I’ll Serve It Cold
"You don’t have to give him up; I’ll take Min-jae off your hands."
When his name spilled over her lips, I fought to keep the wineglass I was drying from slipping through my fingers. The glass met the sink with a stranger’s sharp clang.
At the foot of the bed sat Ji-hye—my closest friend for thirteen years. Min-jae was the man who had discarded me a decade ago.
"Are you really okay, though?" Ji-hye asked, her voice treacle-thick. A lie.
Instead of answering, I folded another of Min-jae’s shirts. His scent pricked my nose—after ten years, still enough to tilt the earth.
This Is What You Wanted
I had waited for this moment: Min-jae on his knees before me again. Only the choreography had shifted.
What had I truly wanted? To reclaim him? To paint disappointment across Ji-hye’s face? Or to burn the sight of both of them shattering in hot desire onto my retinas?
Five years into my marriage, I could still recall every twist of Min-jae’s hair between my fingers. Ji-hye could too. We had the knack of mimicking each other’s ex-lovers—their voices, the way they sighed in bed, the last words before goodbye. All of it.
We Sank Quietly
There were facts.
Early last year I contacted Min-jae. Finding his new address was easy: a white apartment on the seventeenth floor, the navy doormat he’d always loved still in place.
Min-jae, it’s me.
…Is that really you? I—I can’t believe it. Come in.
That night he left the curtains open. Seoul streamed past the balcony. For the first and last time, we lay on his bed.
"Have you slept with Ji-hye?" I asked.
Silence swelled. Instead of an answer, he kissed the back of my hand. Only later did I taste consent on my skin; he had already agreed to keep two women at once.
Perhaps She Knew
The second fact was darker.
The first time Ji-hye slept with Min-jae had been three days after I had. We used the same twelfth-floor hotel room, the same sheets, the same dented pillows.
She asked me, "Why do you keep talking about him?"
"Just curious."
"You’re always curious. Me too. How is he—Min-jae? Good kisser? Or… deeper than that?"
I couldn’t reply. Ji-hye laughed; she already knew I had slept with him, that I still wanted him, that I had cleared the way for her to do the same.
We Devour Each Other
A taboo is not simply a line; it is the pleasure of stepping over lines we drew ourselves.
Psychologists say we recreate the feeling of loss compulsively. Min-jae left me, yet through Ji-hye I tried to retrieve him—or perhaps I wanted to lose Ji-hye herself.
That night I sat at the edge of the bed. On it lay Ji-hye and Min-jae. They kissed, believing I couldn’t see. When Min-jae brushed Ji-hye’s hair aside, I understood: my body climaxed at loss itself.
Do You Still Want Her?
Ji-hye asked, "Truth—you were first, weren’t you?"
I nodded without a word. At that moment one of Min-jae’s socks slipped to the floor—white, a hole worn at the toe.
"Remember these?" Ji-hye whispered. "You wore the same pair."
I stopped breathing. Ji-hye had catalogued even the holes in my ex-lover’s socks. We burrowed endlessly into each other’s desires.
What Finally Remains
Did I trust Ji-hye? Min-jae? Or myself? Questions must stay questions; answers are never safe.
Out of nowhere I asked, "What if, after this, we want someone other than Min-jae?"
Ji-hye laughed. As she shut the door, I met Min-jae’s eye. It still carried the same look from ten years ago—utter ignorance.
In that instant I saw it: I had never wanted Min-jae; I had wanted the version of me whom Ji-hye desired through wanting him.
Even now, when you picture her bed, what feeling are you hiding?