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4. Walking on Broken Glass

4

Walking on Broken Glass

Uncle Andy insists on driving me home after we’ve locked up for the day. Although I told him he didn’t have to, I’m grateful not to be on the bus. The humidity built up over the day is lingering, and my cute outfit feels damp and uncomfortable. I’m also grateful that he’s content drumming on the steering wheel and happy singing the wrong lyrics to the Bee Gees and Billy Idol instead of discussing my first day.

We pull into the driveway to find Cass and my best friend, Wanda Lee, sitting on the steps to our porch in front of what looks like dozens of party-sized pizza boxes. Wanda and I grew up together after our moms bonded during prenatal class as the two misfits, my mom the oldest and hers the youngest, and Wanda’s mom moved in upstairs shortly before Wanda’s birth.

Cass calls across the front yard, “How are my working men?”

“Exhausticated,” I say. “What’s all this? Did we get a delivery of pizzas that should have gone to a tailgate?”

Cass grabs a handful of her maxi dress as she stands and ties it into a knot.

I catch Uncle Andy sneaking a look at her calves.

“We got the glass delivery today,” Cass says. “I insisted the pieces be put in shallow boxes to avoid further breakage. Now we’ve got to move them into my studio.” Cass gives a playful squeeze to Andy’s bicep. “Good thing Bobby brought the muscle.”

Uncle Andy squares his shoulders and flexes under Cass’s touch. She goes from a squeeze to a pinch.

“How about a beer?” Cass asks.

“I’ll split one with you,” he replies. “I’m driving.”

“Always so safe. You know where they are,” Cass says, motioning into the house.

I say to my mom, “We don’t have a studio.”

“Yet,” Cass replies.

Wanda turns off her game. “The living room is the only space big enough. I made her wait for you.”

Thank you , I silently mouth to Wanda. I can only imagine the mess I’d have come home to if my bestie hadn’t had my back.

I go inside and walk around our living room, considering it from different angles and imagining where furniture, the containers of wool and shipping envelopes, and the pizza boxes of glass will be arranged to leave Cass enough open space to work.

“Don’t block the flow,” Cass directs from the doorway to the kitchen, where Uncle Andy stands behind her, sharing the beer. “Or the natural light.” Cass begins squinting through her thumbs and pointer fingers arranged into a rectangle as if that will help.

There’s got to be a multiverse variant of me out there bossing a crew around on one of those house-flipping reality TV shows.

After a few minutes, my brain has made sense of where everything currently is and where it needs to go, and I’ve laid out the new floor plan in my mind. I give instructions on where to set up Cass’s weird yarns, stuff like camel and yak hair she imports and sells for a few hundred dollars per lot. I don’t know what people use the yarn for, but customers pay top dollar, so it needs to remain a priority. With Cass needing time to sculpt, I’ll have to pick up the slack for the online wool store, Watch Me Unravel, between my shifts at Corner Books.

“Moving all these books is going to take a lot of time,” Uncle Andy says. “I have experience.”

He’s right. We have so many books, they’re stacked up along the walls and Cass started using them as the base of furniture. The coffee table in the center of the room is made entirely of coffee table books with a piece of glass laid on top.

“No, it won’t,” Cass says, pushing Uncle Andy back. “C’mon, Wanda. Grab one end of the table. We’ll slide it over by the window.”

Cass and Wanda push the table. Nothing topples over. The books don’t even shift. Miraculously not a single book falls out of place. The table slides along the living room floor.

Cass straightens up and brushes off her hands.

“I know you fancy yourself some kind of superwoman, Cass, but how did you do that?” Uncle Andy asks.

“You’ve seen my art before,” Cass says. “You heard my reviews. Ashton’s statues spit in the eye of gravity and dare it to undo their beauty. It’s all about internal supports and hidden casters. You didn’t think I haphazardly stacked all these books without thinking how I’d move them later, did you?”

“I did,” I admit. “You could have told me so we could have cleaned under there.”

“Why do you think I didn’t?” Cass asks.

“You really need to patent these designs,” I say. “We could be rich. You could make kits so people could assemble their own coffee tables. We could sell them to IKEA. Tell her, Uncle Andy. It’s a good plan.”

Cass speaks before Uncle Andy has a chance to agree with me. “Commercialism killed my art once. I won’t let it do it again. Let’s get all that glass in here,” she says.

Cass starts singing Annie Lennox, adding an extra walking on before she gets to the broken glass part as we move the boxes into the house. It’s kind of insensitive but there isn’t a better song for this moment I can think of.

Wanda’s shirt rides up as she’s passing me the last of the boxes and I notice the colored lines snaking up her torso.

“You finished your tattoo,” I remark.

Wanda smiles as she hikes up the legs of her shorts so I can see the purple old-school video game controller. It’s a testament to her favorite pastime-turned-source-of-extra-income since Wanda’s streaming has taken off recently and she’s been smart enough to monetize it. The controller’s wires go up her thigh and side, then under her bra, twisting around peonies and hibiscuses.

“My oejobumo are pissed at Mom. They couldn’t believe their daughter allowed me to bring dishonor on our ancestors and potentially all of Korea.”

“I’m impressed. I thought your mom had wrapped Korea up already with the teen pregnancy thing,” I say as I inspect Wanda’s ink. I guess Wanda’s grandparents don’t know Ms. Lee has a peony tattoo on the back of her shoulder or that Wanda did this without her mom’s permission. Since turning eighteen, Wanda’s taken steps to go from indoor kid behind a computer screen to woman ready to take the world head-on.

Wanda is the product of a classic star-crossed-lovers romance right out of Romeo and Juliet , the Baz Luhrmann version. Instead of death by miscommunication, it ended with a long-lost father and the birth of my best friend. Wanda’s dad’s parents blamed her mom for leading their son astray and moved states to give her dad a fresh start.

“I should aim higher and try to dishonor all of Asia,” Wanda says. “But Korea isn’t a bad start.”

The living room looks more functional, bright, and open than it did a week ago when it was my den of depression. I wouldn’t want a permanent art studio in the middle of our house, but this setup will get the job done.

As I stack the last box, I catch sight of Wanda, Andy, and Cass behind me. Some of the sadness I’ve felt since what happened with Truman lifts. Everything fell apart except for them. They’re still here for me, like they’ve always been, even if it means moving heavy boxes filled with broken glass. Their willingness to do unpaid, physically demanding labor shows how much they care.

Cass interrupts my thoughts. “I haven’t even thought about dinner,” she says.

“I ordered us something,” Uncle Andy says, holding up his phone. “Wanda, there’s lots for your mom and you too. If she’s working late, you can take some upstairs for her.”

“What are we having?” I ask, impressed at Uncle Andy’s forethought.

“Thai,” he says. My mom opens her mouth but before she can speak, he adds, “From the place on the other side of town you prefer. Cilantro on the side because you can’t stand it. Spicy for you, mild for Bobby. Kids, would you mind setting the table?”

“You know me so well,” Cass says.

Wanda and I head to the kitchen, saying everything that’s going through our heads with one look. It’s not a new realization, but something both Wanda and I have felt for a long time. Cass and Uncle Andy make sense together. There’s such obvious chemistry between them and harmless, low-level flirting of the highest will-they-won’t-they variety. But I haven’t quite figured out how to move forward their friends-to-lovers plot.

“At what point does their glacial pace kill all hope?” I ask.

“Stay out of it,” Wanda warns.

I sigh. “I know.”

It’s not that I don’t want to help Cass and Andy, but the right time and the right plan have never appeared. At least not yet. Even Cupid needs help, and I’m a catalyst, not a bystander. But after misreading things with Truman, now is not the time for me to get another love connection wrong.

Still, the smile Cass gives Uncle Andy when he pulls out one of the chairs at our kitchen table for her is different from any smile she gives anyone else.

“Stay out of it,” Wanda whispers as she reaches across me for the mango salad.

“I know,” I repeat.

I can’t risk it going wrong for Cass and Andy. The stakes are too high. If I push them together and it doesn’t work out, it could mean Uncle Andy is out of our lives.

But the smile he returns has always been reserved solely for her. Cass holds his eyes for a second before sharply looking away, her cheeks coloring.