Face Time (10 page)

I pull my sunglasses out of my purse, stash away the iPad, and get a cab for us to my aunt’s house. Aunt Sally doesn’t need this four bedroom colonial anymore, and I’ve been persuading her to sell it for a year now. She’s divorced and single like my mom, also dating and going through her own midlife crisis. Aunt Sally’s crisis is more granola-infused than my mother’s. She’s dating broke artists (broken artists), and it’s possible she’s checking out lesbianism as well. I kind of want to strangle them both.

My mother unlocks the dark green front door and calls out, “We’re here!”

The place is disheveled as usual. Towers of mail teeter to the brink of falling off the table in the front hall, shoes are strewn over the front entryway, and Aunt Sally’s cat, Perot, a huge white fluff ball with four legs, scampers away into the bathroom.

“In the kitchen!”

The kitchen is in the back of the house, so it gives me a chance to do a survey. I completely bypass the stairs to the second floor because I know up there are two rooms filled with junk. Instead, I walk past each room on the ground floor and assess its state. The formal sitting room is fine, but, next to it, the dining room table is piled with neat stacks of papers and on top of the pile are tax documents. Right, Tax Day is just around the corner. Aunt Sally has been arranging all the documents she will need for her accountant.

At least the house smells normal. This is what comes of inattentive old ladies on their own. If my mom hadn’t moved in with me, she would be a hoarder too. This sort of thing is in someone’s genes.

My mom is at the sink washing her hands and humming happily when I enter the kitchen. Her blond hair is almost all gray now, pulled back in a ponytail that grazes the top of her pink button-down shirt. She’s wearing tailored jeans and flats, and although I’m sure she thinks this is dressed-down, she’s still extremely put together. I’m the most liberal person in my family, willing to do just about anything, go anywhere, and wear whatever I want. My mom is the exact opposite. She sticks to her Tiffany’s jewelry, eats only the best food money can buy, and would never dream of wearing a piece of clothing that had a loose thread or stain on it.

“There’s my Laura,” Aunt Sally says, dropping her dish towel and coming straight to me. My mom and her sister are extremely close. They shop together, eat together, and go to church together on Sundays when Aunt Sally can come to the city. I have no idea how I turned out so different from everyone in my family. But David and I were similar growing up. We’d probably both be rebellious if he were still alive.

She grabs my face between her two bony hands, bangle bracelets clanging together on her wrists.

“Laura, you’re looking thin.”

“Stop.” I frown and pull away from her. “You know I hate that, and you just saw me last week.”

“Okay, you’re looking fit.” Her curly brown and gray hair sways side-to-side right in time with her floor-length red and black printed skirt.

“Fine.” I sigh and put my smile back on. I wish people would stop commenting on how I look.

“And…” She pulls back from me, her hand on her chin. “Have you met someone? There’s something different about you.”

“Jesus, Aunt Sally. How do you do that? Your intuition is sick.”

“It’s a gift,” she says, shrugging and taking my bag to place it on the table.
 

The kitchen is warm with the smell of baked onions. I peek in the oven and a quiche is almost ready, the crust golden brown and top piping with steam.
 

“Did you tell her, Mom?” I turn to her but she stares at me blankly, her lips pressed into a solid line.

“Tell her what, dear? That you met some Asian man who lives across the globe? I wouldn’t dare tell anyone. It’s embarrassing.”

My blood pressure immediately skyrockets, and my neck begins to sweat. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for her.

“Mom…” I start, through clenched teeth, but Aunt Sally immediately intervenes.

“Let’s eat.” She places a large bowl of mixed greens salad on the table. “And you’ll tell us all about him.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” I cross my arms over my chest and plant my feet.

“Why not?” Aunt Sally asks, pulling plates out of the cabinet and setting them on the table. My mother stands off to the side with her arms crossed as well, so I ignore her.

“Because I just met him, so I don’t have a lot to say yet.” I nod my head at them both, the busybodies.

Aunt Sally sighs and puts her hands on her hips. “It’s been over two years since you and Rene broke up. I don’t care if this guy has three eyes and one leg, you’ll spill it, and give us all the details, or I swear I’m going to set you up with a nasty boy from the parish.”

Shit. Anything but that.

(>’o’)> ♥ <(‘o’<)

The sun is setting on my neighborhood, a warm breeze pushing past me and curling the hair around my shoulders as I walk from the subway to my apartment. Spring has definitely come to Manhattan. The couple walking in front of me are wearing short-sleeves, his arm curved low around her waist. They’re such hipsters with their ironically vintage hats, tattoos, and sense of entitlement. Everything about them screams, “I own this sidewalk.” They’re not the only ones out like this. I pass two other identical couples before turning onto my block.

I both cringe and smile. I used to love this city. I would come here when I was in high school to go to clubs or parties, and I
had to
go to NYU. I had to be in the city. This was where I belonged. But now? I don’t know. Manhattan still has charm, but the glamor has dulled, especially without David. We used to explore the city together and almost every place we loved is gone now, including him. Every time a deli on the corner gets wiped out for a chain restaurant, I want to weep. The hidden gems are all out in the open thanks to the internet, and anything that was once a well-kept secret is now a whore for attention.

I left my mom in Connecticut for the night. She and Aunt Sally are going to some party at an art gallery where they can continue their midlife crisis in the open in front of all of their friends. When did my mom become more fashionable than me? I’m pathetic if I’m using my own mother as a benchmark for popularity. Whatever. It’ll be nice to have the place to myself for the evening.
 

I’m due to call Lee in thirty minutes, so I plop myself on the steps outside of my building, bring my legs up, and fold my arms over the tops of them, turning my head towards Ninth Avenue and Chelsea Market. My block is always busy with people walking from one end to the other. Across the street is a cancer center. Shops and restaurants line both Eighth and Ninth Avenues. I don’t mind the chaos. In fact, I love living in the city and would prefer it over the suburbs or country.

I guess I’m sick of New York because I haven’t been away from here in five years. Most people need a break from the city. Mary, my boss, keeps pushing me to take a vacation, but I always wave her off. Shit, I would love to leave — am dying to leave — but I have been saving every spare penny so I can move out someday soon. My mother moved in saying, “Oh honey, it’s only for a few months, and then I’ll buy my own place.” That was over three years ago. When six months passed and she was on her second boyfriend and hadn’t looked at any real estate in the city, I knew she was never going to leave.
 

Taking out my iPhone, I aim the camera at the sun setting on my street. If I tilt it around, I can catch a sun glare off the tops of the cars and another couple walking towards me holding hands.
Click
. I attach the photo to a text to Lee and hit send before picking up my bag and heading inside.

The door creaking open to my apartment is the only noise I hear when my phone buzzes in my purse.

Lee Park

I love your street. Looks like a beautiful day.

Laura Merchant

It is. Let me get my iPad set up in the kitchen and we can talk.

Lee Park

Ok. Call me when you’re ready.

I grab my iPad out of my bag and stand it up in the kitchen, but then remember what I’m about to do. Third date. I run back down the hall to the bathroom, stumbling over my shoes in the hallway, and quickly touch up my makeup and wash my hands. I should try to look good for Lee, right?

He lives in Seoul.

Fuck, he lives in Seoul.
 

I pause and examine myself in the mirror. Why do I fall for the unavailable ones? He seems to like me too, but with seven thousand miles between us, we can’t be physical. What if this goes somewhere, we finally get together, and the sex is horrible? But the kiss was great. The kiss was legendary, the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve kissed at least thirty boys. The sex will be good, right? What am I thinking? I’m skipping way ahead. Screw it. If the sex is bad, I’ll figure out what to do about it later.
 

In the kitchen, I initiate the call, and wait until Lee’s face pops up on my screen. He was handsome in a suit, heart-stopping in a sweater, but, full-on gorgeous in a t-shirt. His arms and chest stretch the tight black shirt over every curve of muscle, and I have to close my eyes and turn my head away. I may be so turned on that I’m nauseous.

“Hi,” he says, and I turn my face back to the iPad. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine. It’s nothing.” Nothing at all. Just that you’re so hot and so far away. It kills me that I can’t touch you. “I’m hungry. Just got home from Connecticut.”

He nods and sits down in his chair at the table where he took the last call. I don’t think he’s done anything with his unruly hair since he woke up, but behead suits him.

“Well, eat and tell me about your day.”

“Okay.” I turn from him, open the fridge and lean in to find what’s left. “There’s not much in my fridge. I’m getting groceries delivered tomorrow and plan on making stew. But…” Way in the back are the leftovers from Wednesday night’s dinner. “Ah-ha. Pad Thai leftovers.”

I turn around, and Lee is watching with a smile on his face, his chin propped on his hand. “Do that again.”

“Do what?” I slide the container into the microwave and start it up.

“Open the refrigerator and look for food.”

“Okkkaaayy. Why?” I turn and open the fridge and immediately blush. Leaning over slowly, I give him the excellent view of my ass he was asking for and grab the hot sauce while I’m in there.

I shut the door and smile sweetly at him.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Anytime.” The flirting is the best part of all of this. “Did you just wake up? What time is it there again?”

“I’m thirteen hours ahead. It’s 7:30pm there and 8:30am here. No, I got up an hour ago.” He leans back and stretches while yawning, and I’m mesmerized by his flat his stomach. I’m pretty sure he does sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups in addition to running. He laughs and sits forward again, pulling down his shirt. “Stop staring, Laura.”

“Well, shit, Lee. I can’t help it.”

“All right. You can stare all you want.”

The microwave beep saves us both. I can’t believe this, but if the world were a nicer place, I’d be tempted to strip-tease for him. But I know better. Smarter girls than me have had their photos end up on websites. I trust Lee so far, but not that much.

“Let me bring you over to the table while I eat. Are you eating?”

“Cereal again. I swear I eat normal food at other times of the day. In fact, there’s an American-style breakfast place in my neighborhood I go to a lot with Chris, Cori, and Evie. Lots of expats eat there. Cori asked me to come this morning but I declined so I could talk to you. I’ll see them later.”

“Oh, Lee. I’m sorry. I’m keeping you from your friends.”

“Don’t be sorry. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

I’d rather he were here, but I can’t say that yet, so I just smile. It is flattering he’d rather talk to me than go out and see friends face-to-face. I can’t be desperate for him yet. He’ll smell it from seven thousand miles away. I need to keep things light and easy.

Turning on the light over the kitchen table, I push the mail across the dark wood to the other side, place the iPad in front of me and sit down with my dinner.

“What’s a traditional Korean breakfast like?”

He shovels a spoonful of cereal in his mouth and thinks. “Rice, kimchi, cold cucumber salad, and meat. But lots of Koreans eat on-the-go for breakfast and there are Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts here with breakfast sandwiches. In Japan, they’re big on bread stuffed with things. Sometimes curry.”

“I eat toast mainly unless I get food from the caf at work.”

“Laura, are you a vegetarian?”

I wonder what the correct answer to this question is because Lee seems skeptical watching me lift vegetable noodles to my mouth.

“I was in my college years. It’s easy to be vegetarian in New York. But then I traveled and gave it up.” I shrug my shoulders. I wanted to be vegetarian for the rest of my life, until I had chicken and pork sitting right in front of me. I changed my mind, but I often do.

“I was wondering because you ate the Malai Kofta and there’s no meat in your Pad Thai…”

“Would it be a deal breaker if I were vegetarian?”

The right side of his mouth lifts. “Not for me.”

“Okay.” Probably a deal breaker for his family though, as tends to be the case, but maybe they wouldn’t like me because I’m not Korean. “It may seem stupid but I like to eat right. I try to eat meat only once per day and not everyday. I like lots of veggies, and I like to cook.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“Thanks,” I say, frowning down at my food. “I went out on a date three years ago and ordered the veggie burger for dinner because I had meat at lunch. The guy immediately started on the, ‘What are you? A health nut? You’re not vegan, are you? I can’t stand those people.’” I imitate his voice as best as I can remember. What an asshole. I’ll eat whatever the hell I want.

“What did you do?”

“I told him I was vegan and thanks for the burger. I got it to go.”

Lee bursts out laughing, and I smile down at my noodles. “You’re a firecracker, Laura.”

“Hold on, Lee. I forgot something to drink.” There’s white wine in the fridge, so I grab the bottle and a glass and come back to the table. “Saturday night. Woo hoo.” I raise my glass to him. “What did you do last night?”