Stay Sweet Ch. 03

I mean...obviously. But assuming something and hearing it said out loud were two different things. "Exactly how much of your Vegas money did you blow through if you're worried about 'cheap?'"

"I can afford furniture! It's just..." Ji-yeong cringed. "Furniture shopping is a real hassle for me, okay?"

Ji-yeong lived in a mostly empty studio apartment; she had the two beanbag chairs, a TV on a sturdy box, a fridge (that came with the apartment), some small fold-out snack tables, and a mattress without a frame. It was like she was a professional thief or hitman, ready to burn everything and leave the moment the heat was onto her.

I had an idea.

"Would you call furniture shopping a 'turn-off?'"

"What are you talking about? It's neither—" Ji-yeong cut herself off; from the smile that spread on her face, she must have realized what I was getting at.

* * * * *

Go ahead, argue that furnishing an apartment is a total couples thing and that we were being stupid if we thought this would diffuse the tension between us. It still worked. It gave us something to worry about besides this whole "should we / shouldn't we" game we were playing.

We started the next Saturday with a trip to Ikea to look at different couches. It actually didn't take us long to find "the one": It was black, with clean, sleek lines and rounded corners. We looked at other couches, but that was the one we kept coming back to. By the time we scheduled a delivery, it was only noon, so we decided to go looking for a coffee table, entertainment center, and end tables to compliment the new couch; that ended up being a little harder.

As in, "driving around Boston for six hours" harder.

"Ugh, how hard is it to find a coffee table?" groaned Ji-yeong somewhere around hour four or five.

"I mean, it's a hundred-dollar commitment, easy," I assured her. "You don't want to fuck with any old coffee table that's not going to play nice with the rest of your furniture. You want something that speaks to you."

"That couch spoke to me," she whined. "Immediately. Everything should be as easy to find as that couch."

"Yeah, well, I don't disagree. But you also want to be comfortable."

We eventually found our tables at a small store that specialized in oriental furnishings; Ji-yeong was never much for heritage, but the tables she found drew clear Eastern inspiration, with natural wooden colors and modest flairs, without all the gaudy designs that said "ASIA. GET IT?"

When I saw the half-finished living room the next Saturday—Ji-yeong had found a matching entertainment center online during some downtime at work—the direction of the apartment began to take shape: contemporary, with Asian accents. We went looking for an appropriate area rug that day, and picked up a couple of lamps for the end tables as well, with some straw mats to place under those lamps and matching beige lampshades with tree branches printed in ukiyo-e style. (Not Korean, no, but it worked with the aesthetic.) No more lighting the apartment with the ugly overheads; it looked GREAT, and we decided to bask in it by kicking back on the couch and watching some MST3K.

This time, we got Dairy Queen.

And before long, Ji-yeong's head was in my lap, and I was idly playing with her short hair. And before either of us could get apoplectic about how close we were to a make-out session that would plunge us headlong into another reckless friends-with-benefits situation or worse, Ji-yeong looked over to the mattress, tucked into a large recess of the apartment next to the entertainment center and leading into the bathroom, and said "I seriously need a bed frame."

"Yeah, you do."

"And I really wish I could afford an apartment with rooms, because it kills me to have to look at that thing every time I watch TV."

"Well, we can get a divider."

"Really?"

"Yeah, something that fits with the aesthetic of the place. Maybe one of those old school folding dividers, give it a little bohemian touch."

"I like the sound of that."

I liked the thought of Ji-yeong's silhouette getting changed behind that divider. I moved her head off my lap.

Ji-yeong sniggered. "You must really like the sound of that."

* * * * *

We got the dividers I was thinking of. And the bed frame. And everything else she needed. We filled the kitchen cabinets with silverware and gadgets, we moved in dressers to fill with her clothes. The Saturdays marched on. The furniture started getting filled in. Wall hangings started going up. And as more and more of the apartment got furnished and completed, we got more and more comfortable teasing each other.

The only time we got together outside of Saturdays was the night of the MST3K reunion, which was being broadcast to theaters across the nation. That night, she texted me just before I left to pick her up:

>Hey, just FYI, there's a bruise on my cheek. *Don't freak out.* I'm okay. You might not even notice it because it's covered up. There was an incident at the shelter a couple of days ago, but it's handled. I'll tell you about it when we hang out after. :)

Turned out the prick husband of a woman staying at the shelter "just wanted to talk." The staff and volunteers, including Ji-yeong, didn't think that was such a good idea. So they were outside helping security hold the guy off while they waited for the cops, and at one point, he starts talking shit to Ji-yeong.

"He tells me, 'Well, what are you protecting? I could hurl your slanted cunt to the next life with one hand,' which...no." We just got back from the show and we were in the middle of a nightcap. I'd recoiled from the gendered, racist slur she was apparently subjected to, but it clearly didn't bother Ji-yeong. (Reflecting on all this, it occurs to me that I might have been a bigger wuss than she was.) "I might be tiny," she continued, unabated, "but he's unarmed. And for better or worse, these people don't scare me anymore; they just make me angry. So I'm like, 'Try it, you stupid Quincy fuck! My Hapkido beats your Beer Fu any day of the week!'"

"You mentioned you were doing Hapkido."

"Yeah, I figured it would help me deal with some stress dreams I'd been having, and it turns out I was right. Anyway, I just got my yellow belt; maybe I could've been orange by now if I didn't take time off to travel? I don't know, considering that Hapkido was built on deflection and not necessarily offense, and I was talking trash like I was a member of the Cobra Kai, probably not. So he got a lucky shot in, but when he tried to follow up, I deflected, swept him off his feet, and knocked his ass out. Cops arrived and took him off our hands minutes later."

A fairly dramatic, if casually delivered story, right? What was my reaction? Was I glad she was okay? Was I proud of her for kicking ass? Was I worried about how safe it really was to volunteer at the shelter?

Nope. I said, with zero shame, "That sounds hot." The same kind of answer that, in a shameful dating sim, would get me smacked and put me on the road to a "Forever Alone" ending.

That's how I knew that things were barely in hand, because here in real life, Ji-yeong's response was to grin flirtatiously and ask "Oh, does it now?"

I shrugged, playing it cool, but owning it. "Chicks who can kick my ass turn me on. You decide whether or not that's too far in the other direction."

"I'm only a yellow belt! I can handle drunk middle-aged men, but I'm not much of a badass yet!"

"I'm just saying, don't wear your gi around me. I won't be able to control myself."

"It's called a dobok because it's Korean, not Japanese, and I'm pretty sure history shows that I can handle you." With wide, challenging eyes, Ji-yeong took a thick swig of her beer.

Maybe we were letting go and having fun. Or maybe we knew that the two of us were inevitable and we were just embracing this sham of a dance. Funny thing about that, though: It was hard to act on any tension between us when there was so much work to do.

* * * * *

One Saturday in September I buzzed Ji-yeong's apartment. The apartment was done, so I figured we'd just kick back that day. Instead of being let in right away, her voice came back over the intercom. "Hey, stud," she said. "I got a big job for you today. Sorry I didn't warn you; it came up at the last minute. But are you up for the challenge?"

"Absolutely," I said.

"You sure? Because this is a man's job. And when a man takes a job, he doesn't pull out until he's finished."

I couldn't wait to see what this was, because it very obviously wasn't sex—even though her stupid pun was already giving me a hard-on. "Don't worry, Ji-yeong, I can handle it."

After a few seconds, I was buzzed in. I rode the elevator up to her floor, giggling to myself, wondering what we were doing today.

When I entered her apartment, I saw that all the wall hangings we had bought were down, all the furniture moved away from the walls and covered in stained dropcloths. Ji-yeong was on the floor in her sleepwear, ass sticking out, painting the bottom of the wall in a lush forest green while Zac Brown Band played on her phone. "Hey you," she exclaimed, jumping back to her feet. "A few days ago I got an email giving me permission to paint the place. Primer's already down; think you can get started on the living area?"

Fuck. I hated painting. "Ah, you bitch," I said, headed for the living area. "Alright, since you got me up here..."

To my delight, it only took me a minute to find my groove and start laying down the paint in nice, even strokes.

It only took a word—a single, wounded word—to shatter that groove. "Pete."

I turned around. Ji-yeong hadn't moved from where I left her. She wouldn't even face me. "Everything okay?" I asked.

She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she turned, dull streaks still shining on her cheeks. She looked almost pale.

I had fucked up.

"Don't ever, ever, use the 'B'-word with me again," she said, trembling. "Not when you're joking...not ever. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good." She turned away, dithered for a moment while I kicked the hell out of myself, then turned to me again. "I know you didn't mean anything by it, I just—"

"Ji-yeong, I get it. Honest. I'm really sorry, it won't happen again."

She nodded. "Thank you," she said, nearly muttered. I kept watching her after she turned back around. She took another deep breath, then went back to laying down tape.

We actually finished the whole apartment in that day, and as was our ritual, we picked up Dairy Queen and watched an MST3K episode to celebrate a job well done. The implication was that I was forgiven, as she once promised that I would be.

Still, I felt like I let Ji-yeong down that day.

* * * * *

On Sunday, I texted Bernadette and asked if she had any ideas for apology gifts, and she had nothing beyond "something that reminds her that she's a survivor," since that was the nature of my transgression. She pointed me to a website that Brian was fond of, Remember This, that allowed you to buy and personalize all sorts of objects. But she warned "I worry that a lot of this stuff will come off as corny, and I'm pretty sure that's the last way you want to come off with her. Aside from, you know, the obvious."

So I polled my co-workers on Monday. Rebecca, a fellow coder, was bullish on me getting something from the site, especially since Ji-yeong was in the middle of putting her first apartment together, and it was worth having something to commemorate how far she'd come. But she understood the concern. "You can't just put down 'Hey...babe,'" (She hadn't gotten her head around Ji-yeong's name yet.) "'don't forget that you're the baddest bitch on the planet, love, Pete!' That—"

"I definitely can't say that because that's the word that got me in trouble to begin with."

"Right, but you see my point? When you're talking about a piece of home decoration, you want something a little more general, that'll mean that one specific thing to her but could mean anything to any visitors. It matters even more when it comes to something as personal as what she's been through."

"Hey, sorry, couldn't help but overhear." Our boss, Seth, happened to be cruising through the break room. He was a cool guy, actually, not much of a bother at all. He also happened to be a bit of a literature nerd. "What's the situation here? Why are you buying something on Remember This?"

"Pete accidentally offended his girlfriend."

"She's not really my girlfriend."

"Pete accidentally offended the girl he's too much of a pussy to ask out."

"We were teasing each other, I called her a bitch, as in 'Ahh, you bitch,' and it turns out that's what her dead husband kept calling her in between the punches he threw."

"Oofah-doofah," said Seth, "that sure is a situation."

"We're cool now, I just feel really shitty about it."

Seth nodded. "Before you go back to your code, take a minute and look up the poem Invictus, it's by William Ernest Henley. You should be able to do something with that."

When I got back to my desk, that's exactly what I did. Did I say Seth was a cool guy? My bad: He's a goddamned genius. After reading that poem, I would've taken a paycut for him.

When I got back home, I double-checked with Mom on what day Ji-yeong actually ran out on Chad. With that, I went right to my room, got on Remember This' website, and found a nice, simple flat iron picture frame that could sit comfortably on any of Ji-yeong's end tables. I entered the quote from Invictus; I'd have it by Friday.

In the meantime, I needed a picture. I dove into Ji-yeong's Instagram and looked through the pictures she took of her road trip, not knowing what I was looking for until I actually found it. I saved it, sent it over to Walgreen's to have it printed.

You know that feeling where you have to wait to give someone a gift you think is really great but in the back of your mind, you think it could be rejected? Think about the usual worst outcome of that situation: that someone is bored by it, or has no use for it, or whatever. It's a shitty feeling, but 9 times out of ten, you've kept the receipt, that special someone will take it back and get something he/she wants, and you get over it. With this gift, part of me was afraid that I was digging myself way deeper, giving Ji-yeong a partial reminder of something she wanted a clean break from.

I was really, really hoping she liked this.

* * * * *

Saturday I arrived at Ji-yeong's apartment, wrapped gift in hand, heart in throat. She buzzed me in, and when I went up to her apartment, the door was already unlocked. She was lounging on the couch in her "90" tank top from our first date and a cute skirt, and when she saw me, her instant smile and adorable wave made me forget my nerves for a hot second.

"Hey, what are you watching?"

"Bob Ross, actually," she said. "Only thing that made sense to watch when I was waiting for you." Ji-yeong pointed to my gift. "What's that?"

"Oh, um, I felt really bad about what happened last week, so—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up for a second," she said. "Look, you remember we talked about this, right? Do you remember what I said?"

"You asked me to trust you to forgive me whenever I crossed a line with you."

"Exactly. Last week was one of those moments. And it was bound to happen eventually. What's important is that you know it was wrong, you don't do it again, and we move on. Okay?"

"Not until I give you this."

Ji-yeong shrugged. "Fine." She grabbed on to the wrapped picture frame.

I wouldn't let go just yet. "Just warning you, I don't know if you're going to like this. Just know that this isn't about holding on to what you went through. This is about remembering what you've earned. What you've always been worth." That's when I let go.

Ji-yeong's face softened into a more bemused expression before turning her attention to the gift, slowly unwrapping it.

She looked at the picture frame. Read the inscription.

She sat down—plopped down—on the couch, reading it again.

Her hand moved to cover her gasping mouth. Her eyes welled up with tears. For a moment, I was nervous. But just for a moment.

Putting the frame down on the coffee table, she jumped to her feet, strode over to me, and gave me a big hug before pulling my head down to kiss me on the lips, a kiss I gladly returned. When she broke the kiss, she planted one on each cheek before bracing her head against my shoulder.

"You are the sweetest, most perfect human being on the planet!" She was squeezing me as tight as her scrawny arms would allow. "Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! How could you possibly think I wouldn't like that?"

"You know how I overthink things with you."

"Rrrrgh, you really do!" Ji-yeong broke the hug. "Where should I put this?" She snapped her fingers. "Bedroom!"

Ji-yeong grabbed the picture frame and moved to her bedroom—now that the divider was up it was a mostly proper bedroom now—with me in tow. The picture fit perfectly on her night table.

At the top of the frame the inscription was dated "April 28, 2015." The day she ran out on Chad.

This led into the picture, not actually taken that day, but symbolic enough of it: Ji-yeong's view from her Penthouse Suite at the Bellagio, the one she won for trying to throw away Chad's money. It showed the hotel's signature fountain from way up high, against the golden glow of The Strip's casinos at night and the glittering city within the desert beyond, captured from heights she'd never known nor imagined.

And then, inscribed on the bottom of the frame: "I am the master of my fate, / I am the captain of my soul."

It just worked so well...or most of it did.

"Oh, shit." Ji-yeong's voice dropped like a heavy bowling ball would on my foot. "I have to put another picture in there."

"Yeah, I know that wasn't taken on the day—"

"I know what you were going for with that," she clarified, wincing. "I love it, it's just...oh God, I'm going to tell you this story and you'll never stop throwing up." I followed Ji-yeong out of the bedroom and back onto the couch. "Okay so...on my road trip, I met a lot of people. And with some of those people, I had...misadventures."

"Misadventures?" I was confused at first, but her meaning became clear an instant later. This triggered a single pang of jealousy before an immense sense of pride in my long-suffering friend took the emotional wheel. "Oh, you mean 'perfectly consensual sex you had with other people while you had no other commitments to anyone else, especially not me.'"

"Yeah, that," she laughed. "You're surprisingly cool about this. Is it shock?"

"Please," I said, "access to your pussy is a privilege, not my right."

"Really? Because I kinda thought you might be, uh, Madonna-Whoring me a bit."

"'Madonna-Whoring' you?"

"Yeah, you know, you like me because I'm pure and innocent, but then you find out that I slept with other guys and suddenly I'm tainted?"

"Did you...did you take a sex ed class while you were in Nashville?"

Ji-yeong laughed. "You really don't have a problem with this?"

"I mean, if you were involved in a crazy orgy in every state you stopped in, I might need a few minutes to process that."

"No! It was only...sorry, five others. Oh, and they wore condoms, so don't worry about that."

I nodded. "Well either way, it doesn't change anything about who you are, so why should it bother me?"

Ji-yeong sat back on the couch, a small smile crossing her face. She slid her hand over to mine and squeezed it in appreciation.

"So what does this have to do with the picture?"

"Oh! I'm actually still not sure I should tell you this story, but...what the hell. So remember when I told you about how I was leading everyone at my roulette table in a 'Fuck you, Chad' chant, and even the croupier was getting in on it?"