In Good Taste [Part Five]
Title: In Good Taste [Part Five]
Pairing(s): YulTi
Rating/Genre: PG-13 + Language; Coming Out, Girl-Meets-Girl
Disclaimer: I don’t own Soshi. I don’t own anyone, in fact. All Fiction.
Warning(s): None at all.
Author’s Notes: I’m back! This week started out as hot garbage (I’m so dramatic) and ended insanely well. Hoping this is sign of happier times. I missed y’all last week! Thanks for being so patient. ^^
Tiffany
--
Tiffany’s father had a history of flaking. Taking days of old into account, with their missed parent-teacher conferences and chores left primarily for a teenage daughter, healthy family life prior to that tended to recede into mythology. Often, Tiffany reminded herself he hadn’t always been a painful, intolerant presence.
Grudge-holding wasn’t a quality Tiffany appreciated. Not saying she didn’t avoid routinely mouthy I-demand-to-see-your-manager types at THY. But, ‘family’ evolved into a more flexible meaning for her. Anyone, be they her friends and coworkers-even Sinbi-provided a sense of community she lacked as a young teen.
She pushed through the tangled hill of mispriced belt bags on her desk, reaching her lit up cell phone. Massaging a faint ache at her temple, she read the new text:
Dad: Morning, Buttercup.
Oh, speak of the devil. Not the usual texting suspect-her infatuated straight girl.
A week had passed since her blow up at Yuri. While justified, it also seemed unfair. At this difficult stage (questioning attraction, commitment, and everything in between) babygays made mistakes. Be they sexual or otherwise. Yuri-far from losing Tiffany’s number-relentlessly messaged her the night of and three days afterward, congesting her inbox with apologies both long and light. And all unanswered by Tiffany. They’d dwindled to twice a day.
“Hey, Dad.” Tiffany propped the phone on her shoulder. For afternoons like these, when she’d cloistered herself off in her office, speakerphone would work easier. But, she wouldn’t risk this dialogue bleeding through her closed door, as paranoid as that sounded.
“Aren’t you busy?” he asked in his uniquely high, scratchy voice. No pleasantries. Typical.
“I can multitask. What’s wrong? What do you need?”
“Why assume that I need something?”
“Do you?”
For the most part, she grew up in a financially stable environment. Her father didn’t bring up her mother’s passing often, but she knew it influenced why he moved them to Korea. Searching or running away from something he never described, despite how much he adored their old home in Florida. Shortly after, he turned into an antisocial hermit, more glaringly so as the years drew by. This solidified him and Tiffany as a team in their one-parent household.
Though, as early as twelve-years-old, Tiffany Hwang believed in inescapable, passionate love (as evidenced by the romance collection on her laptop) and swore everyone deserves multiple chances to attain it.
So, she told him that exactly. To not let the guilt or worries about Tiffany’s comfort impede a future with another woman. Initially, he blew her off.
Until, months later, he left home with his salt-and-pepper hair cropped neatly and a tie-he never wore ties outside a funeral or a CEO visit at work. Her father had hopped back onto the dating saddle and it elated Tiffany. Like daytime televised success story, she witnessed this meek, affectionately mousy man’s personality bloom into one of confidence, of seeing the world in rich colors. He hit the gym more, styled himself better (with Tiffany’s help until eventually hiring a professional), swapped late nights playing Scrabble on his iPad with overnight stays with women she hadn’t met. And, eventually, negative repercussions of his new lifestyle eclipsed his parental duties.
Tiffany required guidance. In her first teenage year, female celebrities and her piano teacher grew from innocent crushes to stars in drawn-out, erotic dreams. Entertaining/tormenting her through many missed alarms. She trusted herself and that meant embracing the gay part, all in time for her fourteenth birthday. A pretty big deal, actually-her father greenlit a weekend beach party with a late curfew.
And in young teenager fashion, she fancied herself an adult already, capable of approaching her dad that morning (he’d just come in, dress shirt wrinkled and hair askew) with her chin held high. She sat him down and in admittedly indelicate terms, informed him she’d been fantasizing about women and wanted to know his preferred dating age for her.
That’s right. Tiffany skipped coming out and went straight for the prize: a girlfriend.
Returned to the present, Tiffany’s eyes watered when his silence went on for too long. “Do you, Dad? Need something.”
“Money. I uh, hit an awkward time between payday and some deadlines.”
Needless to say, by this strained exchange, her father didn’t take raising a lesbian daughter well. He veered onto the denial route and remained there, blindsided by a daughter who didn’t hide her true self at home. Accepting her own sexuality gave Tiffany a ridiculous sense of relief and, frankly, entitlement. Finally, she’d gained license to stare longingly at the girl groups in her album booklets, a pleasure in sitting front row for the prettier teachers, an identity to nurture, call her very own, and an openness that drew in like-minded friends like Im Yoona and whatever girls were down to make out. Her dad never answered the “when can I date” inquiry, so she obliged herself to start immediately.
Despite the high of self-acceptance, she was still a teenager who somewhat idolized her father. And after that very awkward conversation, his dates became more frequent and lasted longer. The worst case was him disappearing for an entire weekend.
He managed to blow their funds on the most materialistic girlfriends in monthly intervals. And to save money, sometimes women spent nights at the Hwang residence. Which hit cosmic levels of inappropriate for Tiffany’s tastes and wellbeing.
At sixteen, she’d begun cashiering at Yoona’s parents’ bookstore. She and Yoona built a deep, platonic symbiosis. A miraculous feat, seeing as they were two hormonal gay friends who often shared a bed. When the sleepovers turned as numerous as four times a week, the Im family cleared out their office room and offered it as solace for Tiffany.
Tiffany’s father fought this development. Not strongly enough, though, because it allowed him the space to go on a full-blown vacation to Tahiti with a lady Tiffany never learned the name of. Not that is mattered.
“Tell me about your flavor of the month this time, Dad.”
He grumbled over the receiver. “I’m still your father. Have some respect.”
“Of course,” Tiffany scoffed, leaning back into her chair so hard it rolled into the wall. “A father who’s begging his daughter for cash.”
She’d called him out properly. They both knew. “She’s an administration assistant.”
“A secretary? Is she your new secretary, Dad? The one you mentioned last month when you needed money for your date with the…” She paused for dramatic effect, as if filing through an endless list. It kind of was. “Nurse? Was that it?”
“You’re in a mood.”
“Wouldn’t you be, too?”
“I’m familiar with this tone, Buttercup. It’s the bitterness of a broken relationship.” He chuckled. “Tell me the man’s address and I’ll straighten him out.”
“How much do you need?” She couldn’t waste her life dealing with his refusal of her sexuality. It hurt doubly because she hadn’t ever dated a guy. Ever. “What’s it for?”
“A few bills. An appointment.”
“Are…are you okay?”
He blew out a dismissive raspberry. “Nothing like that, honey. My yearly checkup and some standard x-rays at the dentist. I’ll pay you back.”
He wouldn’t.
Tiffany lived with the Ims until she graduated. She’d worked hard, honoring her addiction for cool restaurants and clothes once a month. With a piece of her check, she’d also order cheap material and knit them into little creations-Yoona’s scrawny frame perfect for a test dummy. And, after keeping her grades up and building a portfolio, her efforts earned her a scholarship at one of her top three schools. Yoona attended it, too, more monetarily cushioned by her family, but talented nonetheless.
As particular as Yoona carried herself, Tiffany admitted it came from a protective place. Sick at the club or not, her best friend knew Yuri qualified as Tiffany’s type-which was one of many. Tiffany inherited her father’s plentiful and often, detrimental, dating tendencies. Dad, the ladies’ man; Tiffany, the ladies’ lady.
Probably why Tiffany ended the call, promising to get the money to him. In person. Since it alleviated the risk of him claiming it “didn’t transfer” or some bullshit.
Owning the parallels to her dad’s unsatisfying love life shook her, justly. She’d been burnt by women-wealthy and otherwise-who’d grown used to being pampered by a lovesick Tiffany.
She tossed the phone onto the stack of leather and knocked her head to the desk, groaning. God, Yuri’s self-deprecating humor and that wide, genuine smile were recipes for a massive fuck-up. She’d be bound to the same fate as the others, Tiffany feared.
Then, what made Yuri unforgettable? Barring her thirst for romance, Tiffany took her thousandth stroll through the gardens of logic to explain these feelings.
All her exes were beautiful, so a nice figure couldn’t spellbind her like that. Sooyeon flaunted a vast knowledge of European history and could flirt the pants off her at any given time. Taeyeon’s mystery, her razor-sharp wit prompted dangerous levels of obsession. Even Tiffany’s brief, mismatched foray with Hyoyeon was jump started by her upbeatness and unpretentious intellect. So, what in the hell kept Tiffany sweating over an unremarkable someone? It couldn’t be the thrill of the chase. She’d outgrown that.
Determined to solve this, she left her task at hand, called out to Hyoyeon that she had personal business to attend to, and prepared her next step.
…
Pulling into the Craftie’s Warehouse parking lot brought on memories of those divine, ignorant days before a boyfriend slashed into them like Zorro’s rapier. Ugh, if only she’d had a sixth sense for these things. Hyoyeon and Yoona went out as much as she did, yet Tiffany found herself on the receiving end of “she wasn’t worth it” talks more often than not.
And how fucking darling had Yuri looked in that ill-fitting polo and those tight black skinny jeans? Somehow, Yuri’s lack of style enhanced their first date. Then, when she’d gotten out of the car to walk to the store entrance, Tiffany stared at her ass so hard she swore a moral authority would come knocking on her window.
“Hwang, get a grip,” she berated herself.
Less wallowing, more spying.
Tiffany snatched one of five pairs of sunglasses hiding around her car, threw on a rosy bomber jacket, and trotted inside. She hadn’t set foot in a Craftie’s since she’d taken studio courses in college. Bargain-hunting regulars and the neutral smells of retail life surrounded her, lightly scented by the icing topper demonstration nearby.
“Now, where the hell is she?” she mumbled, also recalling the Warehouse wasn’t a literal warehouse, but still goddamn huge.
Just as she absently yanked two stubborn carts apart, somebody cornered her. Friendly close. Okay, uncomfortably close.
“Welcome to Craftie’s Warehouse,” the wide-eyed, disturbingly good-looking sales associate greeted. “Don’t lie to me. You’re famous.”
Thank god it wasn’t that younger one, Sowon. “I’m sorry?”
“C’mon, miss,” she boldly eyed Tiffany head-to-toe, twisting strands of pink hair. “I know incognito when I see it.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes behind the dark glasses. Those, combined with a low-brimmed cap and-foolishly-5-inch stilettos certainly did read as an idol doing an asinine job at keeping herself concealed. She’d managed to make herself more conspicuous. “Not incognito, I’m afraid. I’m searching for…” Shit, she’d rewind what she said if she could. This woman seemed determined to follow her around. “Browsing.”
“You’re searching for…browsing?”
“Ha. No. Only browsing.”
Nosy Sales Associate (who’d lost her name tag, apparently) folded her arms, unconvinced. “If you say so.”
“I do say so. Excuse me.”
Tiffany didn’t relax until her seventh aisle of fake-perusing, finally losing her stalker. She’d filled her cart with items she hadn’t even glanced at to come across as authentic. Yuri could be anywhere. Doing go-backs, stocking on the floor, assisting a customer, manning a register, on break. She might’ve not even been on a shift right now.
As the possibilities piled on, Tiffany resumed her Amazon trail through this forest of savings. A diversion 16-oz jar of Mod Podge clunked into her cart when she’d heard it: Yuri’s laugh.
Instinctively, she ducked. Then, reverted to ‘natural stance’ in an unsubtle spin. She tiptoed as quietly as her heels allowed until she stopped at a good vantage point. Behind a fixture of discount planting tools, the gaps between the shelves gave her a view of Yuri-today, she wore a white polo shirt with the store’s magenta logo embroidered above her breast, black mid-tops, and those delicious skinny jeans. A manager nearby eyeballed a tablet, directing her to grab a box up high. Yuri smiled hard and nodded. Cute.
Cozy in her hideaway, Tiffany lifted her sunglasses to watch Yuri jog off and return with an aisle ladder. Form nice, speed swift as can be. Naughty thoughts danced around Tiffany’s mind at the possibility of her being a closet jock beneath that bashful, girlish demeanor.
“Kwon Yuri, you babe,” she murmured while Yuri stretched for the large box, flashing a yummy, flat stomach as her shirt rode up.
And then, the unexpected happened. On her final step of down the large metal step ladder, Yuri’s shoelace got caught and she stumbled to the floor. She didn’t full-on fall, though Tiffany winced at how her leg bent awkwardly as she gained her balance.
“Oh shit, you okay?” the manager grabbed Yuri’s arm with the hand not holding her tablet.
The girl whimpered a tad, testing her leg in a feeble step or two. “Um, yeah. Right as rain.”
“Right as rain? You’re an old soul, Yul.”
Yul? Another cute thing.
Almost as cute as Yuri bending down to unload the box, automatically back to work. The manager, finding it just as sweet, affectionately patted her on the top of her head. “Sure you’ll be fine?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about me.”
For the next ten minutes, Tiffany studied Yuri operating as the model worker. Instead of digging into the boxed products uninterrupted, avoiding communication with more than a few passing shoppers, she stood and smiled-boy, she was a smiler-at every one of them. Even going the lengths of explaining the difference between gesso and white paint to an elderly couple and finding a gloss that wouldn’t yellow for a high school student. Her faint limp looked like it’d heal in a couple days, yet it didn’t stop Tiffany from wishing to make it better. To kiss where it hurts. Be it on her thigh or like, her hip. Tiffany licked her lips, knowing where actions like that would lead.
Pissed as she was about the boyfriend and staying for money, Tiffany empathized with Yuri. Of course she didn’t own a callous enough personality to dump her man the minute someone better stepped in. Circumstances weren’t ideal and this woman-the one painstakingly arranging canvases flush to the shelf edges-and her friendly, focused attitude lived on.
Maybe…she shouldn’t cut off Yuri indefinitely. Hanging out as friends wouldn’t be the end of the-
“Are you sure you’re not famous?”
Tiffany’s startled jump dropped her sunnies back in place. Plus, she had mind to snatch up a six-pack of floral foam bricks, as if she’d been hunting deep for it. It fell into the cart with the Mod Podge, two bushels of faux Hydrangeas, a tacky ‘Grandma’s My Best Friend’ mug, several strings of clearance lava beads, jumbo knitting needles that strangely resembled dildos, and a bucket. What the fuck. “Um, no. Sorry.”
The name tag-less sales associate huffed, flicking her shoulder-length hair askew. “I feel like I should know you.”
Okay, she’d overstayed her welcome. Offering only a sheepish shrug, Tiffany turned toward the checkout lines to buy her assortment of arbitrary craft stuff.
…
Reluctantly, Tiffany joined Hyoyeon, Yoona, and Sinbi that evening at a bar. They’d recently hit a sales goal and it should’ve cheered her out of this funk. It didn’t. If she hadn’t attended, she would’ve curled up in bed with a bar of dark sea-salted chocolate and watch trash TV.
She polished off her soju cocktail, plagued by self-reflection. That is, until Sinbi shimmied her narrow hip into the same seat as Tiffany, smirking. “Hey, boss.”
“Yes?”
“What’s eating you?”
Really, with the idle chit-chat? Couldn’t Tiffany get drunk in peace? “What do you want, since everyone apparently wants something out of me today?”
“Alcohol makes me bloat like a pufferfish.” A phone on front-camera mode had magically appeared in Sinbi’s hand, stealing attention away from Tiffany’s snide comment. “Anyways, I need tomorrow off.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“Hair emergency.” She held up the ends of perfectly undamaged hair. “My stylist is only available at 11am and I mean, I should just make a day out of it. Tidying up my brows, a microdermabrasion facial, and waxing my body…all over…” For that, she winked at Yoona. Yoona, in turn, mocked a gag and kept drinking. “A spa day, you know, for self-care. Work is literal hell.”
Yes, flipping through High Cut and ringing people up should be outlawed as cruel and unusual. Tiffany deeply breathed in and out to calm herself. They did just make a sales goal and Sinbi kinda-sorta helped. “If you can find someone to cover your shift, I don’t care.”
“You’re the tastiest boss ever!” Entirely unwanted, she pressed a hard kiss to Tiffany’s cheek, smearing on a red print, before switching seats to bother Hyoyeon.
Yuri had a point. Sinbi probably needed to be fired.
And just like that, Yuri conquered Tiffany’s brain again. She should’ve thanked her terrible employee for the distraction.
Unlike past girlfriends and hookups, Tiffany hadn't erupted into a lust disaster around Yuri (yet). Her heart quickened, of course, but to an unknown rhythm. In her presence, Tiffany remained sentient. She could actually think. Allow time to learn Yuri’s origins, hidden strengths, silly things like an old Myspace handle instead of them booking a hotel room and hurrying out of their clothes.
Personable. Down-to-earth. Adorably humble. Yuri was, for a lack of better words, remarkably unremarkable. She was grounded, a good sport, and maintained an intriguing personality. Of a world Tiffany hadn’t dealt with since she was a teenager, saving up for uni under a roof that wasn’t her father’s.
This crush hadn’t waned. If anything, it inflated.
Tiffany raised a finger to the guy at the bar, ordering another. Hyoyeon and Yoona took note of her mood and thankfully, chose not to badger her about it. They went the extra mile in keeping Sinbi out of Tiffany’s hair, appeasing her with gossip about a makeup influencer rivalry. Like best friends would.
However, they’d change their tune if they could read minds, knowing the whole situation. If they could predict the message Tiffany crafted specifically for an unsuspecting Kwon Yuri.
She wouldn’t send it tonight. Not while sipping this particularly potent cocktail, while her faculties were compromised for the worst. Nope, she’d sober up, pick a time this weekend-down to the minute-and berate herself for it afterwards.
Might as well live up to her heartbroken title. Maybe she’d learn her lesson this time.
[A/N]Just posting this because bobbed, pink-haired Sooyoung didn't last nearly as long as I'd wanted. Hmph.
