I Won't Regret This

The call with Ji-an began with the usual everyday check-in and ran on for quite a while. As always, though, what the two of them spent the most time on was Ryu Lee-kyung's past.

Most of it came from their school days, the sort of stories that qualified as Lee-kyung's mortifying history, and once they got going they laughed until they lost all track of time, clutching their stomachs.

Ji-an, who had been dabbing at tears from laughing so hard, finally pursed her lips.

"Heh. Yeah, it kind of is. Got it. Let's call again when Seonbae isn't around. I'll phone you. And if anything comes up, you call me. You have to."

When Won-young hung up and looked at the clock on the wall, it was a little past three in the afternoon. The small smile on her face crumpled all at once.

She set her phone down on the table, stared out the window for a long while, and let go of a sigh that felt years old.

Some feeling she couldn't name had taken hold of her. There was nothing so hurtful in it, nothing so unfair, and yet she couldn't understand why she felt this wrecked.

The muttering burst out of her like a fountain.

"Bastard. Rotten bastard. You rotten—"

Locked in his studio every day, painting and nothing else, he said. And I'm the only one who's gotten old?

It had been only the briefest moment caught on camera, and still Won-young knew at once. Lee-kyung in his thirties shone brighter, and looked finer, than anyone. Well. He always had.

There wasn't a girl who didn't like him. Whenever we went out together, God knows how hard I worked to make sure everyone could see that I was Ryu Lee-kyung's girlfriend. Does Seonbae even know? How tirelessly I hustled back then, just to keep hold of him.

Come to think of it, she had been first in all of it. The confession, the first kiss, the let's-be-together, and the let's-break-up too. She had thought that once she turned thirty, everything would be fine. Ten years, they said, was long enough for mountains and rivers to change, so why had she wavered just now? Because Ryu Lee-kyung was still that handsome? Well. She had simply seen his face after a long time, and her heart had swayed for a moment. That was all.

Won-young brewed a cup of coffee. While the scent climbed to the tip of her nose and filled the room, she chose, with care, the clothes she would wear to tomorrow's interview. She would wipe away every useless memory and simply get ready for tomorrow.

Thirty was an age when you grew used to that sort of thing. An age when feeling went dull, and you could act, lightly, as if nothing were wrong. An age when you could put on a fairly convincing imitation of an adult—less hasty, a little more able to endure.

Won-young lifted the mug with a certain elegance and slowly drank the coffee she had just made.

It'll be all right again. Time will pass, and in our separate worlds we'll keep walking, without rest, the roads we each dreamed of. So, Ryu Lee-kyung. Please don't ruin me.

The meeting that morning had been, truly, the worst.

A woman in her sixties who had dyed her white hair a gaudy pink spent the whole time boasting that the bags she designed sold by the hundreds every day. Won-young listened hard, then watched for an opening and asked what she had thought of the portfolio she'd sent. Only then did the woman begin turning through the pieces Won-young had designed, one after another.

That was even more wretched. Seated with her legs crossed in an arrogant pose, she wore a bored look the entire time, or else an irritated one. The résumé sent along with the work had stated, plain as day, that Won-young was Korean, and yet when the woman asked, "Are you Chinese?" she wanted nothing more than to shove her chair back and walk out.

The result, of course, was a final rejection.

Out of habit she drank late into the night and called Lee-kyung. She started out saying it was fine, that she hadn't expected much of the place anyway, and in the end she burst into tears. Lee-kyung comforted her somehow, but she couldn't remember a word of it.

The next day she met her boyfriend. The moment she saw the lavish bouquet in his hands, everything felt all right again.

Evan told her he was leaving the next morning for another three-day pictorial. He added, lightly, that it was a fairly explicit shoot—body against body with several female models. Honestly, it didn't bother her much. Most of the men she had dated in Europe didn't take love very seriously. Sometimes she envied that lightness.

In front of her place he showered her with good-night kisses and promised the next date.

She didn't call Ryu Lee-kyung that day. Not the next day, nor the day after. Won-young didn't go looking for Lee-kyung.

Florence in June was nothing but a heaven of sunlight. A few minutes beneath that fierce sun and her skin began to sting.

Won-young sat on a worn bench and stared blankly at the people coming and going, like someone half out of her mind. The strength ran out of her whole body.

This was certainly not how the plan had gone. She had meant to stop by a flower shop, cradle an armful of deep-red roses, and drink her coffee with elegance. And if going straight home still felt like a waste, she had wanted to meet the friends she'd made in Italy and be met with warm congratulations.

What had thrown her plans off course was running into Yoon Seon-jae by chance, here in Florence. He was Won-young's senior from high school, and Lee-kyung's closest friend from back home.

That single sentence shattered every future Won-young had. She felt like a broken toy, flung apart so completely there was no putting her back together.

She hated him, then resented him, then bit the soft flesh of her lip until it was crushed, turning the thing over and over. Even so, her feelings refused to gather.

"...Ryu Lee-kyung. You, really. How could you do this to me? You can't... you can't do this."

It was awful. Too awful. How could you not tell me?

Tears of hurt streamed down her cheeks. She couldn't begin to reckon how she was supposed to accept this absurd truth, learned only after so many years.

Then, instead of a sob, an empty laugh broke out of her.

Crazy. Noh Won-young, think again. No. That isn't it. It really isn't. Do you know what it took to get this job? Do you know how hard I've worked all this time? A conclusion like that doesn't make any sense. Please. Please, think again.

Her neatly pinned hair blazed in the June sun. It was hot, and her heart slammed hard enough to drive her mad. That small upheaval, as if by some lie, breathed strength into her resolve.

"Fine. I won't regret it."

As always, she reached her answer quickly. Or perhaps the road back had been set from the very beginning, and she simply hadn't known it.

Won-young wiped her tears with a brave little swipe, then dialed a number she knew by heart. Exactly two months. While he didn't pick up, her breath stopped dead.

"..."

At the end of the long ringing, someone finally answered. The breath that had stalled found itself again, little by little, and her chest rose once more.

Ryu Lee-kyung. The man who keeps ruining my life.

A cool voice, thick and lingering, threaded with mischief, shook her through.

Two months without a call, and the first thing out of his mouth was so rude she bristled.

"What are you even saying. What do you take me for."

"I said that's not it!"

Ryu Lee-kyung, listen. I'm saying it twice. I won't regret this.

"I'm going back to Korea."

Lee-kyung, who until a moment ago had been answering without a second thought, went quiet. It figured. She was telling him she meant to return to Korea after nine years.

Won-young looked up at Florence's spotless sky.

Goodbye, Florence. I won't forget you. Unnie's going back to Korea.

I think I have to. I meant not to, if I could help it, but I miss the things I left behind there so badly. That's why I'm going.

She smiled until the tip of her nose scrunched, then wiped every dizzying scrap of the view from her sight. She closed her eyes. And she said it.

"Are you listening? Seonbae, I said I'm going back to Korea."

"Yeah. I'm over Florence."

"Yeah. Out of nowhere. If I come to Korea, will you be glad to see me?"

"Tch. I'll wrap things up here quick and get in before summer's over."

A brief silence passed while Won-young tied up the hair that had slipped loose.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-three, twenty-seven, twenty-nine. The life that had gone by knocked against her chest like film caught in a disposable camera. Into her mind rose an especially cold midwinter, the one in which she and Ryu Lee-kyung had broken up.

Now that I'm thirty, when I see Seonbae in Korea, what am I supposed to say?