The Girls of My Dreams

Verse 1

I open my eyes to a room shrouded in white. I blink, holding in a sneeze at the veil over my eyes. A veil? I realize I'm at a wedding. No wait. I'm in a wedding. It's my wedding. I walk slowly down the aisle, my eyes glued to my feet, careful not to trip.

In the background is a tune that's both familiar and foreign. It isn't a traditional wedding song though, and I can't place it.

As I near the altar I gain enough confidence to look up, my eyes locking onto the profile of my further spouse. For a moment, from the height alone, I think it's James. But its not. This person does not have his dark curls or his dad bod.

This person is also a woman.

I open my eyes, for real this time. I look around, finding myself alone in my dimly lit room. A sparse number of sun rays pierce through my curtains, indicating that it's still early.

My bare feet hit the soft white carpet and I make my way to the kitchen for a drink of water. As my feet land on the final step, the soft carpet becomes cold hardwood. I approach the fridge, searching for one specific bottle among the plentiful fruits and vegetables. Umma is a health nut of sorts, with a thing against processed sugar, so there's never any soda in our house and rarely any juice. I'm the rebel of the house, so every once in a while I'll sneak in a few sodas through James for JP and I. I have to sneak juice in too, but it's harder because that has to be refrigerated.

I give up my search, turning to see the bottle tossed in the recycling bin. JP knows better than to drink it all and Umma would never drink it, so I know that she poured it out to get back at me. Petty.

I fill my glass with water and take a seat on the kitchen counter, only because I know Umma hates when I do sit there. I reach into the junk drawer where she "hides" our stuff when we've been bad, and retrieve my phone from the false bottom.

I send a text to James. Come get me?

His response is short but effective: ;)

"I thought you were grounded?" a familiar voice startles me.

I turn to see my brother, David, posed in the doorway. I rush to hug him, nearly tackling him.

"Thank God you're home!" my voice is muffled by his chest. He wraps his strong arms around me.

"Missed you too kid," he kisses my forehead, pulling away, "I've got something for you."

He fishes in his backpack handing me a shoe box sized gift, wrapped in colored paper. I open it, revealing an assortment of Korean candy and drinks.

"Jooheon," I smile, using his Korean name.

"I know--- I'm awesome," He jokes, "And your welcome."

David is the only family I share actual blood with. We were adopted from South Korea when we were kids, and even though David's only a year and a half older, he remembers our time in the orphanage, while I can't remember life before Umma and Appa. When we came to America, I was just as obstinate as I am now. The way he tells it, the Baker's wanted him but took us both cause we were siblings. The way Umma and Appa tell it, I was an extension of God's blessing.

Personally, I found one version more plausible than the other.

"So you're going to visit Nana?" he prompts as we both take a seat at the kitchen table.

"You say ‘visit.’ I say I’m being 'exiled'," I snark, "Visit implies there was consent involved."

He nods, "Well if you could be trusted to make your own decisions, maybe there could've been some consent involved."

I hit his arm, "Jerk."

He grabs his arm dramatically, "Ow! After all I've done for you."

My phone buzzes with a text from James and I stand up, collecting my treats, "I have to go. James is outside."

"You're really going out?" he seems surprised, "Really?"

"What else can they do to me?" I laugh, "They've already taken my entire summer away."

"Wait," he reaches in his bag and pulls out slender box, "For you alcoholic boyfriend."

I hug him again before running upstairs. I hide my gifts in the top corner of my closet before grabbing a pair of ripped jeans and converse sneakers. Just to be extra annoying, I grab a cut out tank top, which leaves much of my sports bra and side exposed.

When I head back downstairs, David is still at the table. "Jooheon oppa?"

"I know," he waves me off, "I never saw you."

I kiss his cheek before heading to the back door. Last year my parents installed a security system, which was more to keep me in than to keep me out. The idea is that an alarm will sound when a door opens. Only Umma didn't know how to set it up, so she had me do it. Her first mistake.

I disarm the alarm, which has been set on silent since we got it. I close the door behind me, hopping across the neighbor's fence to the street behind mine, meeting James.

"Hey," he pulls me in, smelling like old spice, his curls damp from a recent shower, "Breakfast?"

"Of course," he opens my door and once we're both settled, we take off.

***

Thirty minutes later we find ourselves at a small diner, two plates of waffles, eggs and bacon between us.

"So you're really going?" James asks, mouth full so that what he says is kind of garbled.

I take a contemplative sip of coffee, remembering the other night. Appa did not end up handling it. In fact, he hadn't even taken off his shoes before Umma was spilling my business.

"You won't believe what your daughter's gotten into now!"

All the yelling. The screaming. I could still hear most of it, even three days out.

"We pay good money for you to go to St. Paul's!"

"Do you know how they're going to talk about you at church?"

My crimes spilled right there in the foyer, before my father had even sat down his bags. In that moment, my mother was the judge and jury--- My father a mere sounding board for her wrath. And the verdict?

In seconds I'd gone from an extravagant vacation with James to spending the summer in with my grandmother, who was really just a wrinklier version of Umma.

"What am I supposed to do? They're my parents."

"You're supposed to go to Florida with me. And then Costa Rica. And then Australia. And then Kenya..." he sets down his fork, grabbing my hand, "Like we've been planning to do all school year."

"Plans fall apart," I shrug.

"Plans can be put back together," he argues, "I mean whatever you did can't be that bad? Just apologize or something."

I stare at him wondering if he knows how dumb that sounds. So I'm being shipped out of state for something that isn't "that bad?" Okay.

I kiss him, which is my go to move when James starts talking about my life like it's his. Both of his parents have careers, his father a businessman and his mother a writer. Whenever I am in the Petrakis home, rarely is Mr. Petrakis home and Mrs. Petrakis never leaves her office. The sole adult I interact with the most is their housekeeper, LuAnne, who always tells me that I'm the prettiest girl James has ever liked when he wasn't listening. Or maybe he is. She always makes us almond cookies and warm milk in the winter or mochi and green tea in the summer.

I'm gonna miss her mochi. And the way Umma's talking, I might miss her almond cookies, too.

I pull away, "Can we stop talking about this? I'd like to spend the time we have left talking about something that isn't how shitty my parents are."

"Fine," he agrees, "But I'm still mad that now I have to take Angela with me."

My chest hurts at the thought of her. When I said I wanted to change the subject, this wasn't what I meant.

"Well we're basically the same person," I shrug. And we are. James' sister and I had been best friends since we met in speech therapy. I was slow to perfect my American accent and Angela had a slight lisp most of our childhood.

Once we learned how to talk though, it was like neither of us ever stopped. And by that I mean we never stopped fighting. We fought over music, over fashion, over boys, over food, over everything and I mean everything.

And yet, until recently, we'd been best friends.

"You two are not the same person," James chuckles, "Main difference: I actually like being around you."

"Well maybe you two will learn to like each other seeing the world on a boat together," I find myself getting defensive over her, and then getting angry with myself. Angela Petrakis does not deserve me defending her.

"Please," James scoffs, "You're her BFF and you guys don't even like each other. Aren't you in a fight right now?"

"It’s not a fight," I lie, "We just aren't talking." Not that there's a chance of us ever talking again...

"Whatever you say, Nat," he directs his attention back to his plate and we continue eating.

We finish eating and drive back to my house. It’s a beautiful Saturday, clear skies shining down on me, even in my f****d situation. God's funny like that I guess.

"Mr. Petrakis," Appa is outside playing football with my little brother, JP. He stops at the sight of James, however. Being with James, I'd forgotten that I was seriously grounded. I'd also forgotten that I'm supposed to be hiding James. Oops.

"Hi, Appa," I get out of the car and brush past him, heading into the house. JP follows me in, and up to my room.

"Where have you been?" he questions, "When I woke up and you weren't here, I thought you'd been murdered or kidnapped or something."

I look up at him. When I said 'little brother' earlier, I meant that in age only. Standing at five foot nine inches, JP was already taller than me, and on his way to quickly surpass David. "Well surprise, I'm not dead yet."

"Good," he takes an uninvited seat on my bed, "I'd hate for something to happen to my favorite sister."

I'm his only sister.

"Right. Shouldn't you be outside playing with your favorite Appa?" I tease. He stands up and we both look out my window to our dad and my boyfriend talking. They shake hands, before James turns and heads back to his convertible and drives off.

"It's kind of hot today right?" he avoids the question, "What's the weather like in Boston?"

David was never much for sports, although he did water polo all of high school, so whenever Appa was home, him and JP were doing something athletic together. And while everyone loved when Appa was home, there was an equal amount of hate there. For JP it was him pretending to be more of a jock than he was. For David it was him pretending he still practiced his faith. For Umma, it was her pretending she had everything together so he wouldn't worry. And for me?

"Natalie Jisoo!" Umma screams, even though I can tell she's already on the way to my room. "What part of grounded do you not understand?"

"What part of rebellious teenager do you not understand?" I snark.

She sets her jaw, mumbles to herself in tongues, before saying out loud, "Lord have mercy what did I do to deserve such a disrespectful daughter?"

"Do you want me to answer that or...?"

She closes her eyes and takes a dramatic deep breath, "Phone. NOW."

I hand it over to her and she sighs, before turning on her heels and leaving. I smile in victory, but I don't really know what I've won.

"Do you always have to do that?" JP turns to me, clearly annoyed.

"Do what?" I reply innocently.

"You would think you'd be trying to make things better," JP says once Umma is out of earshot, "What'd you do anyway?"

"It doesn't matter," I brush him off, "But just know there isn't really a better I can make things."

"Doesn't mean you have to make things worse," He stands, clearly annoyed. I love my brother, but sometimes he takes things entirely too personal.

"Oh so you're mad at me too?" I ask. He doesn't respond, leaving me alone in my room.

It's whatever. I have homework to do anyway.