Lia

  It never crossed my mind that Yeju would be good with cats, but of course she is—she’s a cat herself. In fact, she’s the cat who will push your things over the table while maintaining eye contact, and then snuggle up to you afterward. The most infuriating, yet lovable, kind of cat.

  Right now, a cat with fur as dark as Yeju’s hair is prancing in front of the woman. Both of them are concentrating hard on their task—the feline catching a stuffed toy and Yeju wiggling the toy away. They look like twins, different species but cut from the same cloth.

  I snap a few photos of them on my phone.

  “Yeju, look here and smile!”

  She gnces at me, an amused smile on her lips, before returning her attention back to the small creature.

  Leaning back on the cushion, I sip my iced tte as I scroll through the photos I took. There were a bunch of selfies I took with Yeju while standing in line. The wait to get into this cat cafe was long but worth it. We have a table to ourselves for us to enjoy our drinks, although Yeju’s iced mocha is pretty much neglected. Meanwhile, cats roam the cafe floors. The walls are lined with mini ptforms for the animals to jump on, while various toys are scattered across the cafe for anybody to use.

  I zoom into Yeju’s face in one of our selfies. She’s so pretty. Her puffy under-eye bags are adorable, and her pink lips curl in such a mischievous snt as if she is always ready to taunt. She’s indeed the most infuriating yet lovable cat.

  I zoom out on the photo, and I cannot help but smile. The two of us are so… cute together. Side by side, our cheeks smoosh against each other’s, and the afternoon sun gives us both a warm glow.

  As I scroll through more photos, I realize that whenever Yeju is not posing—not being told to smile at the camera—she looks strangely sad. Now that I think about it, she always looks rather sad. It’s like she has a resting sad face. And there’s a dullness in her eyes that does not quite fade away even when she smiles.

  I wonder if she’s upset about what we talked about back in the apartment. She brushed off the topic of her graduation pns way too quickly, even though we should discuss it. We are a couple, after all. Or does she not believe in our retionship? Does she not think it can st?

  Does she not believe in me?

  Lowering my phone, my gaze returns to Yeju. There are now two cats pying with her.

  A familiar warmth flutters in my gut. Every day, Yeju surprises me. She’s good with cats, she’s great at cooking, she’s strong—I figured that out when we went to the gym together—and she always listens when I tell her to clean up. She may groan, she may grumble, but she listens.

  I told her to follow her graduation pns and apply for those jobs in Boston, but deep down, I know I want her to stay with me. To not move away. To not make our retionship a long-distance one. But do I deserve to demand that? No matter how much I like being with her, that shouldn’t hinder her career…

  My phone buzzes. It’s a text message from Romeo.

  Romeo: can you look into the family chat

  This is new; I’ve never been directly texted by a family member before.

  I send a quick reply.

  Lia: Sure!

  And for the first time in weeks, I check the muted family chat. There are hundreds of messages. I gloss over the random politics talk, a few chats about our retives, and so, so many discussions about Romeo’s college application—where he should apply to, what he should write about in his essay, how he can get his application fees waived.

  Two years ago, all I got was a short “Here you go. Good luck!” from my father when I asked for money to apply. If not for Eunice, I wouldn’t even know which schools to apply for.

  The memory pricks at my heart, and my eyes sting.

  When I reach the bottom of the chat, I want to toss my phone to the floor.

  Umma: Lia. Send your UC apps to Romeo.

  So this is what I have been directed to the family chat for? My mother demanding me to help my brother with his college applications?

  I have been on radio silence for weeks, and yet, I do not get a single question about my life here at UCLA, about my grades, or my research experiences. My accomplishments mean nothing. I can work my bones to dust, and I will still be shoved aside for Romeo. My head spins. The burn in my eyes intensifies.

  Lia: Yeah, I’ll send it ter when I get home

  I leave the chat and close my eyes.

  One breath. Two breaths. Three.

  A sturdy pair of arms wrap around me.

  “Hey, you okay there?” Yeju whispers. “Wanna get out of here?”

  I wipe my tears away and look around. No one else notices my breakdown; everyone is too entranced by the cats to realize a random customer is crying by the side. I turn to Yeju, the only person who noticed, the person who always listens.

  Her brows furrow as she rubs my shoulders and arms in concern. The two abandoned cats linger next to her, circling her legs, but she pays them no attention.

  “I’m fine, sorry, I…” I take a quick sip of my coffee. “I’m so sick of my family.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I sigh. I don’t even know how to begin talking about it. And I don’t know how I’m going to survive when I go home for Thanksgiving. This semester has been the greatest one yet, and I don’t want to put a damper on it by going back home.

  Unless… I have a companion.

  “What are your pns for Thanksgiving?” I ask. “Are you going home?”

  “Uh, I don’t know yet.” Yeju releases me. Her hand flies to the bck cat, scratching its head. “I go back every year but this year is kinda weird… My mom is going to throw a party with her friends, and I’m not sure if I want to fly all the way for that.”

  A small fme of hope surges. “Would you… want to come to my parents’ for Thanksgiving?”

  That is the worst time for Yeju to sip on her neglected coffee because the drink comes straight out after my question.

  “Oh my god, are you okay?” I pat Yeju’s back as she coughs. “Sorry if I scared you, I didn’t mean to… ‘Cause, well, Thanksgiving isn’t that big of a tradition in my home—immigrant family and all, you know—so I didn’t think it’s a big deal. If it is, then please ignore me…”

  “No, no.” Yeju ughs. “You didn’t scare me. But, uh, where do you live?”

  “Um, Orange County.”

  “Oh, so close? I don’t know why, but I thought you lived further than that.”

  Heat crawls up my neck. I think I know why Yeju thinks that. For someone who lives only an hour’s drive away from home, I never visit.

  Because I never want to.

  “I’m all for it then,” Yeju continues. “I think my mom would like some good alone time with her friends anyway, without her grumpy daughter around to ruin the mood. Plus, I have too much to do to be flying across the country. Darren also has his defense right before Thanksgiving, so this will be perfect. We can drive to your pce together after his defense. How does that sound?”

  Relief floods through me, releasing the pressure on my shoulders. It was a spur-of-a-moment request, and I can’t believe Yeju agreed to it.

  “So,” Yeju teases, “meeting your parents, huh? This is getting serious now.”

  My cheeks redden again. “S- Shut up… And just so you know, my parents… They’re very, uh, conservative.”

  “Noted. Are you out to them?”

  “Um, not really, but sort of?”

  “Sort of?”

  I shake my drink with the straw. “Yeah… I sort of, kind of, tried to come out st summer. It sort of, kind of, failed.”

  Yeju frowns. “Okay,” she says carefully, “do you want to keep our retionship a secret?”

  “I- Ideally.”

  “Alright, I can do that.” She gives me a wink. “We are just roommates, that’s all.”

  Chuckling, I gently sp her arm. For the first time, I’m not as dreading the thought of going home. It won’t be so alone anymore; I’ll have Yeju by my side.

  But under the yer of joy, there is a trickling sense of discomfort. Is it weird how easy it is for Yeju to keep us a secret? First the b, now my parents. I told RJ and Chloe about us—well, I kinda had to since they caught me naked on our video call—but Yeju doesn’t seem to have told anybody she knows. The only person in her life who knows is Yuna, and she found out by accident.

  Yeju kisses my forehead. “Hey, don’t worry. Trust me, I am pretty good with parents.”

  I chuckle again. She notices my worry but interprets it wrongly. I appreciate it anyway.

  “Thank you,” I say as I pull her in for a proper kiss on the lips.