it's okay.

“It’s so hard to speak English,” she said. Her accent was off, and she stressed the wrong words, but the wind spun through her black-in-black hair like it would move through anyone else’s.
“I’m Korean,” she said. As if it were the explanation and excuse for everything, as if it could dismiss whatever came in the future. She looked good in her skirt. It was muted plaid and it fit with the fall. He nodded and reached for her hand.
“I know,” he said. “It’s okay.” For him, there was something about her eyes that told him it didn’t matter if she could say exactly what she meant. There were nuances to every language, but the important things were learned first. After introductions, who doesn’t learn how to say “I love you”?
“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked, speaking slowly. She looked at his hand, and her own, and then at her skirt. Even as she shook her head, the way a wet dog would shake, her hair fell right back into place. It was straight as pins. Her glare was like daggers.
“Okay, we don’t have to,” he said. He moved his hand to his nose and brushed off a strand of imaginary hair. He didn’t know what to say.
“Let’s go out,” she said, pulling at the edges of her skirt, flaring it out until she looked like the moon setting over Chiak Mountain, her face the clear brightness of a harvest night. He nodded, and they moved to town without saying a word. The walk was brisk, like moving chess pieces over a board, and easy.
She downed her beer and then had another, and he watched her. She took them one after another in silence while the room buzzed around them. He slid his hand forward over the wooden tabletop and felt his finger tips press against hers. He felt the way his skin flattened to meet hers. She kept drinking with her other hand, but at least she acknowledged the content.
What was worst for him was that habit she had – she moaned a little when she was overwhelmed. Every time she felt a wave of being buzzed, she’d let out a little whine or a sigh. Once, perhaps excusable, but after a while, he started counting through the vibrations in her finger. Six in a minute, ten in a minute, and once when she was drinking, she stifled all noises in favor of forgetting.
“I’m Korean,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “It’s okay.”