Chapter Text
Danielle placed a chunk of wet clay on the long wooden board. Her workspace was a cluttered array of sculpting tools, transparent plastic wrappers, and damp clay stains. The lights of the work studio beat down against her neck as she began flattening the material.
Vaguely, the sound of Melbourne traffic could be heard from the floor-to-ceiling window to her right, one of its panels slightly ajar. The ventilation and regulated temperature in the room were to prevent the clay pieces from drying too fast. It made Danielle’s skin moist with sweat; the added pressure she was gradually applying on the raw clay made her muscles tense. Her long blonde hair, which was once neatly in a bun, spilled down her shoulders.
This was her favorite part of the process. The clay was still raw, soft between her fingers. It promised possibilities, the way it yielded to her pressure. It told her, as the maker, the many ways in which it could still change. Laid down to the right of Danielle’s workspace were different pieces of clay in varying stages of dampness. They were amorphous things with dull edges and little holes punctured through their surfaces.
As the artist began shaping the wet clay into the same form and pattern as its predecessors, she heard the front door open, followed by the shuffling of feet.
“Hey, lovebug, you home?” Her fiancé’s voice called out from the foyer.
“In here, bug,” Danielle replied, smiling at the door frame of the art studio as she wiped her stained hands on her apron.
Billie came into view, catching Danielle in a tight embrace as the latter ran up to her. They kissed for a long moment before breaking apart.
“Hi,” the artist whispered, eyes glinting under the fluorescent lights. “How was the flight?”
“Good,” the other woman replied before something over Danielle’s shoulder caught her attention,” Wow, it’s coming along really well.”
“I know. This is the last set. The show opens in two months, so I hope I can get the clay works in the kiln* as soon as possible.”
Billie hummed, inspecting the more hardened versions of clay that sat on a long table by the corner of the room. As her fiancé lowered herself to chance a closer look at the art pieces, Danielle leaned against her work table, studying the other woman.
She was in a matching black blazer and wide-legged pants, and slung around her neck was a jade-green scarf with patterns of sketched people, houses, and boats. The scarf had been a gift from Danielle, who found it in a museum gift shop when they visited Prague last year.
“Oops, sorry,” Billie muttered as she stepped back, bumping into a chair.
Danielle’s art studio was small and slightly cramped with objects and papers that revealed plans of the project she was working on at the moment. She had a bigger studio in an artist-run space about five blocks from their apartment.
She had initially declined Billie’s offer of integrating an art studio into their apartment’s layout, stating that she could always run to the larger studio whenever she needed to work. But as a curator, her fiancé knew exactly how Danielle’s artistic mind worked, creativity churning even in the early hours of the morning. The former had cited the convenience of having this space, albeit its small size, and of course, in hindsight, she had been right.
“Have you eaten? Do you want me to cook something?”
“No, I already ate at the airport. I’ve really missed you,” Billie retorted, drawing closer to the other woman. There was a smirk on her face that told Danielle exactly what would happen next.
“Hm, is that right?”
“Yeah,” her fiancé smiled, pulling Danielle by the waist until they were flush against each other.
“Bug, no! You’ll ruin the scarf,” the artist giggled, trying to step away from the other woman only for the latter to pull her back,” Please, I’m all sweaty and dirty.”
“So? We can shower together.”
Danielle squealed as Billie lifted her by the waist and carried her out of the room, their laughter bouncing across the space.
“Merry Christmas, babe,” Danielle lilted, embracing her best friend, Pham Hanni, as the woman opened the door to her apartment.
“Hey, guys! Merry Christmas!”
“We brought wine and cake,” Billie said as Hanni opened the door wider for them.
As they came into the foyer, Danielle gasped to see a waddling little one-year-old walking slowly towards her before falling on her butt.
“Oh no, you little vigilante!” Her best friend scooped the toddler in her arms before peppering her face with kisses.
“Oh my god,” a voice came from the kitchen, followed by a very frantic Pham Minji.
Her eyeglasses were crooked. There was a small white towel on her shoulder damp with what Danielle presumed was baby drool. She was holding out a baby bottle and shaking its contents like a maraca.
“I turned around, and Minnie was gone. She needs to finish this milk before bedtime.”
“Baby, I told you I’ve got her. Go and take a shower. The guests are arriving in an hour,” Hanni said, swaying side to side and sniffing the top of her baby’s head.
“Hi,” Danielle whispered, holding out her hands for a chance to hold the little girl. “Every time I see you, you just keep growing. Look at you walking around like a big girl. Yes, I know, honey!”
Danielle took little Minnie in her arms, the latter giggling excitedly at the sight of her auntie. Hanni disappeared into her and Minji’s bedroom no doubt to chide her wife into taking a quick shower.
Billie came up behind Danielle and rested her hands on the latter’s shoulders. Her fiancé was watching her with a tender expression, kissing the side of Danielle’s head before proceeding to pinch Minnie’s chubby cheeks.
“You know I was thinking. Maybe we should start making baby plans of our own.”
Danielle flinched on instinct. She looked at her fiancé with wide eyes before looking down at the toddler in her arms. Before either woman could say anything, Hanni came back into the living room.
“Thank you,” her best friend murmured, taking Minnie from Danielle. “Sorry, the house is a mess. You guys came at just the right time. Dani, can you please help clean up the toys?”
“Where do I put this?” Billie asked, still holding the food they brought. Her eyes stayed transfixed on Danielle, the former’s features unreadable.
“Thank you for bringing the food. Come, let’s set those in the kitchen.”
“Sure.”
Danielle ignored her fiancé’s lingering eyes as she got down on her feet to collect Minnie’s stuffed toys. This wasn’t the first time that Billie had brought up the prospect of kids, and it wasn’t like they weren’t privileged enough to afford adoption or IVF procedures. Hanni and Minji, after being married for three years, had opted for the second option.
Ever since little Minnie was born, Danielle had taken on the role of the doting aunt, and the sight constantly gave Billie ‘baby fever.’ The artist sighed inwardly. She could always use Hanni and Minji’s timeline as a reason, saying they should build their home first before jumping into the responsibility of being parents.
Danielle refused to acknowledge the other thought that had always lingered in the back of her mind: that deep down she couldn’t picture herself having a child with Billie right now. It didn’t quite fit, given where they were in their lives.
Billie, who was 10 years older, had already established a name for herself as an academic, independent curator, and culture and arts advocate, while Danielle, at the ripe age of 33, had only just found her footing in the international art scene, having exhibited sculptures and installation pieces in South Korea, Thailand, and Berlin over the last two years.
She wasn’t ready to slow down. Not when there was still so much growth left to unearth. That was the noble thing she told herself, at least.
“God, we were such kids,” Hanni giggled, holding up a photo album to the guests who gathered in the living room.
The Christmas party was winding down. Guests had their respective Secret Santa gifts in their lap. As Hanni’s Secret Santa, Danielle had given her a photo album with all their best memories during their time at SNU.
The moment Hanni opened the book, she was glued to the couch, showing family members her favorite fragments of being on the cheer squad with Danielle, going on dates with Minji with Danielle tagging along as their favorite third wheel, and performing at university festivals in front of hundreds of students.
“The best year of my basketball career,” Minji said wistfully as they turned to the page with memories of their junior year, “Well, before this thing started acting up.”
Hanni placed a comforting hand on her wife’s thigh as the other woman motioned to her now-healed ACL. Danielle was leaning her head on Hanni’s shoulder. To her left, Hanni’s mother, Linh Da, and her stepfather, Peter, were gushing at the pictures and musing over how young and carefree Minji, Danielle, and Hanni had looked.
After graduation, their career paths had taken them to Melbourne. Hanni had just been starting out as an independent music artist and was financially supported by her mother as she invested in proper vlogging cameras and sound systems for her YouTube channel. Minji, who had been qualified for a scholarship to a master’s program at Monash University, had followed Hanni.
The move had been difficult, especially for Hanni, who worried endlessly for her father even as the man gave her his blessing, expressing that it was time for her to build a home in Australia, with her mother. Linh Da had been a huge support system. Danielle would be reluctant to admit that she had found great comfort in the woman’s warmth. Hanni knew it too, and insisted that they all roomed together in a modest two-bedroom unit that her stepfather owned.
Danielle had gone silent, smiling absentmindedly as she remembered how difficult it had been. She came out to her parents after graduation and, as expected, was met with ire and disgust. It was fortunate that she had taken Hanni’s advice beforehand and had acquired a steady-paying job that paid enough for a short-term lease at a studio unit in a less commercialized part of Seoul.
The artist dove into freelance work by the time she was in her third year and had garnered a decent amount of money just in case she would get kicked out. Her parents had done just that as she settled into her new apartment. Before her thoughts could spiral further, her phone vibrated in her pocket.
Yeji (Holland Architecture firm): Hey, Dani! Merry Christmas. I was on holiday leave for the last two weeks, hence the late response. With regards to your email, we would be honored to conceptualize some schematic designs for you and your fiancé’s future home.
I’d like to endorse a senior architect who just recently transferred to our Melbourne branch. She’s highly experienced, hailing from our branch in Tokyo. She’s made quite a reputation in creating brutalist designs with modern twists. It continues to be quite popular among our Japanese and other foreign clientele.
I know Brutalism might not necessarily catch your eye. But her fusions are interesting -- I feel like you’d really love them. Her portfolio has Spanish colonial-style houses or tropical modernism that lean more into what you’re looking for.
Just as a disclaimer, she’s a Korean staff member who is fluent in Korean and Japanese. She knows a bit of English as well. I know you’re fluent in Korean, so I won’t have a translator on standby during the meeting. I’d like to know if you’d be interested in meeting her in person. I’m sure we can work something out! If not, I can always recommend other architects from our team.
Danielle paused, remembering something from the past. A long-buried thing, a twinge in her chest. She knew someone who preferred such designs. She had witnessed them come to life in her own dormitory or plastered on that person’s walls. This architect was also Korean, but the odds of it being her were one in a million, right? Clenching her jaw, she pushed down the sentiment and began typing a reply.
Danielle: Hi Yeji! Thank you for getting back to me. Billie and I are open to anything right now. We love originality and creativity the most, so this has really piqued my interest.
After exchanging a few more messages with Yeji to set up the meeting, she turned to Billie to see her fiancé carrying a sleeping Minnie in her arms. The toddler had made a fuss during dinner, crying from her nursery room just as Minji opened the bottle of wine. Billie had volunteered to take care of the baby, and while their unfinished conversation and tension from earlier lingered, it had stayed dormant for the rest of the night.
Watching the pair from a distance, Danielle couldn’t help but feel a semblance of guilt in her chest. She and Billie had gone through so much to get to where they were. Now, they were making big plans to build a house on the land they purchased on the outskirts of the city; their wedding would be in October, just in time for Spring.
“Hey, bug, about the baby plans you mentioned earlier…can it wait until after the wedding?” Danielle had whispered, looking out of the passenger seat window as Billie drove into their apartment’s basement parking lot.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you. I know you have a lot on your plate right now,” her fiancé replied as she parked the car.
“No, it’s okay. I want you to be honest with me.”
Danielle leaned in, placing her left hand on Billie’s cheek. Her silver engagement ring glinted as she kissed the other woman’s lips.
Kang Haerin was running late. She cussed as she haphazardly adjusted her blazer upon entering the building. It was her first day, and she was already stumbling. It was her first week in the city, and she decided to use the Melbourne subway, confident that she could easily master the routes. She was from Tokyo for crying out loud. This should have been easy.
However, Haerin hadn’t anticipated the language barrier, or rather, her wobbly English. In the months leading up to her transfer to Melbourne, she was determined to study the language. She had always been fluent in languages. Her skills in Japanese, which she had picked up as a casual interest in anime during middle school, had become polished enough to qualify for professional-level work in Japan by the time college graduation rolled around.
English was supposed to be a walk in the park. Simple and easy. And for the most part, it was. She understood English speakers fluently. It was the articulation that was the problem. The words still sounded foreign in her ears, unfamiliar as they rolled out of her tongue. The subway staff, most likely from their early morning shift, hadn’t been the most accommodating either.
“Fuck,” she cursed again in Korean as she fidgeted in the long queue of staff waiting for their turn to enter the elevator.
In front of her was a slender woman who smelled of orange blossoms and vanilla. She looked out of place in the corporate structure. Amid the minimalist blazers and pencil skirts, the stranger had a navy blue paisley bandana over her head, which made her blonde hair stand out, falling in wavy tresses down her lower back. She was clad in a black leather jacket and a long skirt that had artistic graphic patterns that suggested the textile belonged better in a museum or art gallery.
Haerin shook her head as she looked down at her watch. She only had three minutes left before her client meeting at 9:00 am. As the architect fidgeted in her place, looking between her spot in the line and the long queue in front of her, she heard her phone buzz.
Hyeri, the Corporate lead who supervised her transfer, texted her about her whereabouts. When Haerin read that the client hadn’t arrived yet, her shoulders sagged in relief before tensing once more.
Haerin: I’m so sorry, Ms. Hyeri. I’m actually lining up at the elevator already on the way up to the office. I got lost in the subway on the way here. I promise it won’t happen again.
Hyeri: It’s alright. Happened to me when I transferred here as well. Just make sure it won’t happen again. :)
“Hello? Yes, I’m already at the building. Just waiting in line on the way up!”
Haerin froze, her eyes darting to the woman in front of her. She would recognize that voice anywhere: in sleep, rousing her awake, drenched in sweat; in the hallways of high school or university buildings, the lilt in it never failing to soften the tension in Haerin’s shoulders; and here, amid the noise of employees clocking in for their eight-hour shift.
Danielle, her mind identified. She was unmistakable.
Her voice failed her, but her eyes never left the back of the woman in front of her. As if in an instant Danielle would disappear. The line moved. Two elevators pinged open. As they shuffled forward, the woman sighed in relief when she realized she could still fit in the space of crowding employees.
As Danielle turned around, Haerin caught her eye. The latter witnessed her surprise, the way her mouth dropped open and her eyebrows knitted. The scrunch of her forehead was familiar. Haerin knew it well enough to know its texture through the tips of her fingers. She wanted it gone, but before she could open her mouth to greet the other woman, the elevator door slid closed.
Danielle knew. She knew that one day the woman who had left her stranded in Seoul 8 years ago would cross paths with her again. She felt it deep in her bones. It gnawed at her like the most debilitating ache God had ever bestowed.
Perhaps she herself had etched the belief in her own mind so that when the chance encounter finally came knocking, she would learn how to guard herself. She would know how to refuse the woman who had commanded the ruination of a future they could have built. Together.
Instead, she sat in one of the architecture firm’s conference rooms. Her friend Yeji, one of the Senior Vice Presidents of the firm and a long-time patron of Danielle’s artworks, received her at the front desk upon her arrival and led her to the room herself. She handed her a brief of the architect she had appointed, and sure enough, it was her.
Kang Haerin, Senior Architect and Lead Consultant
33
South Korean
Instead of refusing, Danielle plastered a smile on her face and proceeded into the room. Yeji told her that a supervisor named Hyeri would be there shortly to broker the transaction should Haerin be of Danielle’s choosing.
When the glass door opened, Haerin halted. Her eyes widened, darting between Danielle and her colleague. Out of the corner of Danielle’s eye, she could see Ms. Hyeri tense as she waited for Haerin to address her potential client.
The architect narrowed her eyes slightly like she was still processing the situation. When the context finally arrived in Haerin’s mind, Danielle observed the way the woman flinched before looking down at her hands. She spotted the engagement ring, a gorgeous emerald-cut diamond sitting on a platinum band, wrapped around the latter’s left ring finger.
Danielle's mouth curved into a small smile, yet inwardly, she couldn’t bring herself to be satisfied. Haerin didn’t move for what felt like hours, eyes transfixed on Danielle’s left hand. She was most likely briefed by her supervisors on what designs Danielle preferred. And that these designs were something Danielle would communicate to her fiancé, who had just as much say in what the future home would look like.
Returning to her senses, Haerin snapped her eyes back to Danielle’s face. The former’s eyes had reddened as she turned squarely to the other woman.
“I’m sorry for my lateness. It’s nice to meet you, Ma’am,” the architect said in Korean.
Danielle jutted her chin out further, ignoring the way Haerin addressed her. There were appearances to keep up with. She was aware.
“Alright, so Ms. Haerin will be presenting the slide deck of her design proposals. Ms. Danielle, do you want anything other than a glass of water? I can get you coffee-”
“No, thank you. I’d like this to be brief,” the artist’s eyes stayed on Haerin the entire time.
The implication behind her words had hit Haerin in full force. It was obviously her first day on the job, and she was already showing an unsatisfactory performance to what appeared to be an important client.
The architect quickly put down her work bag and took out her laptop. Danielle watched as the woman moved around the room; her jittery actions and nervous posture were ones the former had already memorized by the time she was 15.
She knew how to deal with it, having done so thousands of times before. But instead, she was playing the role of a stranger, and so, just as a stranger would do, she sat there and watched.
The artist was barely listening as Haerin made her formal introduction. She was elsewhere, transported to youthful days where all she had to worry about was how to impress the cute girl with cat-like eyes and a withdrawn countenance.
What brought her back was not the volume of Haerin’s voice, which seemed to have increased when she realized that Danielle was staring blankly at her presentation. It had been the slide deck that featured the first option of Haerin’s proposal. The house was a Spanish Revival with curved archways and a white stucco exterior.
However, instead of terracotta roof tiles and intricately designed tiled floors, the structure held a more minimalist tone. The Spanish colonial roof that should have given character and charm was nonexistent; instead, the building was simplified into a minimalist, rectangular box. Meanwhile, the supposedly colorful tiled flooring was replaced by expensive and imported-looking wood.
Danielle felt herself flinch. These weren’t her designs. These were popular, client-requested architectural styles that were honed by consumerist and capitalist trends. Sighing, she shook her head at Haerin.
“Yes, sorry, Ma’am. Do you have any questions?”
“I don’t like this one. Can we proceed to the next item?”
Haerin blinked before clearing her throat and shifting the slide to the next proposal. Danielle’s reaction was the same. After each rejection, Haerin’s composure gradually fractured. Good. Danielle wanted her to break. After the fourth design, Hyeri, sensing the tension in the room, had decided to mediate between the client and the professional.
“Perhaps we should-”
“I have other designs, Ma’am.”
“You just seem ill-prepared, is all.” Danielle clicked her tongue, tilting her head to the side.
Haerin exhaled, looking down. Just as Hyeri was about to step in and wrap up the meeting, the architect went to her laptop to exit the presentation and freeze the projector screen. Her colleague came up to her to stop her from doing anything reckless, but Haerin’s hands worked fast, her eyes darting on the screen, rapidly clicking and pressing her trackpad.
When the projector screen unfroze, the design in front of Danielle made her raise her eyebrows. She liked it right away. The artist felt a sharp twinge in her chest, realizing she liked it primarily because she knew Billie would too.
Danielle nodded, studying the lush greenery that served as accents to the minimalist wooden beams that held up the house together. Her favorite detail was the pool that bordered the house like a modern-styled moat. There was a Brutalist-style staircase that led up to the front door. Holistically, the nature-centric aura of the entire structure was further enhanced by the Japanese-inspired landscaping that made up the front and back gardens.
“This one features more East Asian influences. If you look closely, Ma’am, the house will be mostly obscured from the outside by a bamboo garden near the front gate; the gimmick reveals the true beauty of the house as one walks past the greenery and into the space for the first time. It’s an essential principle that many Japanese and Chinese houses kept in ancient times. As you enter, you will see the view of Japanese landscaping and a house that is inspired by tropical modernist designs fused with brutalist elements.”
When Haerin finished her presentation, she looked stiffly at Danielle. The latter looked down at the former’s hands that were trying hard not to twitch. For a long moment, the room was filled with silence. Then, the door opened, and Yeji came into view.
“How are things coming along?” The woman asked politely, flashing Danielle a wide smile.
The artist diverted her attention to her friend before standing. In her periphery, she watched Haerin flinch, dreading the outcome of her presentation.
“I must say your architects continue to impress me, Yeji. I loved it. Every design.”
Danielle shot Haerin a stiff smile, witnessing as the latter widened her eyes in surprise.
“But I love this one the most. Can this be sent to my email?” Danielle inquired, pointing at the latest slide deck.
“Of course. I’m glad you loved it. Haerin is one of the best architects in our company.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Danielle muttered, looking blankly at the architect.
The artist then held out her hand to the woman, who continued to regard her like a stranger.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Haerin.”
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Danielle.”