Face Time (27 page)

I take Laura’s hand in mine, and her fingers are freezing so I rub some warmth into them. “The mistakes we make are lessons. I learned from that mistake. I knew the next time I found real love, I would have to do anything to protect it. What did you learn from your mistakes, Laura?”

She bites on her lip, staring past me at the wall behind me. “That I couldn’t fix loneliness by sleeping with a million men. I spent my time in New Orleans celibate for that reason. I had a boyfriend, Paul. He was good to me, sweet and kind, and he was responsible for helping me find a job. He introduced me to my friends, and we had a good time together, but I never slept with him. I couldn’t. It was too soon. I think he might have worked out if I had just opened up a little more. I didn’t tell him anything about Asia.”

“What went wrong with Rene?” I ask, and her eyes fill with tears again.

“That one was almost perfect. We had a good relationship, but my mom spilled the beans about my abortion to him, and he was religious.”

“Why would your mother do such a thing?” How incredibly rude and insensitive. The more I hear about her mother, the more I dislike her.

Laura shrugs her shoulders. “Jealous, I guess. My parents had an awful relationship. Maybe she didn’t want me to be happy. I don’t know. Theresa thinks she’s a narcissist.”

“Sounds like it.” I sigh and open the journal again, flipping to a passage Laura wrote in Bangkok. I read it out loud.

“I missed this anonymity of city life. When you live on the beach, in a small hut, for weeks at a time, everyone knows who you are, where you came from, and who you’ve slept with. But I walk the busy streets of Bangkok, and I’m a number, an empty face, a person without a past, without a future. I’m more at home here. Anonymous. I wouldn’t say I’m happier, but at least, I’m calmer.”

Laura pulls up her knees and rests her back against the tub behind her. “I forgot I wrote that.”

“You’re a beautiful writer, Laura. I just don’t understand why you kept this. God, all you civilians never destroy evidence when you should.” She huffs and smiles for a brief moment. I start flipping through the journal and everything I find that isn’t about with the men she slept with gets ripped out. I set aside passages about the beach, a meal she loved, the temples she visited, and then stop and skim an entry about one man she did sleep with who made her laugh when she was so sad. That’s the only one I keep. Near the end of the book are illustrations too: a rope, a boat on the water, and a flower. The flower immediately makes me jump.

“This is your tattoo.”

She nods at me, pulling the towel from her head. “Am I still bleeding?”

“No.”

She hands me the towel and pulls her hair over her shoulder and turns around on the floor. Between her shoulder blades is the same flower, inked in purples and greens. I saw it while we were making love earlier and didn’t say anything. “It’s a jasmine flower. I got it to remind me of the baby.”

“Well, the tattoo is permanent and there’s nothing I can do about it. At least, it’s beautiful. But the rest is evidence and has to go.” I set aside the pages I ripped out to keep and leave the bathroom with the journal in my hand. In the kitchen, I open a few cabinets until I find a big stock pot. I grab the lighter from the bedroom and return to the bathroom.

Laura tries to stand up, but I’m afraid of her falling again. “Sit over there, baby.” I point to a spot away from the tub, then place the stock pot in the tub, light the journal, and throw it in.
 

I sit down next to her, and she rests her head on my shoulder as I hold her hand. “Don’t ever do that to yourself again,” I say, turning and kissing her on the forehead. “Don’t keep the ghosts around to haunt you for the rest of your life. Just let it go.”

(>’o’)> ♥ <(‘o’<)

The journal burns brightly for a minute before I turn on the water in the shower and put out the flames. It’s gone.

I help Laura get cleaned up and suggest we take an afternoon nap. She climbs into bed with me easily, less shaky than earlier. I pull her against me under the covers and sigh. Her room is dark enough with the blinds down that I will fall asleep in minutes. Outside, New York is covered in a blanket of rain and gray clouds, but we’re warm in bed together.

“Have you told me everything now?” I whisper in her ear.

She sighs and rubs her feet together. “No. But that was the worst of it. It’s enough for now.”

I let my head sink into the pillow, internally sighing. “Okay. I’m not going anywhere, Laura. You’re perfect for me.”

“Lee, speak to me in Korean until I fall asleep.”

I love her. I have no idea how it happened or when, and I wish I could tell her without it being too forward or strange, even though we’ve already slept together. But the need to say it is so strong, a compulsion, much like when I blurted out she was my girlfriend.

I start to speak in Korean slowly, low and soothing. I think of every possible romantic and wonderful thing I can say, about how happy I am to have met her, how she fills my days with happiness, how I’d love to marry her and have kids with her. I want to travel with her and live with her. I want to hold her hand and make love to her. I want to hug her when she’s sad. I want her to meet my parents and be a part of my life. I tell her I love her over and over. I say the words
saranghae
and
sarang
until I think she’s asleep, but her breathing stops, and she rolls over to face me.

“You love me, Lee? Saranghae is ‘I love you,’ right?”

“How do you know so much Korean already?” I ask, trying to be serious but a smile breaks through anyway.

“I studied all the important phrases first.” She tips her face up towards mine and kisses me. Her warm, soft lips are a treat. “I love you, too, Lee. I’ve been wanting to say it for weeks and haven’t.”

“Me too.” I laugh. “I love you, Laura, and nothing you can say about your past is going to make me change my mind.”

“Well, just wait till you meet my mother, and you may run for the hills.”

“Yeah, same here.” I set my head down and kiss her on her forehead again. “Go to sleep.”

I’m glad I told Lee. I thought for a moment, as the horror stretched across his face, that we were over. The best, four-week relationship of my life over in the time it took me pull out the cardboard box of my discarded past and hand him my old travel journal. Lee continues to surprise me with his caring nature. Each time I think he’s going to fit a male stereotype, he turns my world upside down and shows me I’m the idiot for believing in stereotypes in the first place.
 

When I wake up from the nap, my head and body are both sore. Lee is already awake next to me, his phone in his hand, checking emails and texts.

“You can turn on the light. What time is it?” I slept with my contacts in, and my eyes need to adjust.

He leans over and turns on my bedside lamp, flooding my room with soft, yellow light. “It’s 4:30. Did I wake you?”

“No. My body and head hurt.”

Lee rolls towards me and brushes the hair from my face. “I don’t think it’s going to bruise. You should be fine.”

“What are you doing?”

He sighs and rolls to his back again, bringing his phone up. I slide my hand over his chest and goosebumps erupt on my arm from the contact. He smiles so I pull my body up against him.

“I’m looking at my calendar for the next month, and it’s ridiculously busy. I’m sure we’ll figure it out though.”

I kiss him on the side of his chest and close my eyes. I’ll miss him when he’s gone, and I’ll still be here packing my things and preparing to move. Where to? I’m not sure yet. I’m not sold on going back to New Orleans. It feels like a failure to go back to the place I was at my lowest.
 

“Lee, do you realize how unique our relationship is? When I go to Korean class, it’s just me, Nicole, and a whole room full of Caucasian men dating Korean women.”

“I think the majority of Korean-born men would be especially intimidated by you,” he says, smiling and yawning. “But our situation is unique because I’m an American. I like strong and fiery women. Always have. Most of the foreign men who date Korean women are looking for a good housewife.”

“I’m sure they are. It’s interesting to watch these guys try to learn Korean. Both sweet and hilarious at the same time.”

“I’m glad you like class. I was wondering if you would. Korea and its culture are a lot of fun. Even I think so and I grew up with it at home. I was out of the norm growing up. All the Korean Americans I knew tried to be as American as possible, but I wanted to learn the language and the customs. I did it to make my father happy, and try to make my mother happy, but I did enjoy it.”

“I got freaked out the other day reading the news about North Korea. I worry about you over there. Do you think it’s dangerous?”

“No, Laura. Really.” I squeeze him to me, glad he’s solid, warm, and real next to me instead of an image on my iPad. “Something could happen, I suppose, but I would fly out with the rest of the Americans. I try not to think about it too much. Would it be too dangerous for you?”

“Nope.” Is this an invitation to live with him? He hasn’t mentioned it at all yet except for the one time we texted while I was stoned. He wrote,
“I want you to travel the world with me.”
It wasn’t actually an invitation to live with him, but he does want me by his side. “I love a little danger in my life. I just don’t like when you’re so far away. I’d rather face the danger with you.”

“Thrill-seeker.” He says it like an accusation but his eyes laugh.

“Yep. I’m a typical Sagittarius. When’s your birthday, Lee? You said October?” I reach over to the night stand and grab my iPhone, too.

“October ninth.”

I put his birthday in my calendar and open the Astrology app. “You’re a Libra. We’re well-matched. This article has you pegged, Lee.” I show him the Libra traits and he cocks his head and reads for a moment.

“My father’s birthday is three days before mine. I guess we’re both similar.”

Scrolling down through the traits, I read aloud, “You’re a problem solver. You love to keep the peace, keep things balanced. Lover of all things beautiful. That’s very you, Lee. You have the best taste. Did you know you share a birthday with John Lennon?”

“I do? I love John Lennon. He was my favorite. Your birthday is in December?” he asks, opening his calendar and swiping to the month.

“December thirteenth — close to Christmas and I hate the cold. I may be typical of my sign, but I was definitely born in the wrong hemisphere.”

I place my iPhone back on the bed stand, open the drawer and pull out a stack of photographs I keep, a few spanning the time I spent building houses in New Orleans after Katrina. Looking at a photo of me standing on the porch of a finished house, my stomach is an empty cavern much like when I lived there, but I hand it to Lee anyway so he can see. My hair was cropped short, almost entirely gone, the dreads I accumulated in Asia hacked off by my enraged father before he pushed me out the door. I’m wearing an oversized t-shirt, but it doesn’t disguise how bare bones I was, my elbows sharp points and legs matchsticks holding me up. I hope I’m never that skinny again.

“Is this you? Laura, I don’t believe it.”

“It is. From my time in New Orleans building houses. I was really good at carpentry. I can probably still frame a door.”

“Look at your hair. And you were soooo skinny.” Lee holds the photo close to his face and examines the old me, his eyes taking in every detail, and a frown forming across his lips. What does he see? “You look starving, Laura.”

“Yeah.”

I set that one aside so I don’t cry and laugh at several more in the pile: me and friends I’ve forgotten the names of, New Orleans in spring, and a self-portrait in a mirror with my steadily growing hair clipped back and Paul, my brief boyfriend, sitting on the couch behind me. This girl in these pictures is just as much me as the person I am today. We’re so different but so similar. I’m just as outgoing, as trusting, as adventurous as this girl was, but I’ve grown, and I’m happier now. I’ve learned good lessons that continue to guide me today, and therapy for years made me stronger than I’ve ever been.

“All of the time I spent in New Orleans, and this is what I brought back with me. Bad memories.”

I take the photos and set them aside with a sigh. Stretching out my arms above my head, I lengthen my body as far as it will go until I collapse again. Lee rolls towards me, his head propped up.

“I followed your advice this time in India. I did get out and see more of the city.” He traces his fingers down my arm and watches the light hair rise up in the wake of his touch.

“I loved all of the photos you sent me, Lee. It made me a little sick with wanting though. My wanderlust is at an all-time high.”

“I got a huge print of Ganesha that I hung over my dresser, and I love it. It’s colorful, just like you told me to get.” His hand follows the slight curve of my body to my hip, and he plants his palm, rubbing his thumb against the waistband of my shorts. “Ganesha is the god who removes or puts up obstacles. He guides you along your path in life.”

“I hope he removes obstacles for a while. I think we both need that.” I concentrate on the weight of his hand on my hip and curse the almost three years I went without this kind of contact.

“I was thinking the same thing. I also bought a silk mandala made from the same silk as the sari I sent you. I’m going to hang it in the dining area.”

“Did you get anything else?” I love lying next to Lee and talking. It’s just like when we were dating via FaceTime, enjoyable and easy.

“Yeah, a brass elephant. I stood it amongst my potted plants along the floor. You’re supposed to point the trunk towards a window. I think it beckons in good luck? I’m not sure.”
 

“Lee, I can’t wait to see what you’ve done to your apartment. When you’re back in Seoul, you have to show me on FaceTime again.”

His eyebrows draw together for a moment in confusion, he pulls his hand away, and my heart seizes up. Was this a one time thing? He loves me but doesn’t plan on talking to me again?