Face Time

by S. J. Pajonas

  In the kitchen, I pull the ash tray I keep for this sort of occasion from the cabinet over the stove, and we all sit down. The joint is lit as I stuff a towel under the front door, and we pass it around a few times, inhaling and not coughing. We’re all obviously pros.

  I pour everyone a glass of water before cutting the bread and lasagna while Nicole and Justin chat about what they do for a living. Nicole is a lot like me. She’s working as an administrative assistant to save money for her career change to Korean English teacher in the fall. Her parents and younger brother live in New Jersey and help pay her rent, and she went to Rutgers for her undergrad in English. It’s strange how much we have in common.

  “I want to write novels, but I sit down and nothing comes.” Nicole passes the joint to me in the kitchen, and I inhale and hold before blowing the smoke into the hood of the stove. If anyone were on the roof, they’d get a good second-hand hit out of that, but it’s raining and everyone has their windows closed. Mmmm, my ears are tingling, and I’m jumpy and happy as I cut the lasagna into decent-sized squares. I made enough to feed an army — leftovers for a week and some for the freezer.

  “Give it time. Going back to Korea should give you something to write about.” Setting down the knife, I stare at the stove, a prick of memory at the back of my skull. “Did you ever journal when you traveled?”

  Justin chugs his entire glass of water, so I bring the pitcher from the fridge to the table.

  “I have stacks of journals from when I lived in Europe,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “I wrote about every place I went, saved every last receipt, and drew pictures of all the locations I spent time in: Venice, Florence, the Alps, Berlin.” He rubs his face, his pupils dilated and whites of his eyes already red. “Hmmm, I wonder where they are? Probably at home.”

  “How long ago was that?” Nicole asks, reaching for the bottle of wine and corkscrew. I get up to retrieve wine glasses. Up and down. Up and down. I have trouble sitting still.

  “Ten years ago. I think when I was traveling Europe, Laura was in the East.”

  “I was.” Slowly, through the fog of pot and repressed memories in my head, Asia is coming back to me. I arrived home from Bangkok a total mess. My hair was braided and in dreads because I had let it go in the oppressive heat and humidity, and I was about thirty pounds underweight. My stomach refused to digest food properly, and I had to take a two-week course of antibiotics when I landed back in the States. Dozens of bruises dotted my legs from letting my backpack knock against them in crowded buses. My own father didn’t recognize me when he picked me up at JFK.

  I got the email my aunt died sitting in a 100-baht-per-hour internet cafe along Khaosan Road. My mom and her sisters were close and Aunt Susan was my biggest supporter, there for every milestone of my youth and held my hand throughout David’s funeral. I slumped over the keyboard of the computer and cried until some Thai prostitute who was sitting next to me gave me a tissue. The kindness of strangers. I went back to my insect-infested hotel, threw out all of my clothes but two outfits, and left for the airport without saying goodbye to the guy I was sleeping with at the time. When I had come to Bangkok two weeks earlier, I stored a box of items I picked up in Malayasia and Japan, including all of my journals, at the airport luggage lockup. I retrieved them and boarded the next flight home.

  Those journals are sitting in the back of my closet. I haven’t looked at them in years. I didn’t even open the box when I took them from my parents’ house and moved in here.

  “Laura?” Both Nicole and Justin are looking at me frozen in the kitchen holding wine glasses. “Should we eat now?” Nicole asks.

  “Yes. Sorry. I was sucked back in time for a moment. The pot…” I wave my hand by my head and roll my eyes.

  “I’ll help.” Justin rises from the table. “Did you hear Nicole say she blogged her entire trip to Korea?”

  “No. No, I didn’t.” I unstick my feet from the floor and pass Justin opening my cabinets to get out plates. “Is it still online? Send me the address. I’d love to read it.”

  “Sure,” she says, pulling out her phone. “It’ll give you a good idea of what to expect in Korea.”

  “Wait. Are you going to Korea?” Justin dishes out lasagna while I fill up wine glasses. “Things must be working out with Lee.”

  “They are.” I blush, the pot making my head spin. “And yeah, I want to visit and at least see what Korea is like. I think he wants me to come. We’ll see.”

  “This lasagna looks amazing, Laura.” Justin inhales over the dish on the stove. “God, I love that you’re such a good cook and will cook for me. I have no other friends that do this.”

  “Nicole and I are taking a Korean cooking class on Wednesday at the Whole Foods downtown. Bibimbap and barbecue. Mmmm. I can’t wait.”

  “Then you just need to learn to make pickles and kimchi and you’re all set. Trust me. Cornerstones of the Korean diet.” Nicole nods her head knowingly. Okay, pickles and kimchi next.

  “Fantastic.” He brings three plates to the table, expertly balancing a dish along his forearm, which makes me smile. This is another thing that united the two of us: he also waited tables in his twenties. “So I’ll be over on Thursday to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

  “Fine. You know I’m always happy to cook for others.”

  “You’d make a excellent housewife.” Justin winks at me, and I’m reminded of my mother. I never wanted to be anything like her, but the idea of living in Seoul, cooking for Lee and his friends, and entertaining his coworkers, excites the hell out of me. It’s so strange. It’s not even something I dreamed of doing six months ago. The idea of the perfect American housewife was repulsive, but the adventurous, overseas, traveling wife sounds grand.

  “All I need is an apron.” I raise my glass. “To new, old, and absent friends.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Two

  =

  Lee

  I’m browsing the bookstore at the airport before my flight leaves when my iPhone buzzes.

  Laura Merchant

  Does your flight leave soon?

  Lee Park

  In an hour. I’m picking up a new book for the flight.

  I don’t want to work on the way home.

  More Ludlum? What should I read?

  What’s next to your bed?

  Laura Merchant

  Besides my glasses? I’m reading lots of Young Adult right now.

  Read something by John Green if you can find it. You’ll like him.

  Lee Park

  Glasses? I didn’t know you wore glasses.

  I didn’t see them in any of our chats before.

  Laura Merchant

  I usually wear contacts. I’m not sure why you never saw my glasses before. Here. Fashion Show.

  …

  God, my heart stops. I don’t know how she manages to be even more sexy than usual with glasses on, but she does. Her auburn hair wildly spills along the side of a pair of red, square plastic frames, her smile holding the hint of an inside joke. The joke’s on me. I have a girlfriend far away that I know so little about. What else can I learn about her?

  Laura Merchant

  And this pair…

  Same smile, same pose, but a pair of oval tortoise shell frames that look great too.

  Laura Merchant

  And these too. I buy them online and switch them up.

  Black, cat-eye frames with little gems in the corners.

  Lee Park

  You could play sexy secretary with those.

  Laura Merchant

  Indeed. I’ll hide them away for role play someday ;)

  Did you find a book?

  Lee Park

  I might have to stick with Ludlum. The selection here is not very broad.

  Laura, what side of the bed do you sleep on?

  I pay for my book and exit the store with a bottle of water and bag of potato chips. Sitting down facing my gate, I pick a spot next to another businessman typing a
way on his computer.

  Laura Merchant

  I sleep on the left. Closest to the door.

  Lee Park

  Good, I sleep on the right. Are you a side sleeper?

  Laura Merchant

  Side and back. Sleeping on my stomach irritates my back.

  Lee Park

  Me too. I like to read before bed and fall asleep on my left side.

  Laura Merchant

  That’s funny, me too. I like to rub my feet together under the covers until I’m almost asleep.

  Lee Park

  I think I just close my eyes and pass out.

  Laura Merchant

  During the winter, I sleep with socks on. I can’t fall asleep if my feet are cold.

  Lee Park

  You could tuck them between mine. Mine are always hot.

  A long silence lengthens while I wait for a reply, so I open my water and potato chips and stare out the window. Ten more minutes till boarding.

  Laura Merchant

  Lee, what are the chances we’ll be able to spend the winter together? I really want to know.

  Lee Park

  The winter is so far away. Let’s spend all the seasons together.

  Laura Merchant

  In Seoul?

  Lee Park

  Wherever I am, I’d like you to be there. What would you like?

  Laura Merchant

  Lee, I’m scared to talk to you about this stuff. Like it’s too soon…

  Lee Park

  It’s not. Don’t hold back, Laura. I want to be with you.

  Laura Merchant

  I want to travel the world with you.

  I want to be spontaneous.

  I want to be happy.

  Lee Park

  I want you to travel the world with me.

  I want you to show me how to be spontaneous.

  Making you happy will make me happy.

  Laura Merchant

  I want to kiss you so much.

  Lee Park

  Me too.

  Wait, what time is it there? 1:30am?

  Laura Merchant

  Hmmm, yes. I am baked. I sent Nicole and Justin home over an hour ago.

  Lee Park

  Baked? As in stoned? Smoked pot?

  Laura Merchant

  Yes, indeed. I’m thinking about eating again.

  Lee Park

  Lol. I can’t believe you smoke pot.

  God, I’d give anything to somedays. It’s hard to come by in Asia and my firm drug tests.

  Laura Merchant

  Oh good. You sent that first text and I was wondering if you disapproved.

  Lee Park

  Not at all. I went to Berkeley, remember?

  Laura Merchant

  Right. Good point.

  I don’t often. Justin brought it and left some for me.

  He’s a prince… who likes other princes.

  I should go raid the fridge. Tell me about the weird snacks in India before you board your flight.

  My laughter startles the businessman next to me. I immediately regret that I don’t have enough time to go back to the snack shop and buy up a bunch of strange things for her like the curry flavored chips or tamarind candy I passed over at the checkout counter. Next time, Lee. Next time.

  My phone buzzes again.

  Cori Winslow

  Sorry I’ve been out of touch. Things have been hectic around here.

  Lee Park

  Is everyone ok?

  Cori Winslow

  Yes, everyone’s fine. We’re all looking forward to your valiant return.

  We’ll talk when you get back.

  Hmmm, I wonder what’s going on in Seoul. I text back an “I’m boarding. Xoxo.” to Laura and put my phone in my bag as first class is called to board.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Three

  =

  Laura

  Lee’s Thursday morning, my Wednesday evening, I rush home from barre class, practically running down the streets even though my legs are made of jello. My Korean cooking class with Nicole was moved to next week, and I had nothing to do but exercise. I haven’t seen Lee in two weeks now, and I’m so anxious I could cry, cry from the frustration of us being so far apart, cry from the lack of actual face time, cry from the confusion I feel having fallen in love with someone I never see. Then I read the news about North and South Korea, and I shouldn’t have. I used to think of South Korea as a safe place, but with missiles flying into the sea from the North, it’s a country always threatened with war.

  I tried to be patient this week as my book of boudoir photos flew its way to Lee in South Korea, and he has been jammed up at work with meeting after meeting. We wanted to FaceTime earlier in the week, but he was called into work for 7:00am meetings Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning. We’ve been texting, and I was hoping he’d mention that he made plans to come see me, but he hasn’t. Now I wonder if I’m mistaken about his intentions towards me. Maybe he’s not as into me as I believed.

  I pull out my phone a few blocks from home and find a voicemail from my mother. Shit. Not now. I cannot deal with any more of her bullshit. I don’t even listen to her message and continue my fast pace home.

  By the time I’m in the front door, tears are streaming down my face, and my nose is red along with the rest of me. Attractive. I hasten to my mother’s room and open the door. Her bed is made but most of her belongings from the top of her dresser are missing. The closet sits open, and her rolling bag is gone.

  On the kitchen table is a note in her precise, looped handwriting: “Richard and I are leaving for the Bahamas. When I return I will pack up and move in with him. I am sorry about the apartment, Laura. If I thought you could afford it, I’d hand over the mortgage to you, but I don’t think you can. I’ll call you when I’m back. Love, Mom.”

  I rip the note into the tiniest shreds possible and toss them in the trash. Of course, I can’t afford to live in this place. Because, instead of graduating from NYU with honors, securing a good job, and building up a savings account, I traveled to Asia, spent all of my money on plane tickets, getting high on opium, and sleeping with every last man that would sleep with me. I then came home, pissed off my father by having an abortion, and lived the next five years starving and alone in New Orleans.

  Mistakes. I’ve made way too many mistakes in my life, and I’m paying for them all now.

  I swipe the tears from my face and open my computer I left on the kitchen table. Accessing my bank account, I take a deep breath before clicking on the “Savings Account” link. I haven’t looked at the balance in a few months. I get my paycheck deposited into my checking account and move money over to savings blindly.

  When the page loads, a comforting but still depressing number faces me: $36,451.

  This is enough to leave town but it’s not enough to stay. My guess is the mortgage on the apartment (which is actually a condo but this is New York City and these things are confusing) is around $2600 per month and the maintenance fee is at least $1000 per month. I can’t afford this place on my salary, and my savings would be gone in less than a year.

  I’m due to call Lee in thirty minutes, so I stumble into the bathroom, wash my face, and brush my hair. I don’t have time to put on makeup. I just leave my face the way it is before grabbing dinner.

  “Hi, gorgeous.” Lee’s sleepy face and messy hair appear before me, his apartment lit with beautiful and blinding morning light. Seeing his familiar face and surroundings, I burst into tears again. Dammit. I had just looked presentable before sitting cross-legged on my bed. A tear rolls off the end of my nose and lands right in my leftover lasagna on the plate in my lap.

  “Oh no. Laura, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” He sets his coffee cup down on the table next to him, and I set my lasagna aside so I can grab another tissue.

  “It’s nothing, Lee. I’m super emotional today. Sorry. I’ve missed you, and, this day has not been good.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. I�
�m really glad to be home in Seoul. I think this is the first time in five years I’ve walked in the door and been happy to be here.”

  “Really?” I dab at my eyes and take a deep breath. “Why? I thought you liked living there.”

  “I do. I definitely prefer Seoul over Seattle, but I used to come back here and feel lost. It didn’t feel like home.”

  “It does now?”

  He nods and sips his coffee. “I cherish this internet connection now. I keeps me connected to you.” He smiles at me, and I smile back. Don’t cry. “I was never so pissed off as that morning in India I couldn’t talk to you. I wanted to kick something. Hit something…”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran it all off and went for a swim.”

  “Exercise is the greatest stress reducer.” I pick up my dinner again and take a bite.

  “I can think of a better stress reducer.”

  I don’t need to look up to know what Lee is referring to. His voice is low and seductive, but I want to laugh (and have sex too but I need to eat).

  “Lee, talk dirty to me in Korean.” I tip my head forward and let my hair fall across my face, trying to be as sexy as possible while shoveling lasagna into me. This is not an easy thing to do. Lasagna is messy.

  Lee’s smile tilts to the side and he makes eye contact with me. Perhaps, if I lean in more to the iPad, I can kiss him. Sigh. He pulls back a little from the iPad on his end and starts speaking Korean. I have no idea what he’s saying but I catch two words he uses more than once, yukgu and boji, and his face speaks louder than anything. Whatever it is, it’s hot, and I want it.