“I’d love some tea too, Mr. Noh. If you’re offering,” Kelly interjects.
“Actually, I’m afraid I’ve run out, Kristy. Perhaps next time.” His gaze drops to the papers spread in front of her. “Have you finished your lesson plan yet? I believe those were due thismorning.”
Kelly’s mouth opens then closes. He walks away before she can formulate a response.
“Kristy?” she hisses once he’s out of earshot. “My name isKelly. We’ve met three times now! See what I mean? He’s so... ugh.”
But I’m only half listening.
I wrap my hands around the warm mug, the heat seeping into my palms, and I take a tentative sip. The tea is good—hot and soothing, with just enough sweetness to take the edge off the ginger.
My stomach still feels unsettled, and the morning’s nausea has left me drained.
Eleven weeks down. Twenty-eight more to go.
I swallow another sip and hope for my sake—and the baby’s—the rest of this pregnancy gets easier.
6.Jin
Monroe gaspsand grabs my arm, her nails digging into my skin.
“No, no, no,” she hisses at the television screen. “So-yi, stay behind the plant! Do not move. Do not even breathe.”
On screen, the actress playing Park So-yi—a clumsy office worker with an unfortunate habit of stumbling into awkward situations—is crouched behind an oversized potted fern in the corner of an upscale restaurant.
She’s stumbled upon her boss, the cold and arrogant CEO Ryu Tae-woong, having dinner with his arranged fiancée. Her eyes are wide with panic, her hand clamped over her mouth.
The K-drama is calledOops, Baby!, and it’s exactly the kind of frothy romantic comedy Monroe gravitates toward when it’s her turn to choose what we watch. When it’s my turn, I select shows that are darker and grittier.
She complains the entire time but watches anyway.
I suppose we balance each other out in that regard.
“She should reveal herself,” I say.
Monroe’s head whips toward me, her expression incredulous. “Are you crazy? She’s already a mess over the pregnancyshe’s hiding. Now you want her to face him when she’s a terrible liar? Did you see her in episode three? She couldn’t even lie about eating his lunch from the break room fridge—orthat time she accidentally set that small fire in his office!”
“Which is precisely why she should be practical and tell the truth now. Explain it was a mistake. She didn’t mean to interrupt their dinner.”
“Jin,” she says with a sigh of exasperation. “His fiancée is evil. Like, genuinely evil. Like, Cinderella stepmother evil. She’s been trying to get So-yi fired since episode one. If So-yi reveals herself now, that woman is about to destroy her.”
“Shedidsleep with her boss—the evil woman’s fiancé.”
“Mistakes happen! They had wine. A lot of wine. Andhekissedherfirst, if you recall,” she huffs. “Plus, it’s an arranged marriage! He’s not really in love with her! He loves So-yi. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
I raise a brow but don’t argue further. There’s no winning against Monroe when she’s emotionally invested in fictional characters.
The truth is, I might complain about these romantic comedies, but I’ve come to enjoy them—not for the predictable plots or over-the-top misunderstandings, but for the way Monroe reacts.
Her antics during the episodes are in themselves a form of entertainment. She leans forward during tense moments, mutters advice at characters who can’t hear her, and clutches my arm like the outcome of a fabricated love triangle has real-life stakes.
It’s endearing;she’sendearing.
But I discovered this about her a long time ago. Back when I was still convinced I could hurt her.
We’re sprawled across the couch together, her body tucked against mine, the remnants of our takeout dinner scattered on the coffee table. Containers of japchae and gimbaphalf-eaten and growing cold. The apartment smells of sesame oil and the sweetness from the pickled radish she insisted on ordering extra of.
These evenings have become routine lately. Lazy nights in, just the two of us, watching television and eating takeout like an old married couple.
