Face Time – Chapter 8

Lee

I texted with Laura last night to set up our FaceTime this morning. I was on my way to bed, still jetlagged, and she was on her way to work, so we talked time and nothing else. I wanted to flirt more with her — ask her what she was wearing, what she’d be doing at work that day — but I stopped myself.

Our second date is over the internet. If I think too hard about that, it sounds pathetic, like I can’t just walk out the door and meet a woman in a bar like people normally do. I did, just not in Seoul, and I’m not even sure I could meet a woman here if I wanted to. I love South Korea but my American ways make me stick out. As soon as I open my mouth, they know because my Korean is good but not native. My mother always said I spoke Korean too slow, but my father would pull me aside and tell me he was proud I had learned at all. Both my older brother, Jin, and my older sister, Nari, refused to speak Korean in public. They wanted to fit in as much as possible with everyone else at school. I didn’t fit in at home, and I don’t fit in here either, except when I’m with friends.

My apartment is in a high-rise complex right on the northern edge of Cheongdam-dong, and I was lucky enough to score one of the last one-bedroom apartments with a view of the river and west towards Seongsu Bridge. Chris and Cori live here, too, in the same building, but five floors down and on the other side. I had only been in Seoul a week, living in a hotel on the other side of the river near work, when Chris asked me out for drinks and to meet his wife. Cori went home that evening, spoke with the management, and I signed the lease on this place two days later. The firm pays for everything. It even came with furniture. The only thing I did to personalize my space was to keep my suitcase by the front door and my computer, iPad, and iPhone are always charging on the kitchen table when I’m here.

A storm is moving in this morning, threatening rain for most of the region. Black, rolling clouds sit in the sky, ready to start the onslaught of spring precipitation. March isn’t too bad, but in spring and summer, it rains all the time. I’m never without an umbrella when I’m back here. Sipping my coffee at the window, I can’t believe I got up at 7:00am when I don’t need to be in the office until noon, but I wanted to make sure I’m showered and dressed before Laura calls. Checking the time again, it’s only 7:40am now. I should get breakfast before 8:00am.

The shelves are empty in my fridge, as per usual, except for an unopened box of soy milk. I need to grocery shop for some basics since I’ll be here for two solid weeks before leaving for India. In the cabinet are a few boxes of cereal I keep around just for these moments. When I return to Seoul after being away for so long, it takes me at least two days to get to the store, and I don’t always want to eat out. Cereal fills in the gaps nicely. Pouring the soy milk into a bowl filled with this Korean abomination of cocoa puffs, Sandra’s voice filters into my head. “You live like a college student, Lee. It’s so depressing.” Maybe for her.

My iPhone and iPad both light up at the kitchen table at 7:55am. She’s early. I set my iPad up and sit down at the table with the light facing me and accept the call.

“Hi.” Laura smiles at me, and my stomach flips over, but I reach out and take a screenshot. The more photos I have of her the better. She’s sitting on her bed, her hair pulled back loosely over one shoulder, with a brown paper bag next to her. “I hope this is another dinner date because I picked up food on the way home.”

“Hi, Laura,” I say, relaxing in her presence like I did during the first date. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, Lee. You look better rested.” She reaches into the bag next to her and pulls out a styrofoam container.

“I am. I slept through the entire night. Didn’t even need to take anything. I’m happy to be back in Seoul.”

“I’m sure.” She squints and leans into the camera. “Are you eating? Do I see a bowl? Eat with me. I got falafel.”

“Oh. Falafel.” My mouth immediately starts to water. “I haven’t had Middle Eastern food in forever. I may have to seek someplace out while I’m here. I’m eating cereal. It’s the only thing left in the apartment.”

“You had milk, though,” she says, pointing her finger at me.

“I keep those boxes of the shelf-stable soy milk around and pop one in the fridge before I leave on a trip. That way it’s cold and ready when I come back.”

“Good idea.”

We both take a few bites of our food and chew in silence for a moment, and it’s the same kind of easy quietude we had on our first date. I’m taking the time to memorize her face. She has almost flawless skin, gentle arching eyebrows, and a long straight nose. I love how soft the short hairs around her ears are. She reaches up and tucks them back, a curl falling out across her face.

“Are you on your computer?” she asks, and I pull back from the iPad. I hope I wasn’t drooling.

“No, I have an iPad, too.”

“Me too. Technology and clothes are the only things I splurge on nowadays.” My attention shifts to her falafel sandwich which looks so good my stomach rumbles. That’s kind of cruel. My cereal is unappetizing and soggy so I push the bowl away.

“Let me see your setup. Take a picture with your iPhone and send it to me.”

“Okay.” She picks up her phone and points it at me. “Smile.” A few seconds later, my iPhone blinks with her message and photo. “I have one of those breakfast-in-bed trays for nights when I want to relax in my bedroom.”

The photo shows her bed, the iPad set on top of a tray, but my eyes focus on the pile of clothes on her floor. “I spy with my little eye…” I play this game with Evie, but it’s things like a red truck or a green trash can, never a black bra.

“Oh, Lee. I saw that in the photo, and I was hoping you’d overlook it.”

“Not likely.”

Her neck blushes, and she takes another bite, letting me stew and think about where that bra has been. This “relationship” of ours is only a few hours old, and it’s already a hundred times better than my last two girlfriends.

“What did you end up doing on Sunday?” I ask, detouring the conversation from the sexy avenue it had turned on.

“I ran some errands, went to the gym to lift weights, then went on a walk with Theresa.” She wipes her mouth and sets aside her falafel.

“Your pregnant friend, right? Are you and Theresa good friends?”

“Yeah, she’s my best friend in New York. We were roommates freshman year at NYU, both undeclared majors. I chose English and she chose Education. We kept in touch after school when she did Teach for America and I traveled, then both ended back up here.”

“Did you tell Theresa about me?”

She smiles and drinks from a glass of water. “Of course I did.”

“I told Cori about you. Well, more like she interrogated me for info until I gave up. She should have been a lawyer.”

“Do you have many girl friends?” she asks, and though she’s asking lightly, this is always a hot topic with women. Every past girlfriend of mine has wanted me to denounce every girl I ever knew.

“Well, here in Seoul, my closest friends are Chris and Cori, and I go out for dinner and what not with other coworkers and partners at the firm and clients who are in town. Then I have cousins nearby, the majority of whom are women, but we’re related. I would say I have an equal number of men and women friends. To be honest, a lot of the women I know back home are associated with Sandra, so I can’t say how good of friends we’ll be after this.”

That just slipped out. “After this” meaning after we’ve broken up, and I’m finally ready to date someone else? I wonder what Laura thinks of that.

“Right. Makes sense.” She nods her head and pauses for a moment, before stretching out to her side table and grabbing a bottle of beer. She’s casually dressed tonight, a dark gray long sleeved cotton shirt and I thought I saw black yoga pants in the photo she sent me. I love yoga pants on women.

“What about you? What are your friends like?” I ask.

“Me?” she asks. “Hmmm, I have friends all over the world, but only a few here in New York. I don’t see everyone often or anything. That’s the thing with being in your thirties and single in the city, you’re in the minority. Almost all of my friends are engaged or married. So sometimes we go out but it’s not the same unless I bring a date. Most of the time, they’re not interested in talking to someone they don’t know, they just wanted to see me…” She drinks from the beer and sets it aside. “Which is sweet and all that, but I always feel left out.”

“I understand. I’m thirty-five and unmarried. My mother is going to lose her mind when I talk to them next and tell them that I refuse to get back together with Sandra.”

I pause to watch her reaction. I’m not telling her this so I can gauge her, but I really want to know what she thinks.

She nods her head. “You do seem very unhappy every time you mention her name. What is it about the relationship that didn’t work for you?”

I sit back in my chair and cross my arms, gazing out past the iPad to the window and the storm rolling in. “There just wasn’t any… romance?”

Laura laughs, tilting her head to the side and smiling at me again. I wish she was here. “Are you a romantic, Lee?”

“I guess I am. I’ve known Sandra and her family all my life, so when we got together, it was one drunken night and suddenly she was bossing me around and acting like we’d been unhappily married for a decade. She would complain about me to my mother, my friends. God, no wonder I stayed away.”

“When was the last time you went back to Seattle?”

“Over six months ago, and I only saw her once when I was there.” It was a hurried fuck in my hotel room, and the whole rendezvous wasn’t even enjoyable. Sandra bitched about everything from the bed to the condoms to the way I threw her clothes on the floor.

Laura pulls her hair out of the elastic its tied in and runs her fingers through her long, dark hair a few times. “Well, I love romance. It’s a dying art. You should be with someone who will appreciate your gestures.”

“I have someone in mind.” I lean into the iPad and smile at her, and we pause to observe each other. She knows I’m talking about her. Who else would have captured my attention enough to spend my morning with?

“So you’re going to talk to your parents soon?” Her voice is quieter, and she’s probably wondering if she’ll get a mention to my parents. I’m going to play the situation by ear.

“Yeah, I talk to them tomorrow night, 11:00pm my time, 7:00am Seattle time. The World Clock app is my best friend.”

“I’m sure it’ll be mine soon, as well.” She winks at me, and my pulse stutters. So charming.

“Okay, your turn. Tell me about your ex-boyfriend.”

Her smile falls, and she leans back away on her end, reaching over to grab the beer and hold the bottle in her hand. Shit. The last one hurt her, I know it.

“His name was Rene.” Her voice cracks, but she clears it and drinks. “Funnily enough, I met him at a bar, too, like you…”

I can already tell I’m going to have to be totally different from this guy, and I hope that’s not an impossible task.

“He was a complete stranger, much like all the other guys I dated in my past. But the difference was that I met him here in New York on New Year’s Eve.”

“Why is that different?”

“Lee…” She hangs her head. “This is something I don’t talk about on the second date or ever.”

Hmmm. I’ve never dated a woman with a past before. Usually I’m the first or second boyfriend or, in the case of Sandra, known her my whole life. This is uncharted territory.

From her end of the conversation, the voice of woman calls Laura’s name, and she sighs, closing her eyes. “Sorry. I need a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay,” I reply, and she mutes the call and leaves sight of the camera. Does she have someone else in her apartment? I don’t remember her saying she had a roommate. The back of my neck prickles. Something is not right. I could see it in the way Laura’s shoulders tensed at the sound of the voice.

A minute or two passes before she returns to her bed, repositions herself and the iPad, and un-mutes the call.

“Sorry about that, Lee. Um, we need to talk about something.” She grasps a thick strand of hair, twists it in her fingers, and lets it go. “My mother lives here with me in my apartment.”

I blink my eyes a few times, confused by this statement. “You live at home?”

“No,” she says, waving her hand at the camera. “I do live in a two-bedroom apartment in Chelsea. When my dad died three years ago, my mother had… Hmmm, how do I say this nicely? A middle-aged freak out.”

“Oh no.” I cringe.

“Yeah. She sold their house in Connecticut, showed up on my doorstep, and invited herself to live with me. Technically, she owns the apartment now that my dad is gone so I couldn’t say no. She said she was only going to live here for a few months, but, three years later…” She shrugs her shoulders and watches for my reaction.

“Wow. That’s really…” I stop, searching for the correct words here.

“Sad and depressing?” she asks, laughing.

“No, I was thinking, accommodating and caring. And certainly a lot to take on in your early thirties.”

“Honestly, it sucks. She’s had more boyfriends in the last two years than I’ve had my whole life, and they’ve all been wealthy and perfect. But somewhere along the way, she lost the ability to keep her mouth shut about anything. She eventually breaks up with them once she’s said too much. She never talks to me anymore, not like she used to. She’s off on her vacations to the Caribbean or Europe with her newest fling without so much as a thought or a note to let me know she’s gone.” Laura picks at the comforter on her bed, her head turned from me. “Sorry. I do worry about her, but she’s so frustrating.” I sensed on our first date she was holding a lot back from me. I didn’t expect a live-in mother in the middle of a midlife crisis.

I bet this is why she’s still single, and my heart clenches in my chest. What do I even say?

“Okay then,” I say, trying to relax and comfort her. If she were here next to me, I’d hold her hand or hug her. A FaceTime date is more difficult than I thought it would be. I love physical contact. It was another thing I hated about my relationship with Sandra. “Don’t worry. You’re doing what you have to do. If I were in your situation, I’d do the same. You can tell me more the next time we talk.”

“On the third date?” she asks, her face turned back to the camera and a small smile upon her lips.

“Is that a question about whether you’ll tell me next time or wondering if there is a next time?”

“Both.”

“I’d like for there to be a next time and even more times after that.” Laura likes to flirt and talk, but she seems to relish being direct and honest. I think, as long as I don’t play hard to get, something can come of this. What something? I don’t know.

She sighs, scrunching up her shoulders first before relaxing again. “Me too.”

“Okay, let’s make a plan. How about your Saturday night, my Sunday morning? Are you free?”

“Oh.” Her voice softens and she chews on the corner of her mouth.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she says, smiling and blushing again. “It’s just that… Well.” Her voice is so quiet, I reach over and turn up the volume on my iPad. “Saturday seems very far away.”

Christ, I’d give anything to kiss her right now. “It’s ages away. Eons. Next time you see me I may be an old man.”

“That’s okay. All the Koreans I know get more handsome with age.”

She’s a keeper.

“Can I text you during the week?” she asks. Her eyes are wide and hopeful.

“Yes. I’d love that. If I’m sleeping or in a meeting, I may not text back for a while.”

“Same here. I also have a job and sleeping to do.”

I feel like this is getting off on the right foot, and Laura’s relief was evident when I suggested another FaceTime date. I think she likes me and didn’t want to scare me away with the news of her mother. I wouldn’t mention that on a first date either.

“Saturday night, same time,” I say, nodding and smiling at her.

“Okay. I’m taking my mom to Connecticut during the day, to have lunch with my aunt, but I’ll be back before then.”

“I’m looking forward to it already. Our third date.”

“I can’t wait.” She leans in, and waving, ends the call.

Neither can I.

—-

“You’ll get back together with Sandra. You always do. This time, you should put in notice at your job and come home.”

My mother, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun, is droning on at me, but I’m concentrating on the pace my heart is beating in my chest. Even under the most trying circumstances at work, the most stressful cases I have ever handled, nothing boils my blood like my mother trying to boss me around. I want to keep the peace in our family. I do. I’ve been trying my whole life just to meet her expectations.

I’m failing. Again.

My father, sixty-five years old and doesn’t look a day over forty, sits back quietly, his ever-present glass of Scotch dwindling by the moment. It’s 7:00am in Seattle, and he’s already through his first glass of the day. This is stressful for him as well. My mother drove him to drink most of his life, and what she lacks in regularity, my father’s guilt or work makes up for in spades.

“No, Mom. I’m not getting back together with Sandra. We haven’t spoken in a month now. She broke up with me, and I’ve already moved on.”

“Excuse me?” she asks, her eyes wide and voice rising. My father takes a lengthy sip, hiding his smile from her.

“Yes. Moved on. Sandra is in the past now. You can tell her yourself if you like. I know you’ll be calling her later.” That’s the routine. I talk to my parents, my mother calls over to Sandra’s, they exchange gossip, and Sandra calls me. I’ve traveled so much in the last month, this ritual hasn’t been performed in a long time. My mother’s finger will be dialing Sandra’s number as soon as we hang up.

“Met someone new, Lee?” I’ve piqued my father’s interest. He likes women, all shapes and sizes, from all walks of life, and I’m sure I got the same love of women from him. I can’t count the number of times he’s employed beautiful women assistants and paralegals at the office. They’ve all been extremely qualified, but he likes a pretty face.

“I have, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet. It’s still in the beginning stage.”

“Someone in Seoul?” My mother puts her glasses on and leans towards the iPad on her end of the conversation. I bought the thing for them, but I doubt they use it for anything else but conversations with me.

“No comment,” I reply.

“Bah. You lawyers.” My mother waves her hand at my father and me. She must be sick of us.

“Su-Dae, no more of this,” my father admonishes my mother as he sets his drink down. “Lee is a man and can take care of himself. You need to stop meddling.” Thanks, Dad. I love my father. He’s always been on my side.

“I’ll go make breakfast.” Without saying goodbye, my mother gets up and walks away, the bedroom door slamming shut in the background.

“Tell me,” my father whispers, leaning into the iPad. “Is she pretty?”

“Gorgeous, Dad. But…” I sigh, not wanting to deliver this kind of news, but I should while my mother is away from the room. “She’s not Korean. She’s Caucasian.”

He leans back, drinking the last of his Scotch, and nods his head. “I always knew this family would be mixed someday. Your mother won’t be pleased.”

“Is she ever?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Honestly, son. It’s the least of my worries.” He strokes his stubbled chin and looks off in the distance, and I know from the layout of their bedroom, he’s trained his eyes on the Buddha statue my parents keep in their room. My family is both Buddhist and Christian — Christianity now heavily outweighing Buddhism — but the old ways are hard to give up.

“Big case goes to trial in a week now, right?”

“Less. On Wednesday. Only five years late.” My father smiles at me but his grin is weary, and tiredness has rimmed his eyes in red. He’s been working on a big environmental law case for eight long years, three years past when he was supposed to retire, and it’s finally going to trial. My family lives in Lynnwood, just north of Seattle, and my father handles all the environmental law cases that threaten the areas north of us. In this case, a huge developer wants to encroach on protected land right next to a town full of people, and his firm has been fighting them for years. “Hopefully I can retire by the end of summer.”

“You can take up a life of leisure, Dad. Go golfing. Fix up the garden in the back yard…”

He laughs, shaking his head at the iPad. “Golfing, yes. If I spend too much time around the house, your mother will kill me in my sleep.”

This is probably true. I’d like to think my father took an active role in our upbringings, but my mother ruled the house. She handled everything. My father was only home in the late evenings and some weekends when he didn’t have to go to the office to get work done. But he did care — does care. He asked about every track meet, every concert, girlfriend, and class I ever had. He took the time to be with me. He was at my graduations. He was at Jin’s and Nari’s weddings and around for the birth of their kids. Whatever anyone says about him, he’s a family man.

“Okay, well, lots of golf and exercise… and less alcohol.”

He nods at me. “Of course.”

The ensuing silence speaks volumes. He can never give up the alcohol now.

“How’s work?”

“Oh, you know, Dad. It’s a lot of work.” I stand up at the table and turn the camera around so he can see the piles of paper I brought home from the office. My firm specializes in automobile companies, and I handle a few Asian and Indian manufacturers. I need to be well-informed about current international law; the companies export vehicles to every corner of the planet. I spend a lot of my trips briefing their internal lawyers about possible problems and new regulations in each country.

“It is. Are they treating you well? Five years now, I was wondering if you want to make partner or not.”

Sighing, I close my eyes for a minute. We have this conversation every few months. “I don’t think so. It was never supposed to be a permanent thing.”

I took the job to get away from Seattle, my mother, and Nari. They drive me mad with their constant nitpicking. I’m never good enough for them. My sister, Nari, is the worst though. She’s constantly depressed or angry, picking on me or her poor husband, Daniel, and getting drunk at every family function. She and Sandra are best friends, so between the two of them, I’m hounded on every front. I had been in Seoul at this firm two years when I got together with Sandra, and after six months of dating long-distance, I realized I should just stay where I was. Sandra is as bad as Nari and my mother, and now I can’t believe I put up with her for as long as I have.

“What are you thinking, son?” My father rubs his face, blinking his bleary eyes at me. He looks so tired.

“I’m not sure but something different. My loans are paid off, and I have money in the bank.”

“You’re smart, Lee. It was a sacrifice to take this job and do all the traveling, but they pay you well.”

“They do.” I’m lucky to be in this position, but it has been a personal sacrifice. I don’t have much of a life. If it weren’t for Chris and Cori, I would have quit over a year ago. Now I’ve met Laura, and I’m not sure where she fits into all of this. “I’m going to give it some thought. I want to do something more significant, like you.”

My father’s passion has always been the environment. I need to figure out mine.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ve gotta go. It’s getting late, and I have to be at the office early tomorrow. But…” I point at him with a smile. “Before I go, let’s make a wager on how many baseball references the local papers will come up with for your win.”

“You’re tempting fate, Lee.”

“I know, I know, but I think you’ll win. I’m betting between ten and fifteen.”

He squints at me, rubbing his chin again. “I’m going with more than fifteen. A good bottle of Scotch?”

“Okay, I’ll allow alcohol for this bet.”

My father shares a name with Chul-Soon Park, a famous (in Korea) baseball player. During my father’s earlier years as an attorney, he mentioned the baseball name connection to a reporter, and it’s been headline fodder ever since.

“Sleep well, son. Plan a trip home soon.”

“Okay, Dad. Bye.” I end the call and get up to take my plate back into the kitchen when my phone starts buzzing on the table. What did he forget to tell me?

I hustle back, almost dropping the plate on the floor, and freeze. It’s Sandra. Of course, it is. My mother never fails to fulfill all her duties.

I let the call ring and ring, not picking up the phone for fear I may accidentally answer it. After a minute, the screen indicates I have voicemail. I should just erase it because I don’t care what she has to say. But I can’t help it.

“Your mother tells me you’re dating someone new. I don’t remember us talking about seeing other people. But if this is the way you’re going to be then fine. Don’t come crawling back to me when you want to get back together.” Click. What? Is she joking?

My phone vibrates in my hand with a text from her. She’s relentless.

—-

Sandra Kwon

I know you’re home. Your mother says you were talking to your father. Don’t ignore me.

—-

Lee Park

We broke up, Sandra. Weeks ago. I can date whomever I want.

—-

Sandra Kwon

We did not break up.

—-

I open my email, find the last one from her in which she specifically said, “We should break up, Lee,” and paste the entire paragraph into the text window.

—-

Sandra Kwon

You idiot. I said we SHOULD break up. Not we ARE breaking up.

—-

I have my arm cocked back to throw my iPhone against the wall before I snap out of my blind rage.

—-

Lee Park

I hate the way you talk to me. I’m not an idiot and we are definitely through.

You’ve been dating other men for months. Remember? “Let’s keep things casual.”

You’re a hypocrite.

Don’t contact me again.

—-

Sandra Kwon

Fine. You’ll be back. You always come back.

—-

I navigate away from her text, hit “edit” on the list view of all my messages, and delete her from them. It won’t get rid of her permanently but at least I don’t have to see her name every time I open iMessages to talk to Laura.