started taking shots.

“Tiffany, don’t push yourself,” I muttered to myself, nervously eyeing her as she filled the last few shots in. Truthfully, my worried was only compounded by the fact of Tiffany’s attractiveness. Whatever my feelings for her were, anyone could see that becoming an issue in such a situation.

“Hey, stay here! Watch this, I’ll finish the rest in the next two minutes!”

The man’s boisterous voice overpowered the bar’s stereo system. In a gleeful stupor, he reached for the rows of shot cups only to be stopped by Tiffany, who gingerly placed a hand over the outreached hand. My hand subconsciously balled into fists; I felt my eyebrows drawn together as I continued monitoring them.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said politely, “Do you have work tomorrow?”

He waved it off. “I can take the day off,” he bragged, “I’m a manager, you know. I’m probably one of the richest people in this bar right now, maybe even more so than the building’s owner.”

Why would he talk about his wealth? What relevance did it have with anything? Was he just gloating about the amount of freedom he had? Did he want to impress Tiffany?