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on your side (let's go to a wedding) [chapter 6/6]

[kpdh, zoerumi, fluff and romcom type shit humor, they visit zoey's family, multichap, wedding attendees] AO3 Link | Chapter 1

Story summary:

When Zoey's cousin invites all three of them to California for his wedding, Zoey is forced to navigate her and Rumi's newly-found feelings for each other while staying at her parents' house for four days. Zoey's trying not to explode, Rumi is an awkward, blushing mess, and Mira thinks it's the funniest shit ever. Will they manage to survive Costco, nosy family members in a backyard barbecue, a bachelor party, and the wedding day itself?

Chapter 6: best guess

“What about April 25?”

Rumi gives her a look. “We’re not going to pick our anniversary date based on a Miss Congeniality meme.”

“You’re one to talk!” Zoey pokes her on the cheek as they walk. “Your first suggestion was February 13th so we could bundle it up with Valentine’s day!”

Rumi sheepishly looks away, flushing. “I thought you’d appreciate the logistical reasoning behind it.”

“Ah, yes, logistics.” Zoey swoons dramatically. “So romantic.”

She’s kidding, of course—for the most part—and she’s glad to see that Rumi doesn’t look too flustered about the teasing, still smiling softly at her despite the way she bumps her shoulder against Zoey’s and grumbles about it.

They’re walking back to the venue now, still floating from the feeling of such a charged confession that they can hardly look at each other. The pathway back feels like an entirely different place now. Afternoon yellows have deepened into purple and the overhead lanterns shine bright and warm as they illuminate the flagstones below. Zoey had been in such a rush that she missed how scenic the way to the villa actually is.

This time, they go slowly: hands tangled together, voices light and clear as they walk through the flowers and the trees. When they reach the shallow steps that lead down towards the venue, Rumi goes on ahead of her and holds up her hand to keep Zoey steady, carrying her discarded heels in her other hand. Rumi does so with no drama or flourish, like it just came naturally to her—and it’s that ease that gives Zoey butterflies in her stomach—the effortless care.

“What’s wrong with today?” Rumi tilts her head, continuing their conversation.

Zoey grumbles when she slots her fingers between Rumi’s again. “I’m just being petulant and didn’t want to share an anniversary with Shawn.”

Rumi laughs. “Can’t argue with that. Why don’t we just move it to tomorrow, then?”

Zoey blinks. “I mean, if you think about it, it’s already tomorrow back home in Korea, right?”

“See?” Rumi hums. “Works out in the end.”

Normally Zoey wouldn’t so easily agree, but she’s right.

Sometimes, the world was kind and it did work out in the end.

--

The reception started off with dinner first and festivities later.

Everyone liked that.

Rumi, for the most part, is relieved that they aren’t that late to dinner—though it was a pity to miss Shawn and Francine’s grand entrance from the chapel. The crowd is busier than she remembers it being when they first arrived, especially since they got there earlier than the others so that Uncle Jeong could find good parking.

She’s only now seeing the reception area in all its glory: it’s in a wide gazebo in the middle of an even larger garden, with a flat roof and wooden slats laid on the grass as flooring. There are warm string lights overhead and white cloth draped over picnic tables. The pale floral centerpieces worked wonderfully well with the colorful dress code—somehow the muted furnishings kept everything from clashing together. A long table with serving trays sat towards the edge of the party where guests were welcome to help themselves to the food while the dinner band played jazz renditions of the couple’s favorite video game songs.

Mira, of course, waited for them to come back.

(She saw them even as they skirted around the edge of the garden, trying not to draw attention to themselves. She felt the warmth of their approach as they walked closer towards her in that unexplainable way the three of them have always been able to feel each other—even without hearing, even without seeing.

Rumi caught the moment that Mira could really take a look at them—the way her eyes fell to their joined eyes, how she scanned the radiant smile on Zoey’s face, how Mira could see that the tension no longer sat heavy on her own shoulders.

She pulled them both into a hug as soon as she could reach them and placed a kiss on the crown of each of their heads.

There was so much to feel in that moment—a sort of protectiveness that Rumi couldn’t put a name on. Happiness, support.

“There we go,” Mira had said, taking both of their hands. “Now don’t you dare fumble each other, for fuck’s sake.”

Zoey just giggled.

“We love you too!”)

By now, most of the party goers have moved from the cocktail tables to their assigned dinner seats. Rumi is pleasantly surprised when she finds that they get to sit with Zoey and her parents, over at a longer table with a little folded card that says: ‘Family of the Groom’.

“Made it!” Zoey walks up to Uncle Jeong and Auntie Eun-ju, throwing her arms over their shoulders and giving them a hug. “Sorry we’re a bit late!”

Uncle Jeong turns around to look them over. “Where have you been?”

“Oh they just had to go to a… place,” Mira starts off awkwardly, and Rumi sees the way she tries to stare up at the ceiling, watching the lazy oscillation of the outdoor fans.

“Yeah!” Zoey laughs nervously—and bless her soul, the woman who raised her catches on to it in record time and immediately lifts an eyebrow. “To do—a thing?”

A thing.

For some reason, Zoey’s parents turn to look at Rumi as if expecting her to provide the final piece of their half-hearted excuse. To her credit, she tries, but only really succeeds at thinking about how much time she’d spent kissing Zoey while they were away to do a thing—something both wonderful and truly unhelpful at the moment. Damn.

Rumi manages to stutter a response. “Can I talk to you both after dinner?”

Everyone kind of pauses and stares, just as the jazz band starts a little bass solo. Depending on the outcome, Rumi thinks this might be a top five embarrassing moment of her life.

“It’s nothing bad!” She rambles on, trying to catch up to the moment. “It’s—It’s a good thing.” She looks towards Zoey, eyes searching. “Right?”

“It’s a good thing.” She reaches out to take Rumi’s hand, just like she did back at the apartment, before they left for the airport. “The best thing.”

Auntie Eun-ju looks contemplative, but she lets it go for the moment. She glances over to the ever-growing line by the buffet and gives the three of them another look before rummaging for something in her purse.

“After dinner then.” She responds, more for Rumi than anyone else, and then finally finds what she’s looking for. “Why don’t you three go on ahead and get some food. I’ve brought Tums and Lactaid.” She glances towards Mira, and the Rumi—both of them awkwardly grinning in appreciation. Then she looks over to her daughter. “Please don’t give yourselves a stomachache.”

--

The food is amazing.

To be fair Zoey’s also really, really hungry—there’s something to be said about hunger being the best sauce and all that, so it could be either or both—but she’s winning regardless. She’s tackling the creamy pesto pasta this time, round three out of many more, and is absolutely delighted by the way the perfectly-cooked penne has a bit of resistance before the tips of her fork finally push through the surface, how the olive oil and freshly-chopped basil mix in with the heavy cream in a thick and decadent sauce. The seasoned chicken tops it all off—and Zoey decides that this dish, in its simplicity, is probably going to be hard to beat for the rest of the evening.

That doesn’t take away from its competitors, of course. There’s an entire spit-roasted lechon with perfectly crunchy skin seasoned with lemongrass all the way through to the meat underneath, there are fragrant trays of rice and a spread of croissants, and she’s further enticed by the aroma of freshly-grilled galbi served with a side of doenjang and gochujang. And then there’s the brisket—how it falls apart almost effortlessly underneath the thin carving knife, the darkened bark of seasoning providing texture right above the pink smoke ring of the meat, keeping its flavorful moisture trapped inside along with the perfectly-rendered fat.

Rumi’s staring.

Zoey licks her lips as she finishes with her bite, a bit embarrassed to be so lost in thought again. “Yes?”

“Oh don’t mind me,” Rumi says. “Might just be a little jealous.”

“Of the pasta?” Zoey raises an eyebrow, amused. “Or of me?”

“That’s up for debate,” Rumi laughs.

Zoey turns towards Mira with a very serious look of despondence on her face.

“It’s so hard being the lactose-tolerant girlfriend in the relationship,” she says, soft enough for only the three of them to hear, “I’m going to have to finish all the ice cream on my lonesome, and all the cheesecakes, and don’t even get me started about the leche flan. To think you can’t even help me, Mira, pure of heart, sensitive of stomach—”

Mira looks unimpressed. “Try it,” she holds her own bowl of soup up for Zoey, and it looks suspiciously red. Zoey should probably use a spoon but spoons are for suckers, so she takes the bowl and takes a sip right from the rim—and immediately feels a trail of heat scoring down her throat as her ears turn red.

“I’m being so strong about this,” Zoey grits her teeth even as her nose starts to run and her eyes start to water. “I’m being really, really brave about this.”

That gets a full-bellied laugh out of Mira, having successfully redeemed her own honor. Rumi shoots her an apologetic smile and pats her on the back.

Dinner carries on. She circles back to the buffet line another two times over, and slowly feeds Rumi all the mushrooms she doesn’t want to eat.

(Zoey keeps getting more of them anyway, enjoying the way Rumi leans over and bites around the fork that she holds up for her without so much as a second thought, each and every time.)

--

The rest of the party still isn’t done eating dinner by the time their table is through. Zoey’s a little surprised when Rumi suddenly rises up from her seat, walking over to extend her parents a nervous invitation to join her. They follow her to somewhere more quiet, though Mira and Zoey can still see them from their table.

They watch from afar as Rumi stumbles over her words, bowing deep, ears red. Her dad looks confused and pleasantly surprised, her mother looks neither surprised nor confused. Just—relieved, somehow.

Rumi’s eyes are wide and hopeful despite the flush settled high on her neck and cheeks, a shy smile growing on her lips as her father says something with his hands on his hips, standing laid-back and easy. There is a comforting ease between the three of them—it settles warmly in Zoey’s chest.

Rumi stands there and nods, listening to what they have to say. She’s being polite because it isn’t like there’s any permission to be given—Zoey is an adult—but it’s nice to see her extend this consideration, a nicety that wasn’t needed but offered anyway.

(Hopefully no threats of bodily harm are being promised in the unlikely event of heartbreak.)

Mira watches intently. “She looks well. Like she knows what she wants.”

As timing would have it, Rumi glances towards her. Zoey tilts her head and smiles in her direction.

“Does she?”

“Yeah.” Mira almost sounds proud, crossing her arms with an easy-going smirk. “She just seems more grounded, less of a flight risk, you know? It’s a good thing to have in your life,” Mira’s voice grows softer as she regards Zoey. “To have someone steadfast and reliable.”

Zoey thinks about that for a minute.

She mulls it over, and looks back up towards Mira.

“Well, she learned from someone who’s always been there to show us what that’s like.”

Mira’s eyes widen a little, then soften as they turn to look back at Rumi. Zoey lets herself feel a bit proud of that.

Mira doesn’t say anything. Just leans over to bump Zoey in the shoulder.

Zoey giggles, and bumps her back.

--

“Rumi, stop wiggling.”

Zoey’s kneeling on the floor in front of a seated Rumi, her hand wrapped softly around her ankle. Rumi’s blushing something fierce while she tucks a strand of purple behind her ear, her other hand on Zoey’s (bare, freckled, toned) shoulder while she leans forward to watch her work.

And, sure, dinner is still happening all around them—droning chatter, clinking glasses, music floating in the spaces in between—but it all feels a little distant when there are goosebumps from the hint of Zoey’s warmth by her knee.

And then they hear someone clear their throat, cutting the thick tension of the moment like a knife.

“Finally.”

Auntie Hye-jin is standing near them looking terribly pleased with herself.

They both startle—Rumi still at her seat, Zoey kneeling in front of her—and, wow, this is a pretty compromising position to be caught in by your girlfriend’s aunt isn’t it?

“Auntie!” Zoey squeaks, a band-aid pinched between her teeth.

She steadies herself on Rumi’s calf—her calf!—palm sliding up along her leg as she turns to face her aunt—and Rumi does her best to be dignified and put-together and totally-normal about it.

Zoey falls into a ramble, taking the band aid out of her mouth.

“The straps of Rumi’s heels were digging into the back of her ankles so, like, I’m putting something on her so it doesn’t hurt when she walks, and, and, you know her legs look great, don’t they? Haha, I—”

Just their luck, Owen passes by too, shoveling some cake into his mouth. He waves his little fork at them as he walks, and then stops, turns to do a double take, and walks up next to his aunt with a shit-eating grin.

“Yoooo.”

Zoey grumbles. “Owen, I’m going to steal all your cake—”

And then Liam comes along carrying beers for everyone—also stopping in his tracks. He blinks, eyebrows inch up. “Oh?”

“Fuck my life,” Zoey sighs.

Rumi tries to save her by awkwardly smiling up at everyone and blurting out: “Hi! I’m her girlfriend now?”

--

“I bet it was the red soup.”

Rumi leans against the bathroom door, her arms crossed, her expression flat and defeated.

She shares a glance with Zoey, who only offers a wry smile—quickly turning into a wince when she hears Mira curse her father’s bloodline from inside the bathroom.

“It was the red soup,” Zoey solemnly agrees.

Mira’s muffled voice comes through the door: “It was so worth it.”

“Mira!”

“I would totally do it again.”

Rumi looks unimpressed. “Okay. Then suffer,” she says, tenderly holding a glass of water and something easier on the stomach for her to have afterwards anyway.

Zoey sighs, but her lips still curl up in amusement. “I’m going to find mom and get the medicine she brought for her.”

--

The rest of the reception follows the typical script.

The party sits through several speeches, ending with Liam’s (painfully long) best-man’s toast.

The crowd cheers when the newlyweds cut their cake, clapping and hooting and hollering when Shawn finally pulls his wife closer for a kiss at their enthusiastic demand. And then there are pictures. So many pictures. Pictures enough for the rest of their lives—and it was really, really starting to feel like work—until the DJ finally came up to his booth and the dancefloor was cleared of all other obstacles.

The open bar comes into service—and that is when Zoey discovers that Rumi’s got clingy little grabby hands and next to zero self-control about it.

She loves it. Every bit of it.

She loves the feeling of Rumi’s arm snaking around her waist and pulling her closer, she loves how she can’t help but lean over and whisper into her ear, she adores how Rumi had stolen her drink from her once—their fingers brushing as she hands the glass over—watching how the rim presses against her lips as she tipped it back for a taste.

And she loves it just as much right now. All three of them are sitting at one of the tables with a group of Shawn’s college friends, laughing over a quickly-diminishing bottle of champagne, their conversation filled with ‘do-you-remember-whens’ and ‘back-in-the-days’.

Zoey’s leaning forward on her elbow, a champagne flute cradled in her other hand, sitting with her legs crossed and Rumi’s hand splayed out possessively over her knee—impossibly warm where they’re touching.

“I remember back when Shawn asked her out for the first time,”

One of the guys—Hal—starts talking as he refills his glass, glancing over to the newlyweds. His voice carries loudly over the music, and he pauses to chug half of his champagne in one go. One of the other guests starts nervously laughing as they mutter ‘oh boy’ under their breath. Hal continues.

“He said, ‘Wish me luck bro, I’ll have a date by Friday just you wait!’”

The other friend winced.

“And I said,” Hal drinks the rest of his glass up, words coming out slurred. “‘Not if I ask her out first!’ which, obviously, didn’t happen, so—”

They take his glass away and replace it with water. There’s a pat on his back.

“Anyway,” he shakes his head, and he does a nervous little laugh-cry that strangely sounds like something Rumi would do. “I’m totally okay—just so y’all know.”

Zoey glances over to Rumi, who looks sympathetic, and then to Mira, who looks—

“Mira,” Zoey hisses, elbowing her.

Mira glances back wordlessly. What?

Zoey makes a vague gesture towards her face.

Mira just lifts an eyebrow. What’s wrong with my face?

Zoey groans and Rumi giggles.

Mira just gives her another look, then takes up the burden of changing topics as compensation for the apparent judgment in her stare. “Okay, how do we feel about trains?”

Hal blinks. “Trains?”

Zoey gasps in delight. “Oh, my girlfriend—”

The reaction is almost instantaneous—Rumi’s hand moving from Zoey’s knee to drape loosely around her shoulders, her hand near enough for her fingertips to graze along the freckles of her upper arm, a clear message: Yup, that’s me.

“—loves talking about trains!”

Zoey watches as Rumi takes a drink of water, an excited glimmer in her eyes right as she starts what is likely to be an unstoppable ramble.

“Okay, so, trains.”

It’s so stupidly hot.

--

“You’re going to get me into trouble,” Zoey mumbles into Rumi’s mouth, just as her back hits a wall.

“Me?” Rumi laughs. “You’re the one who dragged me into this inconspicuous little hideaway behind the trees.”

She isn’t complaining though, not when Zoey wraps her hand behind her neck and pulls her downwards for a long, searing kiss. She’s surprised to feel Zoey nipping at her lip, and Rumi allows herself the luxury of crowding even closer into Zoey’s space, almost pinning her.

“I must have done something you liked,” Rumi breathes out.

“It was the trains,” Zoey whispers against her lips.

“Wait.” Rumi blinks and pulls back. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Zoey cups her cheek, looking mildly annoyed at the fact that they aren’t kissing this very moment. She threads her other hand through the hair behind Rumi’s nape, planting a little kiss underneath her ear and pulling down. “Tell me about that multi-car air brake system again, why don’t you?”

--

Rumi somehow runs into Francine as she tries to freshen up in a bathroom away from the rest of the party.

She was trying to be sneakier than this, but—oh, whatever—she’ll just blame the champagne.

They freeze when they run into each other, both of them staring like deer in the headlights, and Rumi realizes that Francine’s lipstick is smudged—just as she remembers that she has a trail of red kisses up her own neck.

There’s a stretch of awkward silence—then Francine holds up her hand for a fist bump.

Rumi laughs, falling at ease, and meets her knuckles with her own.

“You should see the other guy,” Francine jokes. And then she pauses, a small expression of wonder creeping in her eyes before looking up at Rumi with delight. “Damn. The ‘other guy’ is my husband now!”

“He sure is,” Rumi smiles.

“Althought,” Francine says with a sly yet kind-heart smile. “I’m happy you and Zoey are having a good time at the party, yeah?”

Rumi laughs shyly, tucking an errant curl of purple behind her ear. “Definitely. Yes.”

“By the way, Rumi.” Francine says off-handedly. “Marrying into this family has so far been a 10/10 experience.”

“Has it?”

“Highly recommend.” She nods sagely.

Rumi blushes. “That’s—That’s nice—”

“You should try it.”

“Francine!”

--

Everything escalates.

But in a good way!

At least in Zoey’s opinion.

On one hand, Rumi (who’s had two beers too many) and Liam are both close to tears as they lead a manhunt (dog-hunt?) for Poco, who is missing. They’re hot on the trail of the little creature’s most recent escape and Zoey can’t imagine how a crowd of tipsy adults could possibly lose a chihuahua wearing a bowtie with a backpack on him, but then again—tipsy adults.

On the other hand, Mira’s been roped into an all-star, high-stakes, holy-shit-I’m-at-the-edge-of-my-seat mahjong death match with three older women that Zoey kind of remembers from her childhood. Her mother and Auntie Min-ji are sitting on either side of Mira, like coach and counsel, and the game is tense, even as Hana wrangles herself up onto Mira’s lap to watch it unfold.

When Rumi and Liam’s search leads them to the mahjong table, Rumi leans over to see that Mira’s doing fairly well for herself and finally asks:

“Who taught you how to play like that?”

“Celine.”

Rumi balks. “Celine?!”

--

Mira comes out of the match with a merciless win just as Liam emerges with a distressed chihuahua in his arms—the entire party collectively cheers. Owen calls for another toast.

--

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur.

Owen makes it a point to hog the mic and propose a toast every few minutes, until most of the guests are loose-lipped and happy. A few stragglers continue to take a second or third round of food while people pass around a mic to sing karaoke to the DJ’s songs while someone projects lyrics onto the screen.

(Rumi sang Chandelier and absolutely killed it—Zoey had to pry the mic away from her hands.)

The DJ drops a club remix of Golden, and the crowd can’t help but turn towards the three of them, awkwardly blinking at everyone from their table. Then Mira gets up and strides over to the booth, grabs a microphone, puts her hair in a messy ponytail and asks the crowd if they want an impromptu lesson on the choreography. The aunties excitedly line up at the front—Zumba-session ready—just as Rumi and Zoey throw their hands up to cheer her on.

And then everything slows down once they’re through: the music lulling into a ballad, a minute to breath between all the excitement.

Zoey blushes when Rumi pulls her closer by the waist, her other hand sliding up her forearm until their fingers are threaded together. They start to sway side-to-side, falling into step with the others around them, disappearing into each other when the lights get dimmer. They turn on the spot—Rumi finds herself underneath one of the floodlights—casting a glow behind her until Zoey has to squint.

“You look like an angel,” Zoey with what is probably a pathetically sappy smile.

“Look at you, smooth-talker.” Rumi blushes anyway. “No angel here, just a girl.”

“Mine, though.” She hums. “That’s even better.”

It’s no one else’s business if they steal a kiss right then and there, soft and chaste.

Then Francine makes her way to the booth to ask for something livelier: a country-folk song that she can start an honest-to-god line dance to.

Soon Zoey is arm-in-arm with Rumi and Mira and Owen and Liam and so many other people hooting and kicking in place. Her voice is hoarse from all the laughing, her hair frizzled from the activity despite the cool nighttime breeze and her feet just about to grow sore as they kick their legs up in time with the beat—left then right—tripping over themselves in delight as the music gets faster. Francine has a cowboy hat again, and there’s a necktie around Shawn’s head as he twirls his coat jacket overhead, which, how did that even happen? He was wearing a bowtie?

The music continues and everyone’s a little off-beat, but clapping anyway. Zoey giggles in delight when her parents find her, out of breath and red in the face. They link their arms on either side of her in a weird little square dance that isn’t quite right. She goes with it anyway—and her giggle turns into an embarrassingly loud laugh when she sees Rumi and Mira awkwardly try to figure the dance out like two baby ducklings.

Her heart feels full.

It beats as loud as the music and the voices all around her, as quickly as the clapping and the stomping of everyone’s feet.

She slips free from between her parents to run into Mira and Rumi, pulling them lower with a hug around their necks—they yelp in surprise, but hold each other anyway.

Her eyes are stinging when she looks up at them and smiles.

“Thank you for going to this wedding with me.”

Mira ruffles her hair with a grin and Rumi steals herself a kiss.

“Wait!” Francine gasps, loud enough for everyone to turn towards her because she still has the mic. She carries the train of her wedding gown as she hops towards the couple’s table, picking up a bundle of flowers. “We forgot the bouquet toss!”

There’s a wave of laughter and whistles as she walks towards Shawn and then asks him: “Do you want to throw it?”

“Honestly?” He giggles, lovestruck, taking the flowers for himself. “I really really do.”

They share a conspiratorial grin before he turns to the crowd.

“Hey, Zo!”

Zoey blinks. “W—What?”

He winds up his arm like a pitcher.

(She’ll forgive him for this one day because he’s a little drunk.)

“Catch!”

A beautiful bundle of wedding flowers hits Zoey right in the face.

--

Epilogue - 4 Years Later

Choi Eun-ju leans back on the living room couch, her posture straight, her eyes flickering back and forth between her iPad and the clock hanging from their wall.

It’s 3:59PM, which means any minute now—

The mild ring of a call plays on cue, just as the screen comes alive with a zoomed-in photo of Zoey as a teenager. (She’s never going to change it. Hasn’t for the past ten years, and won’t for the next.) She holds the tablet up as she lowers her glasses and finally hits the green ‘accept’ button.

Zoey’s already smiling when the video feed pops in. Before she can even open her mouth, she’s jostled forward by Rumi and Mira who crowd in from either side of her, smiling as they greet her in unison: “Hi, eomma!”

“Girls!” Eun-ju laughs, delighted.

They look well. They’re huddled up on that ridiculous couch of theirs, looking happy—like they’ve been resting and eating good. Even Zoey doesn’t look like she’s staying up too late. Eun-ju brings the screen closer, cradles it gently.

Zoey finally recovers, shouldering Mira to the side and pushing Rumi’s face away with her left hand so that she can lean forward and look at her screen. “I can’t believe you two keep upstaging me trying to talk to my own mother—”

They laugh as Zoey makes a face, and Eun-ju can’t help the tender joy in her heart when Zoey’s hand softly brushes against Rumi’s jaw—the easy affection, the glint of a diamond ring on her daughter’s left hand.

“I’m so excited to see you!” Eun-ju says around the tail end of a laugh. “Your father keeps buying things to bring last-minute, and I can’t imagine that Bobby couldn’t just get all these things for you—oh, say hi to him for me by the way, sweetheart, and do you know what shirt size he wears?”

“Are you going to buy him a cheesy Universal Studios souvenir shirt?” Zoey cackles.

“You should,” Mira nods excitedly. “He’s going to love it.”

The view on her screen is picturesque: they’re all in thick, knitted sweaters with a flurry of snow falling softly behind their floor-to-ceiling windows. She finds herself giddy with a child-like sense of excitement—in the past few years since Shawn’s wedding, it was always the girls flying out to visit them for the holidays, sometimes even with Celine—but this time, in less than two days, it’ll be a whole affair of the entire extended family flying out to Seoul instead.

Eun-ju feels a mild pressure behind her eyes that catches her unprepared and off-guard. It grows stronger when Rumi wraps her arm around Zoey’s shoulders, pulling her closer—to keep safe, to love, to cherish everyday.

“Eomma,” Mira calls, leaning forward to pick up Zoey’s phone. The video feed shakes and moves erratically as Mira tries to steady her hand, a little hint of excitement in her eyes as she speaks. “Do you want to see the room you two will be staying in?”

Eun-ju nods. Nice of her to ask, though it seems she’s going to get a tour anyway. She can see Zoey get up and pull Rumi from the couch, their tangled hands visible as the phone dips an awkward angle. Soon, Mira flips to the back camera and Eun-ju sees the other side of their living room. It’s a bit of a mess—but it’s definitely a home.

“Show me!” She asks enthusiastically.

They pass by the ridiculously large TV, framed by Rumi’s wildly-growing plants, and soon Eun-ju sees a hallway leading to what she presumes are the rooms.

There are pictures everywhere—a little story of the life the three of them have built together. She wonders if this is how Rumi and Mira felt that first day they visited, all those years ago. If they looked through photos of Zoey’s childhood and felt like they knew her a little better after.

She’s excited to do the same, to get to know these young women that have grown so dear to her and rediscover the woman that her daughter had now become.

It softens her heart when the photos on the wall start showing memories that she remembers—that she and her husband are now part of.

It’s blurry through the camera, and Mira doesn’t really slow down, but every glance plays each moment back in her mind:

There’s a photo of the tearful goodbye at LAX before they flew home from Shawn’s wedding, the three girls caught in a huddle between herself and her husband as they took a selfie.

Or another from two years ago, when they had visited LA again and agreed to babysit for Francine. Zoey was carrying her nephew at her front with a carrier while Rumi wore an oversized backpack with baby supplies like it was tactical gear. Mira was laughing mid-photo, and Eun-ju still remembers the sound of it as she took it, how happy she was to see them still wearing the necklaces she’d given them.

The video pans over to a grouping of picture frames, smaller and placed closer together: A Christmas family photo with Rumi and Mira finally joining in, the two of them attending their 30th Wedding Anniversary celebration, a silly photo of all the kids (never mind that they’re a bunch of twenty to thirty year olds) together on a cousin camping trip.

There’s more: one of Jeong and Rumi out on a boat, fishing. Another with Mira, Hana and Yuna after their very first ballet recital. That one was special. Mira had flown across the pond right after Paris Fashion Week just so she could make it.

The last picture she sees is tinted blue.

She takes an unsteady breath.

It’s one of Rumi and Zoey in the tunnel of an aquarium, with Rumi looking up at Zoey as she knelt down on one knee. There’s a strand of pink at the corner of the photo, belonging to the one who took it.

Eun-ju fights back the wobble of her lip, and makes a little promise to take her time through this hallway when they finally land in Seoul.

Mira stops at one of the bedrooms on their floor. The camera pans around as the door opens, and the first thing Eun-ju sees are all the band posters still pinned-up on the wall. She recognizes all of them. Her smile is immediate, and so is the ache in her chest.

She misses her daughter so much these days.

“Here we are!”

Eun-ju watches on curiously, adjusting her glasses. “Won’t we be staying on the floor with the guest rooms?”

It still baffles her that Rumi technically owns a tower.

“Nope,” Mira pops back into view when she flips the video to the front camera, her wire-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. “The others will, but we’re having you two use Zoey’s old room from before she moved into Rumi’s.”

Rumi moves closer from behind. “Mira just wants to keep you and abeonim up here for the oatmeal and fried rice in the morning!”

“I do not.” Mira interjects with a grumble, turning to shoot Rumi a withering glare. “But they are very good.”

“Stop projecting, jagi.” Zoey laughs, poking Rumi in the cheek. “It’s you who wants the breakfast food.”

There’s no denial from Rumi, just a sheepish smile as the three of them fall back to sit on the bed, Zoey cross-legged and leaning against Rumi’s front. The camera view once again changes when Zoey takes her phone back from Mira. Eun-ju notices a shuffle of movement as Mira lays down on Zoey’s folded legs, and Zoey holds out her arm so that all of them are visible.

“Everything ready for the wedding?” Eun-ju can’t help but ask, giddy with exciement.

A long-held sigh comes from all three of them, with Rumi’s shoulders slouching as Zoey huffs. “I’m lowkey getting tired of all the preparation,” Zoey mumbles, then turns to Rumi. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Rumi laughs.

“There was a solid month back there when I never wanted to see another mood board ever again,” Zoey shudders.

“Or another flower arrangement booklet,” Rumi smiles wryly.

“Like, eomma, can you imagine Ryu ‘Type A Personality’ Rumi and the absolute meltdown that wedding preps might be?”

The little nervous laugh from Rumi’s end signals that she can’t even deny it, though she’s sure her daughter means it with love.

“You two don’t get to complain,” Mira pokes Zoey’s arm. “You made me organize the guest seating arrangement. That’s straight up diabolical. What do you mean I had to decide who sits at the other side of Celine? And Liam broke up with Seth but Seth is still invited?”

Zoey looks torn. “It’s just. We’ve been through so much together on Helldivers 2 I’d feel terrible if I had to un-invite him—”

Mira levels her with a stare. “Where am I supposed to put him?”

Zoey thinks about it for half a second and then: “Next to Celine?”

The idea gets universally vetoed.

Eun-ju hears the backdoor of their kitchen swing open as her husband returns from the backyard. He walks into the living room as he pulls off his gardening gloves, looking curiously over towards her. He passes by their Christmas tree.

(Every year since Zoey was a baby, they’d buy an ornament to add to the tree—something that reminded them of the year that just passed. She looks at Rumi and Mira’s additions with amusement: a microphone, a disco ball, a train, a lego brick, a whale shark, a martini.)

“Is it the girls?” He asks.

She nods and gestures at him quickly, beckoning him to join.

“Dad!” Zoey turns the camera towards herself. Jeong-hun crouches down behind his wife, leaning over the backrest of the sofa with a grin. Zoey looks excited to see him. “Hello! How are you! Do you know if Shawn and Francine are bringing Mark?” Then she looks somewhere off-screen. “Mira, stop making that face—”

“‘Mark’ just sounds like a name for a whole ass grown man, you know? Not a two-year-old.”

Rumi gives her a look. “Every Mark in the world was a baby once.”

Eun-ju laughs. “Yes, they’re bringing Mark.”

Mira nudges Zoey’s hand so she can talk in view of the camera again. “I’m surprised Auntie Hye-jin hasn’t badgered them to give him a little sibling.”

“Not that it’s any of her business,” Zoey says pointedly.

“You’re right, it isn’t.” Mira concedes. “But I’m just saying—it’s Aunte-Hye-jin we’re talking about.”

Zoey stares at Mira.

Mira stares back. “What?”

“Oh my god,” Zoey starts giggling. “I bet you’re going to be just like her one day.”

Mira sputters—and Eun-ju feels herself grin at the indignation in her voice, even through the video call.

“One day when Rumi and I have kids you’ll be all, ‘Aegi-ya’,” Zoey says in her best impersonation, tilting her head back to peer through her imaginary glasses.“‘Are you seeing anyone? Why not? Maybe my friends have kids your type—’”

Mira sputters into laughter. “No way, no way! Shoot me in the foot if I ever turn into that!”

“What was that I heard?” Eun-ju hums, and the words have caught Jeong’s attention. “Did I hear ‘kids’?”

“Okay hold up one minute!” Zoey holds up her pointer finger to the camera, pushing Mira away as she laughs at her. “Don’t start giving us that talk just yet!” She nags, wonderfully ignorant of how Rumi’s turning red right beside her. “You know how Rumi is,” Zoey says off-handedly. “Workaholic and already on it.”

Jeong makes a strange, strangled laugh-cry just as Rumi visibly pales on-call.

Eun-ju decides she’s just going to let that one go in one ear and out the other.

Zoey blinks, finally putting the words she had said together with the fact that she was on call with her parents and spirals on the spot, “I mean—”

“Yeah there’s no salvaging this moment,” Mira takes the camera, moving it so that it’s pointed right at Rumi who still looks like she wants to melt into the covers and hide. “Topic change! Are you excited for the wedding?”

Rumi swallows, looking awkwardly between the video call and Mira. “Of course! Though, for the most part,” she turns to Zoey, “I’m more excited to just finally be married to you?”

Zoey looks magnificently flustered.

She turns towards her parents, pouting and defeated. “See? She’s already so good at this ‘happy wife, happy life’ shit, it’s ridiculous.”

Then Zoey sobers, blinking in concern as she leans closer to the camera. “Mom?”

Oh. Eun-ju blinks, then she wipes her eyes, watery and blurry. She was supposed to laugh. That was a joke—but instead she’d given in to the prickle of tears she’s been fighting against since the call started.

Because isn’t that all a mother can ask for?

For her daughter to be loved the way she can so clearly see that Zoey is: Without a doubt, unconditionally, completely.

“I’m fine, aegi.” Eun-ju plays it down, running her thumb along the edge of her tablet with Zoey in view. Then, softer: "Just happy."

She feels Jeong-hun lean in closer. “We can’t wait to see you and everyone else!”

Zoey gasps as if remembering something important.

“Wait, wait—look!”

Zoey scrambles off-screen, leaving Mira and Rumi just as confused as her parents are.

She isn’t gone for too long, barreling back into the room just a minute later with her laptop in hand.

“It’s been four years since I last even looked at this, but I thought today was a good day to update my little presentation,” she crashes back onto the mattress towards Rumi and Mira, who wince with a little ‘oof’ as Zoey crashes into them.

She holds up her computer for everyone to look at. It’s a little small from her perspective through the call, but it’s close enough for her to see several additions to Zoey’s beloved family tree PowerPoint.

“I see you still kept the butterfly GIFs,” Rumi says, barely a whisper, something warm and tender in her expression when she sees her own name on it. Her arm curls around Zoey’s waist.

Mira isn’t speaking. Just looking at the screen like it was something precious.

The tree looks almost the same as the last time.

Except this time—Rumi and Mira are in there too.

--

end of story

--

A/N:

Thank you so, so, so much for reading this story and going with the girls to this silly wedding! Thank you for all your support and comments, for the art, for the wonderful experience of writing for this ship! I can't believe it's through - it's been amazing! I hope that this story has made you laugh and smile as much as writing it has made me! I know it's a Zoerumi fic, but really in my heart, I also wanted Mira & Rumi to have a family that loved them in a way they may not have known how until now. And I'd like to think that they're never letting that go once they have it, that they'll love them back as much as well ^_^ My good friend @sirencait98 made this amazing family tree!!!

More thank yous to my writer meltdown support group of veramoray, biofan90, chrysa3tos (big shoutout for how inspiring your zoerumi and polytrix has been for me!), pyrotato (another big shoutout for being the beta for most of this fic! couldn't do it without you!), homagetoerrata for listening to me rotate this story in my brain for literal mooonths! You're all awesome! My deepest thanks you once again to all those who have been here every chapter of the way, your comments have all been so precious to me, I read them all the time when I'm stuck without inspiration - I hope you know! I was listening tooo so much of 'Best Guess' by Lucy Dacus to write this chapter (that it is named after!!!) because. lyrics lol (shoutout once agian to chrysa3tos for sending the song) and also 'Hello My Old Heart' by the Oh Hellos and Lost in My Mind by the The Head and the Heart as vision for the last part of the reception where they break it down on the dance floor Francine from the South style I'm going to go write a self indulgent werewolf rumi polytrix romantic comedy fic now lmfaooo

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