Miss Song and Mr. Nam

Miss Song hated rushing for flights. The night before her return to New York, she had packed her suitcase and left it by the door. She got up early, fully ready to go. She pulled her suitcase to the car and loaded it into the back seat. But her boyfriend, Nam, was nowhere to be seen—maybe hiding somewhere, hoping to be found.

About 15 minutes later, Nam finally came out, walking slowly on his long legs.

“Where’s your suitcase?”

“I already put it in the back seat.”

“You carried that heavy thing by yourself without telling me? Alright, let’s go. What kind of music would you like? Classical, jazz, Korean music?” He showed her a selection of CDs.

“Just play whatever you want,” she replied.

Nam put on Sade Smooth Operator, and the slow rhythm flowed through the car. He rolled the windows up and down, stepped out of the car to clean the windshield, and moved as if in slow motion—while time flew by. Just before they were about to leave, Nam patted his back pocket and suddenly remembered he forgot his wallet. He went back into the house—and didn’t come out for quite a while. When he finally returned, he said, flustered:

“My wallet wasn’t in the usual place. Took me forever to find it.”

At last, he started the car and they were on their way.

Miss Song had been sensitive since childhood. Her sharp senses and easily triggered nerves gave her parents a hard time. She didn’t make many friends at school and focused entirely on her studies. After finishing graduate school in Korea, she worked as a part-time lecturer at various colleges for two years, then moved to New York to study abroad.

During her master’s program, she met Nam through a friend. He lived in LA, and they began a long-distance relationship. When Nam visited New York, Miss Song was drawn to his calm, intellectual vibe, his tall frame, and his modesty—he didn’t even seem to care how handsome he was. Most of all, she liked how he handled her sharp personality with humor and patience.

Aside from Nam’s two visits to New York, their relationship had been mostly over the phone and Skype for over a year. One day, Nam’s father said he wanted to meet Miss Song and invited her to LA. She had stayed at Nam’s house for a week, and now she was on her way to the airport to return to New York.

While driving, Nam said,

“We have plenty of time before your flight. Let’s swing by Santa Monica Beach for a bit.”

Miss Song wasn’t someone who took chances with time. She would rather arrive early and wait than risk being late—for planes, trains, or even casual meetups. She even received a perfect attendance award in high school because of this habit. The suggestion of going to the beach before heading to the airport made her nervous. She was about to protest but stopped herself—remembering what Nam’s father had said under the palm tree in the backyard:

“I really like you. I hope you’ll marry my son and accept his flaws. I’ll take care of all the wedding arrangements. When your parents visit from Seoul, they’re welcome to stay with us.”

Nam had lived in the U.S. six years longer than she had. He was the “senior” in American life, and she felt hesitant to argue with him.

“Do you think we won’t be late for the flight?” she asked cautiously.

“Absolutely not. I promise you’ll make your flight. Just trust your driver, Nam. Ha ha.”

The wide sandy beach and rolling waves welcomed her. The sound of the surf eased her tension and anxiety.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” she said.

“See? It was a good idea. Let’s relax here for a while.”

Nam lay down on the sand near the water. Miss Song sat beside him, gazing at the ocean, then nervously glanced at her watch. She looked at Nam—he had his eyes closed as if lost in thought. She hesitated—should she say something about the time? She got up and brushed the sand off her skirt. Nam didn’t move. He looked completely asleep. She thought maybe he was just tired from playing tour guide all week. Not wanting to be demanding, she let him rest. But time didn’t wait, and she grew more anxious by the minute. Finally, she shook his shoulder.

“Excuse me… How long does it take to get to the airport from here?”

Nam opened his eyes, grabbed her hand, and said,

“Don’t worry. I know the fastest route. Just sit down and enjoy the ocean breeze. LA is a blessed place. Lie down under the sun and the wind will lull you to sleep.”

“Were you sleeping?”

“No, just deep in thought. My dad really likes you. He wants us to get married. Will you get married after finishing your degree?”

“Let’s talk about that after I get back to New York.”

“Why? You don’t want to marry me?”

“No, it’s not that. I just need time—”

“You need more time to think?”

“No, I mean… It’s the flight time. I need to check in at the airport. Aren’t we running late?”

“I told you not to worry. I’ve lived in LA for six years and been to the airport many times. Getting there early just means more waiting.”

Her nerves shot up. She snapped coldly at his relaxed face:

“Well, I’d still like to go to the airport now.”

“Alright, let’s go then.”

On the way, Nam spotted a McDonald’s near the airport and pulled into the parking lot.

“Why are we stopping here?” Miss Song asked, panicking.

“I didn’t have proper coffee this morning. McDonald’s coffee is cheap and tasty. Let’s just pop in for a quick one.”

That moment, Miss Song realized: This man lives in a different world from me.

She stared at his relaxed, happy face—so excited about coffee—and said firmly,

“I’m not drinking anything. I’ll wait in the car. Please be quick.”

“Come on, come in with me. Ever since I moved to America, I’ve gotten into the habit of stopping for McDonald’s coffee before a flight.”

She couldn’t shake his hand off and reluctantly followed him in. She wanted to tell him to hurry but didn’t. Instead, she sat on the edge of a chair, half-standing, and watched him join the long line. She let out a long sigh. Is he trying to make me miss the flight because he doesn’t want me to leave? Does he really love me? Or is he testing me?

Nam came back, excited, carrying two cups and a pie.

“Here’s your apple pie and coffee! I still remember the first time I had McDonald’s in America. My uncle, who moved here first, bought me an apple pie and coffee on the day I immigrated, right here at this exact McDonald’s. I smelled the coffee, saw that palm tree out there, and thought—yes, I really made it to America…”

He went on and on. Miss Song was shocked. She hadn’t expected such a long story right before her flight. Her hands trembled holding the coffee cup. Her body was tense, her heart racing. She just wanted to board her flight and drink wine alone.Right before he started a new story with, “This is kind of a different story, but…”, she interrupted.

“What time is it? We really have to go. We’ll miss the flight if we keep sitting here. Please tell me the rest on the way.”

“You’re so impatient. In America, you have to learn to wait. That’s what I’ve learned. I always stand in the longest line—it’s the most reliable.”

She couldn’t hear any more. The only thought in her head was: We’ll miss the plane. She shot up from her seat, knocking over her coffee, which spilled all over her red dress and shoes.

“Oh no, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll change at the airport. We really need to go now.”

She was flushed with frustration. The coffee made her heart race even more, and she felt faint. She just wanted to get on the plane and drink wine alone.

They arrived at the airport without saying a word. Miss Song, desperate not to miss her flight, quickly grabbed her suitcase from the back seat.

“You’re in such a hurry. I was going to help. Let me park the car—don’t go anywhere.”

This man is crazy! she thought. Does he wear a watch just for decoration? Hasn’t checked the time once! She rushed into the airport and ran up to the airline counter.

“I’m sorry,” the staff said. “The gate just closed.”

Miss Song stood frozen. Fortunately, there was another flight four hours later. Nam appeared in the distance, walking slowly after parking the car.

“You didn’t wait for me. I was looking everywhere.”

“The plane left.”

“What? Already? I guess time flies when I’m with you. Don’t worry—there are lots of flights to New York. Let’s finish that story while we wait.”

Miss Song sighed. “No, that’s okay. You should go home. I’ll wait alone.”

“You’ll get bored alone. But when I’m with you, time flies!”

She didn’t respond. She stared out the window.

"Do you need anything? I'm going to buy a newspaper."

"No, I don't," Miss Song replied curtly.

As Nam walked off slowly to get his newspaper, Miss Song got up, pretending to go to the restroom. She didn’t want to make eye contact. After using the restroom, she wandered around the airport shops, deep in thought. He may be tall and well-built, but there’s not a single practical bone in his body. And how can someone be so clueless? He doesn't understand how anxious I am. He really doesn’t get me at all. She wandered the airport aimlessly, then reluctantly returned to where Nam was sitting. She took a seat—not next to him, but a few seats away. When Nam saw her, he smiled warmly and put his newspaper aside.

“Hey, where were you? You were gone so long—I was worried! Come sit closer. Talking about missing your flight reminded me of something that happened to me years ago. I was flying from Canada to New York and missed my flight, too. I thought I had plenty of time, but I got too into reading the newspaper and lost track of it. Luckily, there was another flight three hours later—but I nearly missed that one, too! They even announced my name over the intercom. I was the very last passenger to board!”

As Nam happily rambled on about his own flight mishaps, Miss Song stared at him in disbelief.

My god. This man is hopeless. This is it. This is really the end. Without a word, she stood up and said in a firm, decisive tone,

“I think I’d better head to the gate and wait for my flight.”

“But we still have two hours! You’re going in already?”

“If I keep listening to your stories, I might miss the flight again. You can go now. Thanks for everything.”

Only then did Nam finally seem to get it. He scratched his head awkwardly.

“Well... contact me when you get to New York.”

He stood up reluctantly, looking disappointed, his shoulders slightly hunched. He walked slowly toward the airport exit, turned back once to look at her, then disappeared to the left.

Miss Song sat in the closest seat to the gate. Her body sagged from exhaustion, finally letting go of all the tension. She began to rewind everything about Nam in her mind. Sure, he's gentle and kind. But he’d go through life just as slowly and aimlessly as he is now. If I married him, my impatient nature would drive me crazy. I’d lose my mind. She had come to LA hoping to meet his parents and finally leave her "old maid" status behind. But now, she thought: