If You Return (epilogue): Coda
A/N: to everyone who held my hand through this, and who had to listen to me go on about this--thank you. I learnt a lot (don't post a fic you haven't plotted, don't let your quest for perfection paralyse you), and for all the love I've received, I didn't deserve it, and that makes me all the more thankful for it.
Coda
As Tiffany bends down to enter her door’s lock code, Jessica glimpses skin. Framed between the scalloped edge of Tiffany’s top and her low-slung jeans, it is a streak just a shade paler than her tan, innocently bared. As Tiffany bobs even lower to eye-level with the lock, something finally flickers at the back of Jessica’s mind.
“Did you ever-”
Click.
“We’re here.”
***
Dear Sica,
***
If you asked Jessica, much later on, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you exactly what happened between her and Tiffany that summer either. Just that she had felt drawn, attracted, and like the tossing and turning of a ship, they had been irresistibly set into motion, tugging, pulling each other, stumbling past and forward, and something had kept her and Tiffany from drawing back too far, too suddenly, paralyzed by their own momentum.
***
Dear Sica,
***
The building undercurrent of pressure that had snaked between her and Tiffany as they sat or stood or walked together, seemingly in companionable silence, or even when they spoke that summer; it was the pressure of their two natures pushing and pulling at each other, of two forces in unpredictable motion, though Jessica did not know it yet.
***
Sica,
***
It was about two individual, independent atoms coming back together, not knowing fully about the past trajectory of the other, but not letting it impinge on their irrevocable, irresistible zinging past and back to each other in their attraction; in the grand scheme of things, it was the outcome that mattered.
***
Jessica,
How are you?
***
But it would be many summers away, before Jessica could have told you what really mattered, and told herself what she had learnt that summer in Seoul.
***
As she marches to class, dodging the several Segway daredevils on the path, Jessica shifts her tote to her other shoulder. Her business textbooks weigh a ton. They hadn’t come cheap, either. Fortunately, her father had been willing to sponsor her, only too glad that she had finally made up her mind and settled on one major, any major (“A minor in history? Yes, yes, sure, it’s good that you’re interested in the past. But can white people teach Korean history? Are you sure?”) although she hadn’t wanted him paying so much for her education. If she had taken a summer job, instead of going to Seoul over the summer-Seoul-Jessica swiftly switches her thoughts somewhere else. She isn’t ready to think about it yet. Fortunately, her phone distracts her just at that moment with an incoming notification, and Jessica fumbles for her phone, stepping quickly into the shade of a neighboring building to unlock her phone's screen.
The name of the message's sender stops her in her track, and she hesitates for a fraction for too long before tapping on her screen anyway.
***
Jessica,
How are you? It's harder to write a letter to you than I thought it would be. So I'm writing you this message instead.
*
Jessica can practically hear Tiffany carefully enunciating every syllable, striving for the right balance of polite concern and distance.
*
Jessica,
How are you? It's harder to write a letter to you than I thought it would be. So I'm writing you this message instead.
Jessica, please talk to Yoona-ssi.
I didn't know how to reply to your texts, so I didn't. I'm sorry.
*
It's like a Pavlovian response. Is that right? The sight of Yoona's name, typed by Tiffany of all people, still brings a sting of shame, and guilt. Jessica has to blink and look up from her screen.
She wants to forget, the way she tried to forget all summer, but some part of her thinks that remembering is like drinking the bitter Korean medicine that's good for her, even if the smell makes her feel sick.
Yoona, face grave and beautiful. Yoona, squinting and shielding her face from the setting sun with her hand, her fingers long and skinny. Yoona, looking exactly the same as before, a little crease between her brows as she looked at Jessica and said with measured sincerity, "I think it's better if we break up."
How much must it have cost Yoona to rehearse those words, so that she would be able to let Jessica go without causing a fuss?
*
Jessica,
How are you? It's harder to write a letter to you than I thought it would be. So I'm writing you this message instead.
Jessica, please talk to Yoona-ssi.
I didn't know how to reply to your texts, so I didn't. I'm sorry.
I was avoiding you. I should have done that. I still think so. But it also felt like it was lacking something, you know?
So this is is some sort of closure, I guess.
All the best, Sica.
Fany.
****
It wasn't that the urge to return to Yoona wasn't there.
But so was the urge to click on the message from Tiffany and then to reply to her. To finally compose a reply to her.
She wanted Yoona to stay, but that was out of a fear of the unknown, more than a longing for what was so dearly known.
In her room, Jessica rolled over, and buried her face into her pillow with a scream of frustration.
Silence from the next room, where Krystal had been spending the tail-end of her summer in sullen misery. Amber had gone back to college, too far for Krystal to make a drive down by herself to meet her, but too near to merit a plane ride.
***
Inbox (1)
Tiffany M.Y. Hwang
Jessica,
I lied.
*
Jessica thinks her heart must have jumped into her throat when she finally opens her eyes and sees the notification on her phone. How long has she been napping for? And how long has that message been sitting in her inbox, waiting for her?
*
Jessica,
I lied.
I was writing to you because I wanted closure. But I'm also making a trip to your part of the state. I promised a friend I would drive her down this weekend because she's injured her foot, and she has a few things to take care of back home.
I wasn't sure if I would run into you. I wasn't sure if I wanted to run into you either.
I was and I'm still afraid of what the answer is.
USC's a big school. I probably won't run into you, right?
Even if I do, I'll say hi.
Take care,
Fany
*
Next door, Krystal's pillow appears to have hit the floor with a soft 'thump'; she seems to be awake too, and on her phone. Jessica can hear her talking quickly, but she can't make out what she's saying.
Jessica re-reads her message for the nth time, and hits 'send', too quickly and not quickly enough for her.
Fany,
Come say hi?
Jsyk…I don't mean anything by this, but I'm not with Yoona anymore.
She initiated the break up.
Even if you don't say hi…I understand.
Please take care,
Sica.
***
“…Sica?”
Tiffany’s husky voice gives her a thrill, and her heart drops way down into the pit of her stomach, too quickly for her own good. Maybe it's too early in the day and her life to hear Tiffany's voice again.
Do not link arms. Do not bring up Seoul. Do not pass Go and collect 200 dollars.
*
"Wanna get some coffee?"
"Sure."
Jessica keeps her limbs to herself, afraid to even bump Tiffany accidentally. No, not afraid. Guilty, or just trying not to make things worse. Tiffany's shoulders look too stiff at first, her smile too small.
Any word could be a potential opening for the past to slip out-a them instead of the current Jessica and Tiffany that they are, sipping coffee carefully, ankles crossed as carefully under their own chairs-and they’re not ready for it. So every sentence is carefully measured, its implications clipped and penned in before being released in words.
*
"Where's your friend?"
"She said she had someone to meet. That's why she's here, I think."
Jessica recognizes the perfume Tiffany's using, right from the start when she walks up to Tiffany, trying not to think of the butterflies in her stomach. How could she not recognize it, when she was the one who picked it out?
But the perfume also smells slightly different, and Jessica can't put her finger on it. Is it because perfume smells differently on every woman? Jessica knows better now than to lean in, but she swears that it doesn't quite smell the same throughout the day. Perhaps it's the heat of the last of summer, that has Jessica dashing for shade whenever she can and dragging Tiffany with her, and Tiffany laughs, hurrying for cover too.
Funny thing, perfume, how it changes with sweat-and time.
"I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"I'm sorry too. I--still am."
*
"Does your friend want to grab dinner?"
"She says she's grabbing a burger with someone else."
"Where're you staying?"
"With a friend. She's working the night shift, so she won't be back till late."
"Dinner?"
"…Sure, why not."
Jessica decides to have a drink with her dinner that has stretched on from coffee and lunch and hanging out. Tiffany does too. They alternate between talking gaily, almost frantically, and silence.
Jessica can feel herself warming up, with the alcohol. Maybe it is working faster on her today because she’s tired. She starts to hum along, and the melody, in her slightly relaxed state, goes up and down and nowhere, and she can feel her vocal chords vibrate with astonishing sensitivity. She feels relaxed.
Jessica suddenly breaks one of the stretches of silence.
“Do you know-“
“Hmm?”
“It doesn't take that long by plane from your school to here.”
“-Mmm. Yeah.”
Jessica goes on, a little more boldly.
“And by car, seven, maybe eight hours.”
“Yeah.”
They fall back into silence.
Tiffany, her voice a little rough from the alcohol, and from suddenly speaking:
“That’s not too far.”
They are quiet in the car. The drive back is fraught with tension.
Jessica knows it's too soon, but she doesn't know any other way this can end. What do you call the distance between two people, when not enough time has passed between them for the past to be water under the bridge?
Or perhaps she has to hold on to her memories, so that she can live in the present.
*
Elevator. They do not talk. Tiffany stands close to her, not touching, but Jessica thinks she can feel the heat radiating off her.
*
Jessica waits behind Tiffany, for her to open the door.
*
The sharp click of the lock seems to jolt something in Jessica to action. She moves forward towards Tiffany, but Tiffany has already straightened up and walked quickly into the apartment, almost as if she were nervous.
*
Tiffany walks towards the stereo and puts on some music.
“You like jazz, don’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“A mix CD. All kinds of jazz, mostly female singers.”
Jessica can recognize only a couple of the voices on the CD. That’s Ella, for sure. She’s heard her at the café so many times.
*
She walks idly towards the balcony.
*
This time, it is Tiffany who moves towards her.
*
In the background, Joni Mitchell whispers about love on both sides, husky and scratchy and lightly jaded. There is no one to answer her; only the stars are watching the silhouettes on the balcony.
*
As the clouds drift quickly over the moon and then past it, in another universe, a Tiffany lays her head on Jessica's shoulders and laughs. In yet another universe, another Jessica laughs and shows all her teeth as she moves to catch Tiffany’s fingers in the bright glare of daylight and cameras. And in this universe--
And in this universe, the distance between them is painful, and yet neither can move.
Perhaps it is Tiffany who first moves to lift her hand and to place it on Jessica’s back, in that hour of distress, and perhaps Jessica sits still, her head barely grazing Tiffany’s shoulders. As Tiffany’s hand makes its way up, if her fingers brush Jessica's top, against the inky black tattoo that dips low on Jessica’s back, the stars won't tell.
******
Coda
As Tiffany bends down to enter her door’s lock code, Jessica glimpses skin. Framed between the scalloped edge of Tiffany’s top and her low-slung jeans, it is a streak just a shade paler than her tan, innocently bared. As Tiffany bobs even lower to eye-level with the lock, something finally flickers at the back of Jessica’s mind.
“Did you ever-”
Click.
“We’re here.”
***
Dear Sica,
***
If you asked Jessica, much later on, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you exactly what happened between her and Tiffany that summer either. Just that she had felt drawn, attracted, and like the tossing and turning of a ship, they had been irresistibly set into motion, tugging, pulling each other, stumbling past and forward, and something had kept her and Tiffany from drawing back too far, too suddenly, paralyzed by their own momentum.
***
Dear Sica,
***
The building undercurrent of pressure that had snaked between her and Tiffany as they sat or stood or walked together, seemingly in companionable silence, or even when they spoke that summer; it was the pressure of their two natures pushing and pulling at each other, of two forces in unpredictable motion, though Jessica did not know it yet.
***
Sica,
***
It was about two individual, independent atoms coming back together, not knowing fully about the past trajectory of the other, but not letting it impinge on their irrevocable, irresistible zinging past and back to each other in their attraction; in the grand scheme of things, it was the outcome that mattered.
***
Jessica,
How are you?
***
But it would be many summers away, before Jessica could have told you what really mattered, and told herself what she had learnt that summer in Seoul.
***
As she marches to class, dodging the several Segway daredevils on the path, Jessica shifts her tote to her other shoulder. Her business textbooks weigh a ton. They hadn’t come cheap, either. Fortunately, her father had been willing to sponsor her, only too glad that she had finally made up her mind and settled on one major, any major (“A minor in history? Yes, yes, sure, it’s good that you’re interested in the past. But can white people teach Korean history? Are you sure?”) although she hadn’t wanted him paying so much for her education. If she had taken a summer job, instead of going to Seoul over the summer-Seoul-Jessica swiftly switches her thoughts somewhere else. She isn’t ready to think about it yet. Fortunately, her phone distracts her just at that moment with an incoming notification, and Jessica fumbles for her phone, stepping quickly into the shade of a neighboring building to unlock her phone's screen.
The name of the message's sender stops her in her track, and she hesitates for a fraction for too long before tapping on her screen anyway.
***
Jessica,
How are you? It's harder to write a letter to you than I thought it would be. So I'm writing you this message instead.
*
Jessica can practically hear Tiffany carefully enunciating every syllable, striving for the right balance of polite concern and distance.
*
Jessica,
How are you? It's harder to write a letter to you than I thought it would be. So I'm writing you this message instead.
Jessica, please talk to Yoona-ssi.
I didn't know how to reply to your texts, so I didn't. I'm sorry.
*
It's like a Pavlovian response. Is that right? The sight of Yoona's name, typed by Tiffany of all people, still brings a sting of shame, and guilt. Jessica has to blink and look up from her screen.
She wants to forget, the way she tried to forget all summer, but some part of her thinks that remembering is like drinking the bitter Korean medicine that's good for her, even if the smell makes her feel sick.
Yoona, face grave and beautiful. Yoona, squinting and shielding her face from the setting sun with her hand, her fingers long and skinny. Yoona, looking exactly the same as before, a little crease between her brows as she looked at Jessica and said with measured sincerity, "I think it's better if we break up."
How much must it have cost Yoona to rehearse those words, so that she would be able to let Jessica go without causing a fuss?
*
Jessica,
How are you? It's harder to write a letter to you than I thought it would be. So I'm writing you this message instead.
Jessica, please talk to Yoona-ssi.
I didn't know how to reply to your texts, so I didn't. I'm sorry.
I was avoiding you. I should have done that. I still think so. But it also felt like it was lacking something, you know?
So this is is some sort of closure, I guess.
All the best, Sica.
Fany.
****
It wasn't that the urge to return to Yoona wasn't there.
But so was the urge to click on the message from Tiffany and then to reply to her. To finally compose a reply to her.
She wanted Yoona to stay, but that was out of a fear of the unknown, more than a longing for what was so dearly known.
In her room, Jessica rolled over, and buried her face into her pillow with a scream of frustration.
Silence from the next room, where Krystal had been spending the tail-end of her summer in sullen misery. Amber had gone back to college, too far for Krystal to make a drive down by herself to meet her, but too near to merit a plane ride.
***
Inbox (1)
Tiffany M.Y. Hwang
Jessica,
I lied.
*
Jessica thinks her heart must have jumped into her throat when she finally opens her eyes and sees the notification on her phone. How long has she been napping for? And how long has that message been sitting in her inbox, waiting for her?
*
Jessica,
I lied.
I was writing to you because I wanted closure. But I'm also making a trip to your part of the state. I promised a friend I would drive her down this weekend because she's injured her foot, and she has a few things to take care of back home.
I wasn't sure if I would run into you. I wasn't sure if I wanted to run into you either.
I was and I'm still afraid of what the answer is.
USC's a big school. I probably won't run into you, right?
Even if I do, I'll say hi.
Take care,
Fany
*
Next door, Krystal's pillow appears to have hit the floor with a soft 'thump'; she seems to be awake too, and on her phone. Jessica can hear her talking quickly, but she can't make out what she's saying.
Jessica re-reads her message for the nth time, and hits 'send', too quickly and not quickly enough for her.
Fany,
Come say hi?
Jsyk…I don't mean anything by this, but I'm not with Yoona anymore.
She initiated the break up.
Even if you don't say hi…I understand.
Please take care,
Sica.
***
“…Sica?”
Tiffany’s husky voice gives her a thrill, and her heart drops way down into the pit of her stomach, too quickly for her own good. Maybe it's too early in the day and her life to hear Tiffany's voice again.
Do not link arms. Do not bring up Seoul. Do not pass Go and collect 200 dollars.
*
"Wanna get some coffee?"
"Sure."
Jessica keeps her limbs to herself, afraid to even bump Tiffany accidentally. No, not afraid. Guilty, or just trying not to make things worse. Tiffany's shoulders look too stiff at first, her smile too small.
Any word could be a potential opening for the past to slip out-a them instead of the current Jessica and Tiffany that they are, sipping coffee carefully, ankles crossed as carefully under their own chairs-and they’re not ready for it. So every sentence is carefully measured, its implications clipped and penned in before being released in words.
*
"Where's your friend?"
"She said she had someone to meet. That's why she's here, I think."
Jessica recognizes the perfume Tiffany's using, right from the start when she walks up to Tiffany, trying not to think of the butterflies in her stomach. How could she not recognize it, when she was the one who picked it out?
But the perfume also smells slightly different, and Jessica can't put her finger on it. Is it because perfume smells differently on every woman? Jessica knows better now than to lean in, but she swears that it doesn't quite smell the same throughout the day. Perhaps it's the heat of the last of summer, that has Jessica dashing for shade whenever she can and dragging Tiffany with her, and Tiffany laughs, hurrying for cover too.
Funny thing, perfume, how it changes with sweat-and time.
"I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"I'm sorry too. I--still am."
*
"Does your friend want to grab dinner?"
"She says she's grabbing a burger with someone else."
"Where're you staying?"
"With a friend. She's working the night shift, so she won't be back till late."
"Dinner?"
"…Sure, why not."
Jessica decides to have a drink with her dinner that has stretched on from coffee and lunch and hanging out. Tiffany does too. They alternate between talking gaily, almost frantically, and silence.
Jessica can feel herself warming up, with the alcohol. Maybe it is working faster on her today because she’s tired. She starts to hum along, and the melody, in her slightly relaxed state, goes up and down and nowhere, and she can feel her vocal chords vibrate with astonishing sensitivity. She feels relaxed.
Jessica suddenly breaks one of the stretches of silence.
“Do you know-“
“Hmm?”
“It doesn't take that long by plane from your school to here.”
“-Mmm. Yeah.”
Jessica goes on, a little more boldly.
“And by car, seven, maybe eight hours.”
“Yeah.”
They fall back into silence.
Tiffany, her voice a little rough from the alcohol, and from suddenly speaking:
“That’s not too far.”
They are quiet in the car. The drive back is fraught with tension.
Jessica knows it's too soon, but she doesn't know any other way this can end. What do you call the distance between two people, when not enough time has passed between them for the past to be water under the bridge?
Or perhaps she has to hold on to her memories, so that she can live in the present.
*
Elevator. They do not talk. Tiffany stands close to her, not touching, but Jessica thinks she can feel the heat radiating off her.
*
Jessica waits behind Tiffany, for her to open the door.
*
The sharp click of the lock seems to jolt something in Jessica to action. She moves forward towards Tiffany, but Tiffany has already straightened up and walked quickly into the apartment, almost as if she were nervous.
*
Tiffany walks towards the stereo and puts on some music.
“You like jazz, don’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“A mix CD. All kinds of jazz, mostly female singers.”
Jessica can recognize only a couple of the voices on the CD. That’s Ella, for sure. She’s heard her at the café so many times.
*
She walks idly towards the balcony.
*
This time, it is Tiffany who moves towards her.
*
In the background, Joni Mitchell whispers about love on both sides, husky and scratchy and lightly jaded. There is no one to answer her; only the stars are watching the silhouettes on the balcony.
*
As the clouds drift quickly over the moon and then past it, in another universe, a Tiffany lays her head on Jessica's shoulders and laughs. In yet another universe, another Jessica laughs and shows all her teeth as she moves to catch Tiffany’s fingers in the bright glare of daylight and cameras. And in this universe--
And in this universe, the distance between them is painful, and yet neither can move.
Perhaps it is Tiffany who first moves to lift her hand and to place it on Jessica’s back, in that hour of distress, and perhaps Jessica sits still, her head barely grazing Tiffany’s shoulders. As Tiffany’s hand makes its way up, if her fingers brush Jessica's top, against the inky black tattoo that dips low on Jessica’s back, the stars won't tell.
******