FIVE

“Oh, there!” I said, tugging at Tiffany’s hand, gesturing excitedly to an ice cream parlor across the street, “We have to go there!”

Tiffany let out a hiccup-like laugh, a musical two-step progression that exuded joy. “We just ate, didn’t we?”

“I have a second stomach for ice cream,” I told her, dragging her over the crosswalk to the familiar location. Tiffany’s laughter was more continuous this time, like a light, energetic melody.

We were greeted with a refreshing blast of cool air as I swung the door open. “Which one do you want?” I inquired, scanning the giant menu plastered on top of the register.

“I don’t know, I’m still pretty full,” Tiffany replied.

I scoffed. “You barely ate anything for breakfast, what do you mean you’re full? Look at how skinny you are,” I said, glancing over at her to verify.

“Did you just check me out?”

I pretended not to hear that, but felt embarrassment creeping up my body nonetheless. “They have strawberry flavored ice cream,” I noted after a ten second silence, turning to the shameless woman. That captured her attention; I undeniably saw her eyes light up in interest before turning her head away a brief second later.

“No thank you, I’m full,” she repeated, her voice revealing her inner turmoil a bit more this time.

I shrugged, stepping into line. “Well, that’s too bad. I feel like eating strawberry ice cream right now. Maybe some mango too,” I pondered innocently, continuing to eye the menu while sneaking peeks at Tiffany.

She stood in line next to me, following me along like an obedient puppy. My lips curled into a triumphant smile; with how unpredictable Tiffany sometimes was, it felt nice to finally be in control for once.

The line wasn’t long, but I couldn’t help noticing how silent Tiffany was being. Whenever I snuck looks at her, a look of longing was always present on her face; if we ever made eye contact, she would quickly wipe the look off and give me a smile. Was she on a diet or something? Why would someone so skinny be on a diet?

“Fany, you aren’t on a diet, are you?” I asked as the person in front of us ordered.

“Hm?” she replied, caught off guard by the sudden question, “Well, I’m not really trying to lose weight, but I am trying to prevent myself from gaining weight.”

My eyebrows furrowed at that response. “What? Why? Look at how skinny you are,” I repeated, grabbing her frail arm, “You definitely need to gain some weight.”

Tiffany look perplexed, as if those words were preposterous to her. That notion seemed ridiculous to me; has no one really ever told her this? Has she ever been to the doctor before? “You know what, even if you are full, I’m going to force feed you. You know, it’s healthy to have some fat,” I told her, turning around just as the customer in front of me stepped away.

“I—…”

“Could I have one scoop of mango ice cream and one scoop of strawberry in a bowl please?” I requested. After putting a few sprinkles on top, I paid and grabbed two spoons, bringing Tiffany along with the bowl to a table.

“Taeyeon, I love you.”

Before I had the chance to act or even process her words, Tiffany embraced me tightly. Bewildered, I was rendered speechless as Tiffany stood there for a few moments, me in her arms. I could feel my thoughts flying through my head, not sticking long enough to form coherent ideas. It was overwhelming; her words, her hug, her facial expression right before hugging me—it all left me a little dazed.

It was only after Tiffany released me did I remember that Tiffany was foreign, and that those words meant a little less when spoken from people of the same sex as opposed to people of opposite sexes. Then, I wondered why I even took it that way.

“Why? I mean, what do you mean?” I said as Tiffany took her spot. Stupid Taeyeon. Why ask such an awkward question? For someone who was supposedly as smart as myself, I certainly didn’t feel it sometimes.

She shook her head, smiling warmly at me: it was the type of smile that had the power over people’s emotions themselves, one so warm that it probably was a sufficient heat source on a winter day. “Nothing, it’s just that it’s nice to hear that,” she said. That made me question her a bit; although I’m sure it was nice to hear something like that, it wouldn’t dictate that kind of reaction, would it? Did Tiffany have weight problems before? How is that even possible?

I purged the thought from my head. Here I was, overthinking things again. Maybe Tiffany was just an emotional person, in which case my over-analysis would be absolutely ridiculous.

“So you said you would force feed me, right?” Tiffany said, looking at me expectantly.

I eyed her carefully. “Well, I probably won’t need to, seeing how hungry you looked in line,” I claimed.

She pouted, pushing a spoon into my hand. “Whyy? Feed mee,” she whined, placing her arms on the table and leaning forward.

“Yah, you’re not a kid,” I said, shoving the spoon in her mouth, “Feed yourself.”

She sat back in her chair, frowning. “Says the woman who got super excited for ice cream.”

“Wha—? I mean, who doesn’t love ice cream?” I retorted.

“I mean, you got super excited, like a child on Christmas morning,” she told me.

“I’m not a kid!”

Tiffany smiled. “You could’ve fooled me; you know, when I first saw you, I half wondered if you were allowed to be there,” she claimed, taking a scoop out of the strawberry side of the bowl. I huffed indignantly, taking a scoop out of the ice cream myself. “There’s nothing wrong with that, you know,” she consoled me, smiling while twirling the spoon between her fingers, “It’s really cute.”

“Sure, whatever,” I said dismissively, digging into the ice cream. However, as I continued eating it, my anger slowly dissipated.

“That’s no fair, why do you seem to love ice cream more than me?” Tiffany whined, taking another scoop of the strawberry ice cream regardless.

“Well of course I love it more than you; I’ve known ice cream all my life, but I’ve only known you for three days,” I said after swallowing.

“Your whole life, huh,” Tiffany replied.

I pressed my spoon against my mouth, gathering my thoughts. “My parents, especially my dad, loved ice cream and basically always had some in the freezer, even in the winter. And as a child—well, everyone loved sweets as a child, right? So did I, and I would eat it a lot with him. I guess his love for it rubbed off on me,” I told her.

“How often to you eat ice cream?” Tiffany inquired.

I thought about it before shrugging. “I mean, not too often; twice per week, probably, sometimes more,” I replied.

Tiffany burst into tinkling laughter. “You consider that ‘not too often’? I wish I could eat that much and stay as thin as you; I’ll probably have to spend an hour on the treadmill after this,” she complained.

“Well, what about you? Why do you love pink so much?” I countered, flustered.

Tiffany answered right away, as if it was a practiced speech, “Because I’m the youngest daughter, the pink stuff usually went to me: the clothes, the bedsheets and blankets, the umbrellas, basically anything you could think of that were distributed between two girls and a boy. So, I just grew up like that and it became a comfortable color to me. You know how some people feel comforted looking at the sea or by listening to music? For me, it’s sort of the same thing but with pink: whenever it was hard, pink always calmed me down.”

I marveled at her backstory; it was shallow of me, but what I’ve concluded about Tiffany’s past from her personality didn’t hint at hardships or turmoil at all. The bubbly front she always wore made me forget that she was living alone in America for some reason, and at such a young age too. Tiffany mentioning these topics made me realize that she was human too, which then lead me to wonder what I had thought of her prior to this realization.

“I’m not mean like you though. I’d have to say I love you as much as pink,” she informed me, taking another scoop of the strawberry ice cream.

“What, so I’m the bad guy now? I wouldn’t blame you if you said you loved pink more,” I said matter-of-factly.

“I would be lying then.”

Our eyes met for a brief second; she was smiling, but I could tell from her expression that she was teasing me. “Well you’ve loved pink for a lot of your life too, right? How can you love me as much if we just met a few days ago?”

Tiffany answered without so much as a hesitation, “Well, it’s not my fault. You’re just so lovable,” she said, pushing a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth. Unable to reply, both because of the ice cream and because of the idea of what she just said, I just stared at her. She was unflinching in her gaze; she smiled at me sincerely, whole-heartedly, without even a hint of deceit in her eyes.

I diverted my gaze, my embarrassment building up. How could Tiffany say that with such an earnest expression?