Page 20 of Love in Focus

I used to tease Celeste about how she was totally an emo goth girl who secretly had a Barbie-pink bedroom, since her bedding and curtains were all pink, even though she almost always wore black in college.

“Pink is far from my favorite color, but I still find it comforting,” she’d explained one night. “Probably because my mom always bought me pink decor back at home. What can I say, I’m a creature of habit.”

My heart aches with the knowledge that, despite the many years that’d passed since Celeste and I were together, some things remain the same.

I’ve gotten so used to sleeping on Clementine for the past couple of weeks that now, just lying in a bed feels like a forbidden luxury. The silk sheets are cool and smooth against my cheek, and after a few minutes, I reluctantly brush the blankets aside to get up from bed.

A familiar, spicy smell gently wafts to me as I approach the bedroom door.

Haejang-guk, I think, remembering the hearty cabbage and meat hangover soup I ate with my cousins when I visited them in Seoul after college graduation. When we walked into a restaurant at three a.m. after a night of clubbing, I’d been so surprised to see it almost completely full. My cousins explained it’s a common custom for Koreans to eat haejang-guk at the end of a night out to help mitigate a hangover the next day.

I had fun with my cousins, but I never told them that I’d asked them to take me out because Seoul is also Celeste’s hometown, and I secretly hoped to run into her.

Twenty-two-year-old me had known that Seoul is a huge city with millions of people, but she’d still been unable to let go of the naive fantasy that we’d have some miraculous K-drama moment, where I’d catch a glimpse of her on the subway or see her while crossing a busy intersection in Hongdae. Even though I’d started dating James a couple months before and was perfectly content in that relationship, I just wanted to get a glimpse of her, if only to confirm with my own eyes that she still existed after seemingly disappearing from my life forever. I didn’t even want to date her at that point. I simply wanted closure.

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t find her during that trip, and I figured it was for the best. When James asked me later that summer if I wanted to move in with him after we’d both accepted our respective positions atHorizon, I said yes, fully ready to start our new life together in San Francisco.

Of course, now I know why Celeste disappeared from my life. And I know that in the same summer I was having the time of my life with my cousins in Seoul, Celeste was going through a hell I can’t even imagine.

I stumble out of the bedroom, my heart squeezing from the pain of both the past and present.

Celeste’s kitchen is sleek and modern, with black countertops and a stainless-steel fridge. It’s the kind of industrial aesthetic environment that suits her outfits more, which is how I know this part of the house wasn’t decorated byCeleste herself. It occurs to me then that this whole place must be an Airbnb or another temporary lodging of some sort, since Celeste is only staying in the area until mid-January at the latest, our deadline to finalize everything. She probably replaced the bedding with her own. Which is a veryherthing to do.

Celeste stands at the stove, her back to me as she cooks, stirring the big pot with a silver ladle. Everything smells so good, and the rich kimchi smell makes my mouth water.

When she hears me approach, Celeste stiffens but doesn’t turn around.

“Hey,” she says.

I clear my throat. There are a million things I want to ask her right now, but the question that comes out of my mouth is “Since when do you cook?”

Back in college, I used to always be the one that made our meals, while Celeste took care of the cleaning and tidying up around the apartment. I’m shocked that she’s making haejang-guk from scratch, instead of ordering delivery.

“Since I had to take care of my mom when she was sick,” she replies. “You learn a lot in times of desperation.”

If we were still together, or even if we were still friends, I’d rush up to hug her. But since we’re not, I stand there awkwardly as Celeste brings the ladle to her lips. My eyes automatically follow the movement, and before I know it, I’m staring at her lips as she tastes the soup. Damn it.

“What happened last night?” I ask.

“You don’t remember?”

In Korean, instead of saying we “blacked out,” we say “the film ended” to describe the unpleasant experience of not having any recollection of what happened after a night of drinking. A lot is lost to me, and the final thing I remember before waking up in Celeste’s bed is…

I gasp, bringing my hand to my lips. I’ve been so preoccupied with memories of the distant past that I only now remember more recent events.

I fell, and Celeste and I kissed.

Celeste silently watches me, carefully studying every slight change of the expressions on my face.

“You passed out, and I brought you back to my place,” she goes on when I don’t say anything. “Don’t worry, nothing else happened, and I slept on the couch. The stew is ready. Let’s eat.”

I sit down and, after waiting for Celeste to join me at the table, eat my first spoonful. The hearty stew warms me up instantly, the pleasantly spicy flavors revitalizing my senses so that after only a few spoonfuls in, I really do feel rejuvenated.

“Thanks for cooking,” I say when I finish my bowl. “And for bringing me back from the pub last night. Sorry things got so… out of hand.”

“No problem. I’m glad I was there to help you.”

It’s a sweet thing to say, but there’s not a single ounce of affection or warm emotion in her voice. In fact, she looks visibly uncomfortable.

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