March 24, 2024
Hudson Valley, New York
"I can't believe how hard it's coming down."
Ji-pyeong glanced over at Mi-rae, hoping for a response.
His wife was staring straight ahead with both hands on the steering wheel. She was wearing all black, apparently in solidarity with her mood.
Mi-rae nodded her head. And remained silent.
Ji-pyeong pursed his lips and shifted in his seat.
This is ridiculous.
They had been driving in silence for nearly an hour.
Ji-pyeong let out a sigh in the hopes that it would prompt his wife to finally turn her head and look at him. But Mi-rae's eyes only narrowed as her fingers gripped the wheel tighter.
His stomach dropped. Ji-pyeong turned his phone over in his lap and took refuge in its screen. He scrolled through the thirty emails that he had received from his Birdhouse management team since he last checked. The subject lines had resumed a more typical tenor of urgency rather than the utter panic of Friday. Ji-pyeong scrolled through them quickly and then he opened his itinerary for his trip tomorrow to Boston.
My plane leaves at 7 am?
Ji-pyeong pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. And then he leaned his head back and opened them to stare out the window. The naked woods passed by in an endless gray blur beyond the rain streaking across the glass. Ji-pyeong could not make out a single individual tree as the car hugged a turn on the Taconic State Parkway.
It was the Sunday of a weekend away that had not turned out as either of them had imagined.
Mi-rae had planned this getaway as one of her Christmas presents to him: a cooking class for the two of them at the Culinary Institute of America, followed by a vineyard tour, and dinner at the institute's experimental restaurant. Ji-pyeong had looked forward to it for weeks as he struggled to keep up with the constant demands of Birdhouse. He missed the quiet ritual of preparing meals in their kitchen. And his wife's thoughtfulness had touched him deeply. She was carving out the space for them to breathe again since their short sojourn to Miami at the beginning of the year.
Miami.
It already felt like a year had passed since then.
Ji-pyeong's fundraising prowess as a CEO had shocked even him. The sizable investments that he had solicited from venture capital funds and Silicon Valley and pharmaceutical giants eager to diversify had allowed the company to scale up on an accelerated timeline. But it had tripled his workload. Investors of that magnitude demanded constant reporting from the face of Birdhouse. In addition to his regular duties, Ji-pyeong had spent this past month personally inspecting potential expansion facilities in Waltham and hiring staff for a second Birdhouse research campus.
It was any startup's dream to be this flush with resources. Birdhouse was a marvel — securing patents and already navigating FDA approval a few months into its founding. But Ji-pyeong was strangely taking little pleasure in its success. The role of CEO leveraged his talents — he could lead, he knew how to weigh risk, he was decisive and bold. But the rhythm did not suit his nature. Ji-pyeong felt frustratingly mired in the grind of running the same company day in and day out. He missed the challenge of learning about new industries and turning different kinds of problems around in his head. He was weary of answering questions posed by investors who knew far less than him but could loom their purse strings over him anyway. Han Ji-pyeong had advised hundreds of startups on exactly what he was doing every day. It felt rote to do it for himself, not thrilling despite the prestige of his title. The obstacles were mundane even if the scale of execution was staggering. CEO Han was toiling in the weeds. Even Vice President Han had flown high above the field with the open sky before him.
But even more than that creeping stagnancy, Ji-pyeong missed his wife. And he missed who he was when he was with her. There was a renewed sharpness to his tongue that was increasingly harder to curb with others. He felt himself constantly struggling to swallow his impatience in meetings and on phone calls. There was no respite between deals anymore. Constant travel and long hours left little time for anything else. Everything that Ji-pyeong had discovered last summer that brought him joy — cooking, tending a garden, enjoying all that living in New York with Mi-rae offered— was now consumed by work. He may be in charge of a company but he was not in control of his life.
And so Ji-pyeong had held onto this weekend away as they both worked through so many others. He fantasized about walking through a charming small town hand in hand with Mi-rae. He imagined her laughing as they followed instructions like schoolchildren in a kitchen. He envisioned watching a sunset again by her side with a glass of wine in hand. He dreamed about making love to her in the morning instead of after midnight. In conference rooms, in souless airport lounges, and in lonely hotel rooms that seemed to always look the same: the hope of sharing two days away with his wife sustained him. For just one weekend it would be the way it was last year.
Finally, the long awaited sojourn was upon them. But then Friday went sideways. The real estate investment trust Ji-pyeong negotiated with for a long term lease threatened to pull out unless Birdhouse agreed to new terms. And then Alex Kwon and other investors got wind of the expansion potentially falling through and demanded to weigh in on options.
Ji-pyeong spent the drive up to Cold Spring on the phone wrangling with his lawyers. After they arrived at the inn, he worked until two in the morning placating investors and trying to steer the lease back on track. The next day Mi-rae attended the cooking lesson alone. The vineyard tour was canceled. Their dinner last night was interrupted by multiple phone calls as the new terms were negotiated. Ji-pyeong's guilt was compounded by his embarrassment every time his phone buzzed. His wife grew increasingly withdrawn. And then the negotiations continued long past the moment when Mi-rae excused herself from the table and went back to their room.
By the time Ji-pyeong slipped under the covers between the four posters of a bed, Mi-rae was already asleep. He stared at the shape of his wife's back as he realized that they had barely spoken all day. Ji-pyeong wanted to reach his arm across the space between them and pull her close. He wanted to wake her and tell her how he regretted missing so much. But guilt stilled his hand. The weekend had been lost because of him. And then Ji-pyeong cursed his mind as it uncontrollably raced with the challenges of the next week until his eyes surrendered to sleep.
When they opened this morning to an unfamiliar window framing a slate gray sky, Mi-rae was already showered and packed. She had barely said a word to him since they had begun the drive back. And then the sky had opened in a deluge; incessant and unforgiving. Ji-pyeong was turned inside out. He was accustomed to his wife's temper burning quickly like a firecracker — hot and bright but then passing quickly. This silence filled him with dread. The damp cold of the winter rain sank into his bones with a disquieting ache.
A song from Mi-rae's playlist wound to an end with a chord that trembled listlessly away. There was silence. And then the familiar plucking of guitar strings unfurled from the speaker like a gentle caress.
Our song.
Ji-pyeong let out a breath, grateful for the opportunity to bridge this impasse between them. He realized with a sharp pang that he could not remember when they had last touched. And so he gathered his courage and then lifted his fingers from his lap. But just before the first word peeled into the air, the speaker violently contracted into silence. And then a synthesizer blistered into the air instead.
Ji-pyeong whipped his head towards Mi-rae.
"You skipped it?"
The words just burst from his lips. And then shock twisted into anger like a knife. Ji-pyeong reached over and decisively turned the volume dial off.
Mi-rae glanced over at him. But her face remained stoic. Her hair was longer now but the ends still curved sharply. They felt like a rebuke as she continued to stare ahead. Ji-pyeong sat up and turned his body to face her. He could not stand the silence any longer.
"Look, you're obviously angry with me."
Mi-rae squared her shoulders and flipped the wipers onto a faster mode.
"I'm not."
Ji-pyeong grinded his teeth against each other at the absurdity of her statement. Then he took a breath to ensure that his tone remained measured.
"Mi-rae, come on. You have barely said a word to me today. And you skipped ''Invisible String.'"
She kept her eyes forward and shrugged.
"I just felt like hearing something else right now."
An incredulous puff tore from his lips.
"That's bullshit."
Mi-rae's eyes darted towards him before fixing ahead. And then there was silence again. Ji-pyeong gripped the door handle to steady his building anger. It was even more infuriating to be ignored as his frustration so obviously whipped like a flag in the wind before her. A needling impulse provoked him to try to force an end to her silence.
"Just be an adult and talk to me."
Her mouth dropped open. And then Mi-rae's eyes flashed. Her lips snapped shut into a grim red line.
Shit. I should not have said that.
Mi-rae shook her head as a small sound of disbelief puffed from her lips.
"Be an adult?"
She said it slowly, each word growing louder. Ji-pyeong held his hands up and shook his head emphatically.
"I'm sorry I shouldn't have—"
Her hair swung as she turned her head to look at him quickly. Mi-rae's bold eyebrows were knitted together in frustration.
"Ji-pyeong."
He winced.
"I spent this entire weekend by myself and did not say a word about it! I'm sorry, is that not 'adult' enough for you?"
Her tone was sharp. Ji-pyeong ran a hand through his hair.
"I shouldn't have said that. But I'm just really frustrated with the way you've been giving me the silent treatment."
Mi-rae laughed. It was a bitter staccato. He did not like the sound of it.
"You're frustrated?"
He clenched his jaw.
"Yes."
She inhaled a breath. And then the dam broke as the car accelerated.
"I planned this trip for you in December. It was a Christmas present! I picked every single recipe that we were supposed to learn based on your favorite things to eat. Because you love to cook and haven't been able to. And I booked a romantic hotel! I planned a vineyard tour! And then I busted my ass for the last two weeks to even be able to take this weekend off! And you worked the entire time!"
Ji-pyeong blinked as he absorbed the torrent of her anger.
"And then after I spent all of Friday night and all of yesterday alone, you couldn't even stop answering your phone for two hours at dinner last night. I left the table and you just kept talking!"
Her hand slammed against the steering wheel in frustration.
"I mean... fuck."
Guilt tore through him. But then Ji-pyeong surged to his own defense before he even knew what he was saying.
"The lease almost fell through! We would've had one hundred new employees on a payroll with nowhere to work. The investors were losing their shit. How is that my fault? What was I supposed to do? Just shrug and say 'fuck it I'm taking the weekend off so good luck?'"
Mi-rae shook her head violently. And said nothing.
Against his better judgment, Ji-pyeong pressed his point further. As if winning this debate could wash the argument away.
"Do you really think that I wanted to be on the phone with the lawyers and all those assholes renegotiating a stupid lease all weekend instead of spending time with you?"
Mi-rae bit her lip as her fingers slipped down the sides of the wheel.
"No."
And then he watched as her eyes filled with tears.
"But that's what happened."
She choked the words out softly. They punched him in the stomach anyway.
That is what happened.
Ji-pyeong's hands flexed powerlessly in his lap. And then the rain pounded even more furiously against the windshield. The wind was now driving it sideways as fans of water sprayed from the wheels. The tail lights ahead were diffuse red splotches as rivulets of water outpaced the wipers anxiously swishing back and forth.
Ji-pyeong took a deep breath.
"Pull over. We shouldn't be driving in this... like this."
Mi-rae sniffed loudly and rubbed her sleeve across her face.
"No, I'm fine. I just want to get home."
You're not fine.
Ji-pyeong steeled himself. And then he reached over and touched her shoulder gently.
"Mi-rae, please. There's an exit right up there."
She sucked in her lower lip. And then Mi-rae turned on the signal and changed lanes towards the exit. Ji-pyeong squinted but could only make out the word "Roosevelt" as they slowly curved around the bend off the highway. The incessant sheets of rain made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of them. Ji-pyeong stretched his neck as if he could aid her in finding a place to pull over. The car made its way slowly down a winding road with only the rhythm of the wipers and the sound of the rain pelting against glass and metal all around them.
Finally, there was a turn off for what appeared to be a state park.
You have got to be kidding me.
The irony made Ji-pyeong bite the inside of his cheek. Gravel crunched under the tires until Mi-rae put the car in park and flicked the lever for the wipers off with a huff. Then she folded her arms and stared straight ahead. Rain drummed into the glass, obscuring the world around them and offering the only alternative to silence.
Now what?
Ji-pyeong swallowed. And then he turned to face her with his full body.
"I am so sorry that this weekend was ruined."
A small hiccup escaped her lips. And then Mi-rae turned her head away to look out her window.
"I know it wasn't your fault. Believe me, I know how it can be."
Mi-rae let out a sigh as her head fell back against the headrest. And then she finally turned her cheek. His frustration ceded to sadness now that they were actually looking at one another. His fingers clenched in his lap. He missed his wife.
"I just ... it feels like we've barely seen each other. I miss you. And I was looking forward to it for so long ....but then I just felt invisible. And I know that isn't fair. But that's how I felt."
Ji-pyeong's heart clenched.
"I never want to make you feel that way."
Her chin trembled. And then a tear spilled over onto her cheek. Ji-pyeong inched closer.
"Mi-rae..."
She threw her hands up as she shook her head.
"God I hate how I sound right now!" Her hands wiped at her face in frustration. "I get it. You know that I do. I don't want to ever make you feel guilty because of work. We've had to cancel things for my job too. I just ..."
A sob tore through her chest. But words kept finding a way out even as she began to cry.
"I just wish you would've acknowledged how much it sucked this weekend. That's all I needed to hear. But you didn't say anything. I felt so pathetic for feeling so disappointed when so much was going on."
Her eyes locked with his, shining with tears.
"And then when you finally came to bed you didn't even touch me."
Ji-pyeong's mouth went dry. And then his eyes stung with tears of self rebuke.
"I thought ... I thought you were asleep."
Mi-rae ran her hands through her hair as she tried to fight her way through another sob.
"But you always do anyway." She looked down at her hands. "And no, I wasn't. I couldn't sleep at all last night."
His brow furrowed.
"Then why..."
But he could not stand it. Ji-pyeong would not remain still and just watch her cry any longer.
He pulled her into his arms. She did not fight it. And so Ji-pyeong hugged her head to his chest as her shoulders shook. And then he felt wetness on his cheeks too.
"I am so sorry, Mi-rae." Ji-pyeong buried his face into her hair as soon as he felt her fingers clutch at his sweater. "I am so sorry."
How did we get here?
Ji-pyeong squeezed his eyes shut as a tear slowly slid out. Shame flooded as his arms tightened around her. He had once been willing to trade everything he owned on the Han River for far less than his life with Mi-rae. He had cried alone in a car because he knew what it was to feel invisible. And now his wife was crying in his arms because of him. How long had he waited to find her? How could he have taken her for granted? The smell of jasmine made his chest ache as the tapping of the rain and the hum of the motor wrapped around them.
After a time, her shoulders stilled. And then Mi-rae pulled away and looked up at him. Her eyes were swollen from crying. The red was rubbed away from her lips now — soft pink begged for his tenderness. She looked so vulnerable that he wanted nothing more than to fold her back against his chest. But Ji-pyeong tentatively took her face into his hands instead. And when she did not pull away, his thumbs brushed at her cheeks. The consequences of his choices were wet on his fingertips.
Mi-rae studied his face and then drew in a shaky breath.
"I am sorry that I gave you the silent treatment. And shut the song off. And then yelled at you."
She sighed and shook her head.
"That was so petty of me."
Ji-pyeong let out a breath.
"You had every right to be frustrated."
Those pink lips twisted in self reproach.
"But I should have just said something when you came to bed instead of waiting for you to do something first. This isn't some game."
The memory of pulling his hand back from the white expanse between them made his heart flood with the words that he should have said last night.
"I felt so guilty. You did all of this for me and then everything blew up and everyone was demanding things and... it's like the more I missed, the harder it was to talk about. I was just trying to get through it and I didn't even know what to say to you. I mean I had to miss everything."
Ji-pyeong looked up quickly at the black ceiling of the convertible as his throat tightened.
"I should have said out loud how sorry I was — how disappointed I was too. I wanted to reach out last night but then I didn't because I felt so terrible. I was a coward."
Mi-rae's hands flew to his face as she shook her head fiercely.
"No my love, don't call yourself that. You're the furthest thing from that."
My love.
Relief coursed through him. Ji-pyeong closed his eyes as he leaned his forehead against hers.
"I'll make it up to you. I'll take you away next weekend."
He opened his eyes to meet her gaze. A small, sad smile tugged at her lips. Mi-rae's fingers stroked his jaw wistfully.
"You're going to that conference in San Diego, remember? And I have a closing next Tuesday."
His shoulders sagged as he sighed.
"Dammit."
Mi-rae ducked her head to catch his eye. Her hopefulness pinched at his heart.
"But we could go back to the inn and spend tonight? Or just find somewhere close to wherever we are now and drive back to the city tomorrow morning?"
Ji-pyeong felt a sharp twinge under his rib. He was doomed to disappoint her.
"I can't."
How he despised saying those words to Mi-rae.
"My flight to Boston to walk through the new facility is at 7 am. The signing is contingent on it. And then I have kick off meetings with the new research team and..."
Ji-pyeong trailed off into silence as he watched his wife chew at her lip. She was visibly trying to hide her emotions.
Ji-pyeong clenched his jaw as his fingers slowly slid away.
I hate this.
"Mi-rae, I'm so sorry."
But then Ji-pyeong shook his head in disgust. He pulled away and sank back against the car door. His fingers raked at his hair out of frustration.
"God is that all I am ever going to be able to say to you? It's not just this weekend. All I ever do now is Birdhouse. What am I even doing?"
Mi-rae rushed to immediately close the new space between them.
"My love, it's okay!"
Her hands flew to his chest. And then they were smoothing their way across his sweater.
"It's just a challenging time. It was always going to be. But look how much you've accomplished! It won't always be like this."
But it will be for a very long time.
Ji-pyeong lifted his eyes to meet hers. He could not bear to correct her. Ji-pyeong saw the uncertainty in her brown eyes despite the soothing touch of her fingers. Desperation rushed through his heart imagining having to say goodbye to her tomorrow morning. The rain was a riot just next to his ear; the glass cold against his neck. And then a wild thought bloomed. And it wound its way from the back of his mind like a siren.
Ask me not to go tomorrow.
He wanted to say it out loud. But the words caught in his throat. Because they were absurd. But god how he wanted her to say them anyway. To just pretend for a moment and feel free of everyone's expectations.
Mi-rae leaned in closer. Her hands slipped up his chest. The air flew from his lungs. Whatever she said, whatever she asked of him, Ji-pyeong knew that he would do it. It would be so simple that way.
"Don't worry. We'll get through it."
The words were offered as succor. But he could feel his jaw clenching as the whine of the wind outside pleaded with him to act. And so he rebelled in the only way that he could. Ji-pyeong seized her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely. If all he could do was be with her now, then he would not wait a moment longer.
She made a plaintive sound. And then Mi-rae's hands slid up and around his neck. Her lips opened and he sighed into the warm mercy that they offered. Ji-pyeong squeezed his eyes shut as emotion threatened to overtake him as he kissed her. He was so grateful that she still wanted him. Dark thoughts about whether he deserved it melted away as Mi-rae climbed into his lap and pulled him into her embrace.
And then her hands were under his sweater. And her fingers were caressing his chest. He shuddered with pleasure as her hands offered amends across his pectoral muscles. He drove his hands into her hair and drew her in deeper. Ji-pyeong knew what she wanted from him but he could scarcely believe it. It felt like a miracle to be kissing her now.
Her mouth was slow and pleading, her tongue dragging along his as her fingers spanned his chest. The soft wool of her sweater rubbed against him as she began to move her hips as she kissed him. This was all that they had between their mistakes and their responsibilities. But he could give her pleasure. And he could keep her in his arms as long as he could.
His hands slipped under her sweater and undid the clasp of her bra as she sighed into his mouth in relief. And then he cupped her breasts gently as her fingers climbed up his shoulders impatiently. He stroked her, passing his thumbs roughly as he knew that she wanted him to. Her mouth nipped at his until he closed his hands over her entirely. He knew not who was greedier — he as he filled his hands with her or Mi-rae as she ground against where he was already thick with need for her.
They chased each other's lips with abandon as their hips moved together. It was a delicious tease — Ji-pyeong ached with want for her as she rubbed against him endlessly. Her fingers slipped into his hair as she slowed her hips to a steady and insistent grind. Her tongue asked him to give in to it but there was no need. He wanted her to tease him. He deserved to wait. It was a sweet torture. He felt heady with want as he throbbed against the denim rubbing between them.
Fuck.
The rhythmic rub of their bodies made his mind go blank. He wanted more of it, simply to revel in being close to her again. Ji-pyeong's hands fell from her breasts of their own volition and slid underneath the waist of her jeans. He took her backside roughly into his grasp. And then she showed him what it was to fuck with their clothes still on.
Need blotted out everything. He wanted to stay suspended here with her in the excruciating potential of what could be. Then there would be no end. Her fingers carded his scalp as she pulled at his lips. Ji-pyeong closed his eyes. All he could do was sink his fingers into her flesh and beg her hips to come back again and again. The tangle of them drove Ji-pyeong to the point of madness.
Finally, Mi-rae broke away with a gasp. She rose up higher above him. Ji-pyeong slowly blinked his eyes open. The car was filled with an eerie gray light. Rain pelted the windows all around them. Its muted drumming on the canvas roof sounded like a thousand nails tumbling above them over and over. It was cramped. The artificial heat was suffocatingly hot. But his wife's eyelids were heavy with wanting him. And her tears were now gone. He was so grateful. Ji-pyeong felt dazed as her hands took his face back into their possession.
"I want—"
Mi-rae gulped for air as her brow furrowed. And then her eyes closed as if she could not form words. He squeezed her backside roughly as he slid his mouth up her neck. He could feel her fingers pressing urgently into his jaw. And then he stopped just below her ear.
"I know what you want."
And then he was unbuttoning her jeans. And sliding his hand between her legs. And touching her as she gasped. Her fingers slipped down his neck as her head fell back. He bit his lip until it hurt at how exquisite she was to touch again — the soft tender parts of her welcoming him as she hugged his head to her chest.
Her breath came in short pants. Everything in him focused on giving her what she wanted. At least in this one moment he could do that. He curved his other hand around her neck as his fingers gently traced her secrets. High pitched bursts guided him. This was how he had first heard those precious sounds that he craved like a drug. Here, like this — with her gloriously above him. A ritual that began in the sun with the trees above them. He had breathlessly listened, realizing with wonder that he wanted to spend the rest of his life pleasing her. Now in the dark of this storm, Ji-pyeong wanted to make the hurt between them disappear. To touch her now like he should have last night. And the night before that. Ji-pyeong offered this wordless contrition. His fingers moved back and forth lovingly— making apologies for his mistakes, providing comfort for his absence, offering love instead of professions of regret.
Her arms tightened around his head. Mi-rae pulled back, her fingers sliding up his face as she pressed her forehead against his.
He looked up at her.
Ji-pyeong watched her as she climbed the path that he was offering. Her sweet breath was now coming in desperate puffs between them. Her eyes closed as her mouth fell open. Love turned to obsession as he pursued her end. Ji-pyeong jealously consumed every gasp; every small sound; the slick surrender on his fingers; the urgent press of her hands on his face as if he was not the cause of her undoing. Here he could give her the answers that she wanted. He could make her feel good. He could make her shake and gasp and tremble in his hands. All because of him.
"My love..." The press of her forehead was begging him for release. "Please..."
Here in this stolen moment between the rain and saying goodbye, he could say yes. The sweet grind of his fist sent her over the edge. And then he listened to her. And he watched her. And he imagined being inside of her clenching all around him as she began to shake in his arms. Ji-pyeong wrapped his arm around her waist and held her as she fell apart in a beautiful shattering gasp.
And then her hands slid down from his face. And her head dropped to his shoulder. Relief washed over him as Mi-rae curled herself into his chest. Ji-pyeong buried his nose in her hair and held her close.
We're okay.
He exhaled. The sound of the rain was softer now — there was a comforting rhythm to the way it was falling against the windows. It was now their accomplice: a shield from all that had caused the conflict between them. Coaxing them to stay. And just be.
Mi-rae let out a long sigh of contentment. And then she lifted her head and folded her arms onto his chest. Her chin came to rest on her forearm and she started playing with his hair. Ji-pyeong was so grateful for the feel of her fingers along his forehead. It had been days since he had felt that reassurance.
But then her eyes closed as Mi-rae shook her head.
"I am so sorry that I just made everything worse. You did not need me to be angry at you on top of all this stress. You needed me to support you."
Ji-pyeong tucked her hair behind her ear.
"You always support me! I am sorry that I got so wrapped up in everything. I always want to know how you feel. You know that. People who love each other should tell the truth, remember?"
He felt a twinge of self reproach at his own words. Even now, he was not sharing his doubts about the path that he was on. But Ji-pyeong tried to push those errant thoughts away as Mi-rae nodded thoughtfully.
She caressed his cheek, her voice soft.
"We both need to do a better job with that when what we are upset about has to do with us."
Those truths did not come as easily as others. His hand closed over hers. And then Ji-pyeong turned his lips into her palm to kiss it.
"You're right."
Mi-rae squinted at him as her lips curved into a smile.
"Same team?"
She scrunched her nose as she awaited his reply. His mouth quirked at her sudden shyness. And then a weight eased from his chest. Ji-pyeong did not have any answers for the questions swirling in his head but he knew that he would always have her. He let out a puff of amusement before agreeing to her turn of phrase.
"Same team."
The corners of his mouth tugged up. And then he lifted his head to kiss her again. Her fingers slipped deeper into his hair. And then she was pressing kisses to his cheeks. And to his forehead. He curled his arms around her and welcomed the flurry of her love like a salve. Then Mi-rae leaned away and passed her hand across the passenger window now fogged over. She giggled at the clear streak left behind by her hand.
Ji-pyeong felt a dizzying relief at the sound of her laughter.
"I can't believe we are at a state park again."
Ji-pyeong laughed out loud. It felt so good. He hugged her against his chest.
"This license plate number is going to be put on some kind of New York State watch list for indecency."
Mi-rae giggled even louder and kissed his neck. Then she lifted herself up onto her arms and arched an eyebrow.
"We might as well make it worth our while then ..."
Her hand slipped under his sweater. And then fingers were dancing along his belly. His tongue lodged into the side of his cheek at the tingling pleasure.
Mi-rae narrowed her eyes.
"You denied me the last time."
Ji-pyeong gasped in disbelief.
"We had barely been dating a week! I was trying to be a gentleman!"
Mi-rae ignored his protest. She was too busy now unbuttoning his jeans. His hands stroked up her back encouragingly as she did as she pleased. Ji-pyeong fought a smile as he watched Mi-rae pull the zipper down with focused determination. A warm buzz of anticipation vibrated through his body.
But then Mi-rae looked back up at him. And she tilted her head and leaned down to within an inch of his lips.
"Don't be a gentleman now."
Ji-pyeong swallowed hard. And then she was kissing him again. And her hand was plunging down. And she was taking a hold of him.
It sent a bolt of want through him. He would do exactly as she asked. Ji-pyeong yanked her jeans and her underwear down over her hips. And then Mi-rae broke away as she began tugging her jeans off herself.
"Ow!"
Ji-pyeong winced at the sound of her elbow smacking against the window.
"Are you ok?"
She rubbed her elbow briefly and then was back at her jeans so quickly that Ji-pyeong froze and blinked in amazement in the midst of shedding his own.
"I'm fine."
But then Mi-rae fell back against the steering wheel while struggling again with the stubborn black denim. The horn blared loudly. Her hands flew to her mouth as they both burst out laughing.
"Dammit, I hate skinny jeans! And having the top of the car on! This car is too fucking small for this."
Ji-pyeong shook his head as he laughed at her grumbling. He suddenly could not stop grinning.
"God I love you so much." He pulled Mi-rae back into his lap as she giggled. "Come here."
Her bare thighs slid into his hands as her lips reclaimed him. Ji-pyeong could feel her still smiling against his mouth as she drew him inside. His wife was smiling again, because of him. It was a blissful relief to be close to her like this after the last two days. Ji-pyeong slipped his hands up to hold her face as Mi-rae began to slowly move her hips.
Ji-pyeong closed his eyes and held her close just like that as the rain whispered to them to take their time. Everything else stopped — responsibilities, questions, doubts, having to say goodbye. There was only his wife and the sound of the rain. The feel of her body, the caress of her fingers, the sweet press of her lips as she kissed him over and over. It was bewitching to let her make love to him; softly, tenderly, slowly. As if entwining their bodies could wash away their failings like the rain across the window.
Mi-rae pulled back to look at him. Ji-pyeong felt his eyes prick with emotion as her fingers threaded together against the back of his neck. His throat felt thick. But words managed to make their way out anyway.
"I am so sorry, Mi-rae. I am so sorry."
It spilled from his lips because of today. And the day before. And for the weeks of distance — both physical and emotional. Her hips stilled. Then Mi-rae kissed his lips gently and smiled as she stroked his cheek. He felt a bittersweet spasm in his heart.
"Shh, stop being sorry. Just be with me."
She offered him grace as readily as herself. Her hands were so soft on his face. Her eyes were so full of love.
I will never take you for granted again.
But she kissed him before he could say it. And then her hips lulled him away from self reproach. Instead, she offered patience. And endless love.
His hands slid under her sweater like restless travelers. Ji-pyeong mapped his fingers across her back. This was the only place where he knew where he was going. The ridges of her spine passed under his palms up and down in a beautiful rhythm. Her mouth, her body were warm and forgiving as she kept him nestled deep inside of her. Ji-pyeong squeezed his eyes shut to keep the end at bay. Unwelcome thoughts of leaving her crowded into his head. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to force them away.
No. Not yet.
Mi-rae was still here. And so he pulled her closer. He kissed her more deeply — begging time to slow down, for their bodies to hold out, for the rain to never stop. He felt wetness on his cheeks again as he tried to concentrate on now. Ji-pyeong wanted to stay in this sacred shelter forever.
But everything must end. There was a rush of pleasure. Her mouth fell away. Ji-pyeong tightened his arms around her anyway. And then he stubbornly kept his wife against his chest as the rain still tapped against the window.
I just want to stay here.
His back ached from the cramp of the small seat. And his lungs craved the outside air. But it was still perfect. Because he was with her.
Ji-pyeong exhaled deeply as Mi-rae rubbed her face into his sweater. His fingers stroked from the top of her head down to the blunt ends.
"Your hair is getting longer."
She turned her cheek to rest it against his shoulder.
"I haven't had time to get it cut."
Ji-pyeong lifted his hand and pushed her hair back gently from her face. Then he dragged his fingers across her scalp over and over as she sighed happily.
"I want to make dinner for you tonight."
Her fingers slid under the edge of his sleeve and traced the veins on his wrist.
"It's okay. We can just order something. You have to pack and get up so early."
Because I have to leave again.
Ji-pyeong hugged her head to his chest.
"No, I want to."
He bent his head to kiss her hair. Ji-pyeong wished that he could keep this smell of jasmine with him no matter where he was.
"I'll tell you what to order from the grocery while I drive. Let me take a turn."
Mi-rae lifted her head to look at him. She smiled. But he could see the sadness in her eyes.
"I love you."
It already sounded like goodbye. Ji-pyeong folded his lips into one another for a moment before answering.
"I love you too."
They dressed in silence. But this quiet felt different. Ji-pyeong knew that her heart was aching just like his. He already missed her even though she was still beside him.
The awkward exchange of seats coaxed laughter from them despite the week that loomed ahead. Ji-pyeong ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat as he gathered himself to drive. Then he leaned forward to rub the condensation off the inside of the windshield with his sleeve.
All of a sudden that lilting pluck of guitar strings cascaded through the air again. And then his hand was enveloped by the warmth of hers.
Ji-pyeong turned to look at Mi-rae. She dipped her head sheepishly in apology. And then Mi-rae gave him a crooked smile as she threaded her fingers through his.
"Let's go home."
Home.
He squeezed her hand. It was wherever she was.
Ji-pyeong tried not to think about his flight early in the morning as he guided the car down the winding road back to the highway. They still had this time together. She was right here and holding his hand. The rain was steady but calmer now. But his looming departure would not recede from the forefront of his mind.
He sighed.
"I wish that I didn't have to leave tomorrow."
Mi-rae held on to his hand tightly.
"Me too."
She rubbed her thumb tenderly along the back of his hand.
"But it will pass quickly because we're so busy. You'll be back next Monday. I'll get through my closing on Tuesday. Let's go to dinner on Wednesday?"
Her voice was determinedly cheerful. But Ji-pyeong felt only dread at the thought of flying to Boston and then to California before seeing her again.
Ten days.
Ji-pyeong looked over at her as he nodded. But he could not force himself to smile. Mi-rae closed her other hand over his.
"We'll get through it, my love. I am so proud of you. And someday we'll look back on all this and say that it was worth it."
Will we?
But he stayed silent as Mi-rae raised his hand to her lips and kissed it gently. Ji-pyeong finally forced himself to smile. Then he sighed as he changed lanes. Words from that knowing voice peeled out as pressed his foot down on the accelerator.
"Time, curious time... Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs...Were there clues I didn't see?"
Ji-pyeong listened to this song that he now knew by heart. But his mind started turning it around as if trying to fit a new piece into an old puzzle. He had only sifted through the past as he had listened before. The lyrics sought order while looking in a rear view mirror. But what about the road ahead? Ji-pyeong was holding that string firmly in his hand but was unsure of their direction. There was no compass but for the woman holding the other end.
He squinted through the blurred glass as the wipers switched back and forth. The road stretched ahead, gray and narrow. The dotted white lines pointed only one way — a single straight line ever forward. The windshield grew thick once again with condensation, obscuring what few signs he could make out on the side of the road. Cars passed by with a hiss of water as if warning Ji-pyeong to either stay the course or get out of the way
Keep going.
Mi-rae's hand was warm and steady around his. Ji-pyeong was so grateful that she was by his side. But there was a restlessness in his chest. And he was unable to see the horizon ahead.
*******
You can listen to the following tracks as the soundtrack to this chapter at the links below or on Spotify Playlists under "Moments With You."
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5YbkITjkPlj2ncpA3AINc4?si=3161f3790dd7420f
The National "I Need My Girl"https://youtu.be/8fzwUtna4eg
Yeah Yeahs Yeahs "Maps"https://youtu.be/p5BmFOimm7E
The Rapture "How Deep Is Your Love?"https://youtu.be/7qfxCvwyxms
Big Red Machine "Phoenix"https://youtu.be/OhT7Tophch4