Marco orders two as we grab a couple stools and sidle up. This place also has great pub fare, and even though we ate dinner an hour ago, we both determine a second dinner is definitely required.
Isabelle is running late, but it doesn’t bother me any. I’m clearly in excellent company.
Marco’s spread knee taps into mine and I playfully shove it back with my own. “Stop invading my space,” I chuckle.
“What? I need the extra leg room.”
“You do not. You’re like one inch taller than me. How much longer could your legs be than mine?”
Downing the last of his second beer, he sets the glass down, then stands up, gesturing for me to join him. “Let me see. C’mere.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes but stand. I think he’s about to back away to give us space, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls me in close to him, our hips matching up and my breath catches. The warmth of his hands burn through my t-shirt as they rest on my hips.
What the fuck is he doing?
He moves his eyes up from our waists to where our shoulders are squared up, then continues to my head. He lifts his hand to his buzzed head and then moves it across the narrow space to mine. “Guess you’re right. Only about an inch difference.” He looks back down at our hips and smiles. “But my legs are way longer. I definitely need the room to stretch out.”
I playfully push him away, even though my body demands he stay this close forever. “Our legs are the same length, fucker.”
He laughs harder as I continue to assault him, but it’s quickly interrupted by a loud group that swarms us. They’re clearly inebriated, and their ruckus is nothing but laughter and shouting in a language I can’t understand. I take a longer look at them—all Korean twenty-somethings. One of the guys sees me and drops his jaw, his eyes going wide. The stranger gives me a bear hug and sways me back and forth. I look over to Marco likewhat the fuck is happening right now?
The stranger pulls away and with animated joy, starts speaking. I can’t understand a single word, but I reciprocate his smile. Then he hauls his friend over to meet me and they both start singing, gesturing for me to join in.
I lean in and plaster a smile as I shout over the crowd, “I’m sorry, I don't know what you’re saying!”
Delayed realization dawns on their drunk faces and the first guy grabs my shoulder in a friendly way. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes in an American accent. “I get too excited when I see other Koreans.” He laughs and shuffles himself and his friend out of our personal space. “Sorry. Have a good night!”
The strangers rejoin their group and I go to sit back down on my stool, Marco following suit. He looks over at me and grins. “That was out of nowhere.” A twinge of anxiety and shame pulls tight inside me, and my face relaxes into a neutral state. I grab the rest of my beer and down it. “You okay, man?”
On reflex, I nod and try to smile. “Yeah.” The line between his eyes crease, clearly not buying it, and I take a deep breath. “It’s nothing.” The bartender gives me a look and I indicate for two more.
“It’s not nothing,” Marco insists. “Tell me.”
Does he have to be so inquisitive? I could tell him to drop it, I guess. It’s not something I’ve talked about with anyone, really, save for the couple of serious partners I’ve had in the past. For as extroverted and friendly as I am, I don’t let people see this side of me. This uncertain, I-don’t-fit-in-here side. It’s always been this void I’ve toed around. A void that has grown greater the older I get. And the bigger it gets, the longer I let it go unchecked, the greater my anxiety becomes about making a change.
Inhaling, I lean back into the short-back stool, drumming my fingers on the wooden rail of the bar. “I don’t know how to speak Korean,” I admit awkwardly. Marco nods slowly but doesn’t say anything. He simply looks at me, waiting for me to elaborate. “It’s just… I don’t know. My parents never made me feelother, but I feel it regardless. I don’t know how to speak the language, I don’t know anything about Korean culture or food, or… anything,” I shrug.
He lifts his head back in understanding and I have to physically stop my knee from bouncing like a lopsided washing machine. Clocking my movement, he pushes his knee over to mine, letting it linger there.
Chapter 18
Pretend Marco
Marco
Three Years Ago
Idon’tlikethisat all. Jay is not supposed to be sad; it’s not natural. Jay is full of life and laughter. I mean, I’ve experienced sad moments with him—like when he went through that breakup with Noah or when his grandpa died last year—but that was all via messages. Not in-person, fully fleshed out in front of me. It’s jarring to say the least.
I need to fix this.
Leaning over, I wrap my arm around his shoulders and squeeze. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what else to say, but I’m here if you wanna talk more about it.”
He nudges me back. “Thanks.”
“Is this the infamous Marco?” a woman’s voice cheers from behind us. I unfurl myself from Jay and we both twist back to see a short, slim woman with sandy brown curls beaming at us. I know from Jay’s social media posts, this is Isabelle. She has a crunchy granola, natural vibe to her look. Apparently she’s the kind of girl who wears Birkenstock sandals year round. I didn’t get a chance to meet her when I was here on leave last time, so I take the opportunity to introduce myself to one of his favorite people.
I stand, but then have to hunch to give her a tight hug. “You must be Isabelle. It’s so nice to meet you.”
