Although I did most of the cooking, the one thing Celeste made really well—her “signature dish,” as we jokingly called it—during college was ramyun. Instead of just using the packets that came with the instant noodles, Celeste would add in a bunch of other fresh ingredients like eggs, green onions, mushrooms, and dried seaweed. We’d always eat it out of the pot with servings of kimchi in our individual bowls. It wasn’t as impressive as the haejang-guk she made me more recently, but it was so good that I still make ramyun for myself that way out of habit, eight years later, although I’d somehow forgotten—or maybe I blocked it out—that I first learned how to do that from Celeste.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t look where I’m going, or at least not until Celeste pulls me toward her.

Whoosh. A car speeds past us, splashing water onto the back of my dress.

I’m pressed against her now, the two of us standing at the edge of the sidewalk underneath my too-small umbrella. We stay there like that for a moment that seems to stretch on for several years, my heart pounding in my chest. It’s nice and warm in her arms, so much so that I can’t help but linger a bit before I step away.

Her eyes still slightly widened, she says, “Joshim-hae,” telling me to be careful in Korean. She tilts her head at my now partially wet dress. “It’s a good thing you live close by.”

I nod. “Guess we both got wet today.”

The comment leaves my mouth before I realize how it sounds. Celeste’s eyebrows shoot up before she quickly turns away so I can’t see her face.

But I see her shoulders shake with silent laughter, all the same.

“Wait, so, you live with two of your friends?” Celeste asks as we walk up the stairs to the apartment. “But they’re not your roommates?”

I wince. I knew this question would be unavoidable. But it doesn’t make me any keener to answer it.

“Yup,” I say. “Technically they are my roommates now, since we do live together. And I do pay my part of the rent. But I’m just sleeping on their couch until I can find my own place to live. I used to live with my ex before we broke up.”

“He kicked you out?” Celeste asks. The sudden fury in her voice catches me off guard. “In what world is that fair?”

“The condo is his parents’, unfortunately. And even if we had rented an apartment, I would have still been the one to move out. I can’t afford to live alone in SF. He can, thanks to his family.”

Celeste shakes her head. “Ah, that sucks.”