Gray Hearts Episode Eight: Stumble

I don’t know how long I was on the dance floor, but when I finally free myself from the crowd to find something to drink I can feel my heart pounding. There are beads of sweat dotting my forehead, and I worry that the makeup Yeo-reum worked so hard on is all smeared. 

I grab a glass of punch and head for the tall windows that overlook the garden. I can see flowers barely visible under the moonlight, but I focus on my reflection instead, double checking my eyes and dabbing at my lips. My feet ache, and I glance around to see if there’s a chair anywhere. I settle for the window ledge, and slip my shoes off a little so my heels can have a break before I return to the dance floor. Yeo-reum is probably waiting for me. 

My seat feels hard, and I realize two things: my dress has spacious pockets, and there’s a small book tucked into one of them. I pull it out, a dim memory of slipping it inside before Yeo-reum fixed my hair, wondering why I had been so intent on packing it before. I open it and skim the pages, all filled with familiar handwriting.

Quinn hates the summer, but she still went with me to the beach when I told her I’ve never seen the ocean. She told her parents we were spending the night at my house. I didn’t have to tell Mom anything. She never knew when I was gone anyway. 

It took a few hours to get to the coast, and Quinn made me DJ the whole way. I used the playlist we made in middle school (all the cringiest, angstiest songs imaginable) and we sang our hearts out so much that we lost our voices when we finally got to the beach. 

“You shouldn’t be reading at a party,” Yeo-reum chides, and I quickly move my notebook to the folds of my dress.

“Sorry, I was just resting,” I say quickly, feeling my cheeks flush. “It’s so warm in here.”

“Because there are so many people to meet and dance with,” she responds with an airy laugh. “Would it be a party if it was only you and me?”

I just give a polite smile in response. Yeo-reum reaches out her hand and pulls me to my feet. 

“Now, who do you want to dance with?” she asks. “Just point them out, and I can introduce you.”

“Oh, I,” I hesitate, trying to think up an excuse. “I think I just need some air first.”

“You’re not one for balls?” she guesses, and I give a feeble laugh. 

“I suppose I’m more comfortable in smaller crowds,” I reply with a shrug. “It’s a lovely, um, ball though.”

I add that last part because I’m very aware of the fact that she controls everything and could definitely hurt me if I accidentally insult her. 

“Smaller gatherings? Like only fifty or so people?” she guesses. 

“Umm…” Is that what she thinks a small crowd is? “I suppose.”

Yeo-reum grabs my hand with a bright smile, looking pleased with my answer, and I wonder if this was some sort of test. 

“Let’s get some air in the garden,” she suggests, pulling me through the crowd. “I know what you mean. Large parties can get so stuffy sometimes.”

I breathe a sigh in relief as we weave through the cliques, the faces and dresses seeming to mesh together into a blur. When I blink, we’re out of the ballroom and striding down a long hallway. 

“These are beautiful paintings,” I hear myself say as I follow Yeo-reum.

There are large portraits of life-sized couples. They have vacant eyes and forced smiles, but it reminds me of paintings I’d see in the museums, and I kind of want to pause to examine them closer. Yeo-reum pauses and drinks in the portraits with a soft smile. 

“All the matches I’ve made,” she says serenely. “I’m something of a matchmaker, you know. A near-perfect success rate at that.”

“Wow.” I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say to that. 

I look closer at the paintings. They look like they’re from different eras: some are realistic looking, with couples in clean lines and pastel colors; others look like Rembrandt, with figures illuminated in front of a dark background; and some remind me of a rococo painting my high school art teacher had hanging in the front of the classroom. A few are even taken with vintage cameras. The couples are different, some with a man and a woman and some with two or more women. But the woman in the center of every picture has the same long black hair (though styled differently in each) and dark, inviting eyes. 

“Come now, the garden is waiting.” The same dark-eyed woman is standing next to me, her brows raised as if daring me to ask about the images in front of us.

My hand reaches into my pocket, brushing against my notebook for comfort, and I paint a smile on my face, reminding myself to keep my guard up. 

“They’re very beautiful,” I say. 

Yeo-reum shakes her head, turning away from the wall and returning her gaze to me. It’s starting to feel like there’s something she’s expecting to find in the garden, and I start to drag my feet as I follow her.

Don’t let your guard down, I remind myself. You did that with Prin and almost abandoned Quinn for who-knows-how-long.

“Yeo-reum,” I try. “I’m sure the garden is lovely, but I really should be going soon.”

“But why?” Yeo-reum asks, pausing at ornate doors that seem to stretch to the ceiling. “You’ve only just got here.”

She throws open the doors, and I blink my eyes. The sunlight streams into my eyes, and I have to cup my hands over my eyes as I follow her outside. 

It must be at least noon, judging from the sun hanging straight above us, which makes no sense. It was just night. 

What makes even less sense is the garden party that seems to be in full-swing. There’s a fountain with a marble swan shooting water up from its ornately carved beak. I can see servers in perfectly-ironed blue uniforms wandering with large silver trays filled with goblets of sparkling drinks or bite-sized snacks. Ladies are in bright sleeveless dresses that have dropped waists, twirly skirts, and crisp collars that sway in the breeze from their large, feathered fans. Men are in full suits, seemingly unbothered by the warmth.

“Only fifty people,” Yeo-reum says proudly, and I turn to look at her.

Her ballgown is replaced by a white and silver dress in a similar style as the other ladies, except her dress is dotted with large blue flowers, and she’s holding a blue feathered fan. She smiles at me, and I realize my dress has also changed into a dark green reflection of hers, with tiny yellow roses on the dropped waist encircling me like a belt. In my hand is a large white feathered fan.

“How—” I begin, but Yeo-reum pulls at my arm. 

“Come, you must meet everyone now,” she insists. 

I dig my feet into the ground (even my shoes have changed to smaller heels) and try to look firm. 

“I can’t stay,” I tell her. “I need to go find my friend.”

“I told you we would discuss it after the party,” Yeo-reum says. 

There’s a scowl that seems to flit across her face for half a second. I almost think I must have imagined it, because she’s still smiling at me when I blink. 

“Yes, but when?” I continue, looking around. 

I’m starting to have a sinking feeling that this is a party that will never have an end. 

“Why are you in such a rush, dear?” Yeo-reum asks. “It’s quite rude to always be running off, you know.”

“I need to get to Winter,” I reply. “My friend needs me.”

Yeo-reum whips out her fan and gives a tinkling laugh as she fans her face and glances around. I wonder if she thinks I’m joking.

“My dear, Summer is the place to be,” she says with a shake of her head. “Why would you go to the cold, dead Winter when you’re in the warmest, freest season? Summer is the season of love. Of passion.”

“I appreciate that,” I reply, trying to not roll my eyes. “But I need to get to Winter.” Yeo-reum looks around disinterestedly, and I try again. “When will the party end?”

“When you fall in love, of course,” Yeo-reum says matter-of-factly. “Now come meet some distinguished gentlemen.”

Before I register what’s happening, she’s pulling me by the arm and escorting me towards the fountain. I see about a half-dozen men assemble around us as Yeo-reum introduces me like some new prize to be auctioned off. I feel my heart drop into my stomach. Or maybe it’s something coming up my esophagus. My body can’t seem to register anything happening to it.

When I fall in love?

What does that even mean?

One gentleman kisses my hand, and another asks me if I’m in need of a refreshment. I try to register their faces, but my panic is making them seem to all blur into one faceless creature. 

“I… I need a moment,” I say, pulling away from Yeo-reum quickly. 

I feel the stones crunch beneath me as I hurry towards the garden hedge, away from the crowd. I can see Yeo-reum stare at me from the middle of the gentlemen she had gathered, watching me with an unreadable, focused look, and I turn away—

“Iris,” she says, appearing in front of me. “Where are you going?”

It should have been impossible for her to have appeared like that, but I realize I’m not all that surprised. 

“Is it the men?” she asks, looking over my shoulder and making a face. “I should have thought as much. How about this?”

She waves her hand, and I turn to see the crowd of gentlemen replaced with a crowd of ladies, giving me a nod of the head or the flick of a fan. 

“What—”

“I don’t judge,” she interrupts with a smile. “I only want love, dear. In any form, really.”

She hooks her arm into mine and walks me towards the crowd. I feel myself trying to dig my heels into the ground again. 

“I… I can’t,” I say, giving her a pleading look. “I’m not here to find love, Yeo-reum. I’m not here for the party. I need to find Quinn.”

I feel a brush against… it feels like against my very soul. I shiver in spite of the warmth. Yeo-reum furrows her brow for a moment, but then she just smiles. 

“I see,” she says. “You’re here for Quinn.”

“Yes.”

“She’s the one in your heart?”

“Huh?” I try to decipher the twinkle in her eye, like she’s a kid bursting with a secret.

“Your Quinn—” She gestures to the fountain. “—is here.”

I follow her outstretched finger. It’s impossible, but… 

“Quinn?” I say breathlessly, running towards the figure.

Decked in a shimmery yellow dress, her hair in long, soft curls down her back, a peaceful smile on her face…is Quinn.