30 Gemma
C eleste makes us not only dinner, but also breakfast the next morning, brewing us steaming hot coffee and expertly making fancy Korean street toast that I’ve only had in LA Koreatown cafés.
As I bite into my sandwich stuffed with veggie omelet, cheese, and sausage, I can’t help but think of Val and Kiara and how they started dating. Celeste’s and my situation couldn’t be more different than theirs, but my heart beats faster, regardless.
“What do you have going on for the rest of the weekend?” Celeste asks with her hands wrapped around her coffee mug.
I blink. Since the holidays are over now and I have everything sorted out for my move later in the month, I don’t have any plans. I was planning on taking it easy and maybe watch an episode—or five—of a new rom-com K-drama I’ve seen people talk about online.
When I tell this to Celeste, she gasps.
“Oh, I’ve been wanting to watch that, too,” she says, clapping her hands. “I don’t have much going on today, either. Want to watch it together?”
“Sure.”
I’ve only seen Celeste clap her hands excitedly in one context: when we’re talking about cute K-dramas. The unexpected flash of familiarity makes me grin.
After we finish eating and cleaning up our plates, Celeste and I return to her bedroom. She steps out momentarily and comes back with her laptop and bed tray table, the same one she had when we were in college. Then, we cuddle up in bed together and hit play.
The show is cute, albeit a tad bit stereotypical with its standard poor-girl-meets-the-rich-son-of-the-CEO K-drama plot. The overarching story has more to it than that, but Celeste and I don’t get past the first couple of episodes before we’re kissing again.
Finally, Celeste places the tray table down on the floor.
“Let’s finish the rest later,” she says while kissing down my neck.
With a sharp inhale, I nod. Then, I gently place a hand below her chin and guide her lips back to mine.
The K-drama thankfully ends up being a lot more entertaining than I thought it’d be, but if someone asked me what the show is about, I wouldn’t be able to tell them. Most of my focus is on Celeste and learning and relearning how she reacts to me touching different areas of her body. She more than returns the favor, and I consider myself lucky I’m even able to show up to work on Monday.
At lunch, Val takes one look at my disheveled state and says to Kiara, “Ah, young love. Babe, remember when we were like that?”
Kiara laughs. “What are you talking about? We’re still like that.”
I widen my eyes. After making sure no one is within earshot in the café, I hiss, “You guys still have this much sex?”
Val scrunches up her nose. “Well… it comes and goes in waves. We haven’t been able to do much while you’re around, for example, but now… let’s just say that Burrito’s been sleeping in the living room.”
“Oh God,” I laugh. “I’m so sorry. Good thing I’m moving out in a couple of weeks.”
“Speaking of which,” says Kiara. “You’ve thoroughly vetted your new place, right? Because I don’t want you to accidentally move into some secret meth lab or something equally sketchy.”
Both Val and I give Kiara a surprised look.
“How in the world did you come up with that scenario?” Val asks in horror.
Kiara laughs. “Sorry, I’ve been rewatching Breaking Bad on my tablet while you game.”
“ Re watching?” Val exclaims. “Just when I thought I couldn’t love you any more. I had no idea you liked that shit! Oh man, we’re watching Metástasis together next.”
“ Metástasis ?” I ask.
“It’s the Colombian remake of Breaking Bad . Not everyone likes it, but… I think it’s pretty good.”
Val and Kiara end up talking about TV shows for the rest of lunch while I go through my emails. One of them is a message from Evelyn saying she found an older sapphic couple for us to interview. By the end of the workday, we’ve scheduled the last two interviews for “Modern Love in Focus” this coming Saturday, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.
After I leave the office, Celeste and I meet up at an indie bookstore near the Golden Gate Park.
“It’s good that we’re doing this. A nice little break from just being holed up in my apartment,” Celeste says with a grin as we enter through the door.
I’d originally planned on visiting the store by myself to buy a couple books to help with advice requests that’d come in recently for Dear Karl. But Celeste asked to tag along, saying she’s been meaning to pick up some photography books for a while now.
I’ve always loved bookstores, and my good mood is only amplified by the comforting smell of old books. The store’s high ceilings and brightly colored walls are a huge bonus, and I find myself humming cheerfully as I browse the shelves. As we walk around together, Celeste smiles and points out various fun-looking books.
Even though I’m technically here for work, I can’t help but sneak glances at Celeste, observing how the overhead lights of the store reflect in her deep, dark eyes. I think I’m being sneaky, but a few minutes later, she meets my gaze and smiles. “What?”
“Just looking,” I say.
Her grin widens. “For books or at me?”
“Both.”
“Uh-huh. Find anything interesting?”
I hold up the book about breakups I’d been carrying in the crook of my arm.
Celeste reads the title with raised eyebrows. “Ouch, are you thinking of ending things with me already?” she asks in an obviously joking tone.
I laugh. “Please. We’d have to be in a relationship for me to do that. It’s for work. A lot of people broke up over the holidays and wrote in to our column. I usually know what to say, but I like to read books like this from time to time, so I can have more ideas on how to handle certain situations.”
“Makes sense,” Celeste replies with a nod.
We don’t say much else after that, and at some point, we even drift away from each other to look at different sections. But instead of being awkward, everything feels natural, like we’re two boats drifting closer and farther away from each other with the gentle ebb and flow of the tide.
I’m still browsing books when Celeste approaches me again, carrying a large stack.
“I think I’m done,” she says. “Ready to go whenever you are, but no rush.”
Curious, I peer down at the books in her hands. Most of them are about photography, but there are also a couple of pink and yellow books at the bottom that catch my eye.
I freeze. “Are those romance novels? You still like those?”
Celeste’s face reddens. “Yup.”
My brain short-circuits. “How—what—”
I don’t continue my train of thought. I can barely process the fact that present-day “I don’t do relationships” Celeste Min still likes romance books .
“Hm?” Celeste says.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I say slowly. “There’s nothing wrong with liking them. But…”
“But?”
I hesitate, trying my best to form my confusion into words. “How can someone who still loves romance novels so much… be so against relationships?”
“Romance books are fiction,” Celeste replies with a shrug. “They’re products of an author’s brain and have no basis in real life. They’re predictable, and there’s always a happy ending. Real relationships, though? Not as nice and a lot messier.”
She shudders, like there’s a sudden chill.
“And why do you believe that?” I ask, realizing I never directly asked her this question. Without meaning to, I’ve put my advice columnist hat on, fascinated to finally get a peek inside Celeste’s head.
She stares at me for a long moment, as if she’s trying to decide what to say. Finally, she looks down at the books in her hands. “Come on, Gem. Would you still believe in romance if you were me? After the shit show that’s my parents’ relationship? And after what happened to us?”
I squeeze my books to my chest. “Us?”
She glances around, as if checking to see if the coast is clear. I do the same. We have pretty much the entire section to ourselves.
Quietly, Celeste continues, “You were my last girlfriend. My last real relationship. I never got over what happened with us. And how fast you moved on.”
The entire way back to Celeste’s apartment, I stay silent. I can’t even look at her face. My heart’s hurting too much.
I think back to how I was eight years ago, when Celeste’s and my breakup was still fresh. Since I had no idea what had happened to Celeste or why she’d left, I didn’t know how to cope. I took her disappearance so personally, especially since she didn’t reply to any of my messages. I really thought she just didn’t want to be around me anymore, so I was desperate to find someone who did, going to parties every weekend and hooking up with anyone who gave me the time of day. Like Celeste, I didn’t even want to seriously date again. Until I met James at one of the last parties I went to in college.
Despite the laughably tragic end of our relationship, when we met, James helped me believe in love again, making me laugh when I thought I couldn’t and holding me tight whenever I cried. He made me feel so safe and wanted that I didn’t even hesitate when he asked me to be his girlfriend. And when we moved seven hours up north from LA to SF, he made the transition from college to the real world so fun and easy.
James may be an asshole, but he’s an asshole I’ll always owe a lot to. I try to imagine a world where I hadn’t met him. Would I have completely given up on relationships, too?
But of course, no amount of gratitude can surpass what I know now. About James and me. And about Celeste. I’m so caught up with all my different thoughts and emotions that I don’t realize we’re back at Celeste’s place until I bump into her as she unlocks the door.
When we’re back inside, Celeste says, “Gem. Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have told you all that.”
I shake my head. My voice comes out soft and hoarse when I reply, “No, I’m glad you did. It’s given me a lot to think about.”
Celeste gives me a quizzical look. “How so?”
My eyes burn with tears. “I know we agreed that we both fucked up,” I say. “But for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry, Celeste. I wish I’d waited longer for you. I wish we lived in an alternative universe where we’re still together here in SF.”
Her eyes widen, and she looks at me for a long moment before wiping the drops on my cheeks. “It was such a long time ago, Gem,” she says. “We were both young and could have handled the situation a lot better. Come on, let’s not talk about sad stuff anymore. I’m glad we cleared the air a bit more, but I’m so sick of being sad. And I can use a pick-me-up.”
She pulls me in close, and I start kissing her, slowly moving down her neck and to the rest of her body. I can’t change what happened in the past, but I can change how she feels at this very moment.
“In that case,” I say. “Let me be of service.”