Chapter 8
Being in the big empty house after the chaos of the confrontation with that boy made Grace feel antsy.
She kept worrying the faux Haemosu would try to get inside.
But after hiding in her room for ten minutes, she’d glanced at the street to see he was gone.
The only evidence of the interaction was the tire marks still burned into the road.
To distract herself, Grace cooked dinner.
They’d had takeout every night this week.
But Halmeoni used to say that homecooked meals were better for digestion.
Grace and her father had never contradicted the claim—Halmeoni’s home cooking had been delicious.
Grace’s best dishes were frozen pizza and basic spaghetti.
Tonight, it was the spaghetti. It didn’t look the most appetizing with overcooked noodles and store-bought sauce, but her father wasn’t generally picky.
And she compensated by sprinkling a generous layer of cheese on top.
As Grace carried the serving bowl to the table, her elbow bumped her bag off the stool she’d perched it on.
The contents spilled out, reminding her of that moment in the hallway.
When Chuck and the other kids had mocked her until she could barely breathe.
She started to shove everything into her bag, stopping as she picked up the list of counselors Mrs. Brown had given her.
The sound of the garage door had her jumping up, stuffing the list into her pocket just as her dad shuffled into the kitchen while still reading his phone.
He was slightly taller than average, with a square jaw and a smattering of sun spots from always forgetting to put on sunscreen, even when Halmeoni (and now Grace) had reminded him.
His hair was graying, but mostly at the temples, so he looked almost professorial.
Especially when he wore his thick, square glasses.
He reached out to put his bag on the counter and almost missed it, but Grace was there already to take it from him and put it on the hook by the garage door (where it actually belonged).
“How was your day?” Grace asked.
“Fine. There was a last-minute case, and then my car was doing that weird thing again.”
“You mean that thing it does when you forget to turn off the parking brake?” Grace winced at the thought of him driving all the way home like that.
“Oh, yeah. Is that bad?”
“I’ll call the garage to see if we should bring it in,” Grace reassured him, pulling out her phone to add it to her to-do list before she forgot. “You hungry?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” He pulled off his jacket and absentmindedly threw it over one of the kitchen chairs as he read a message on his phone.
The jacket almost flopped into the bowl of spaghetti, so Grace put it on the stair railing instead.
He would probably still forget it when he went upstairs, but at least it was safe from stains.
Her father always reminded Grace of the clueless academics in movies who were geniuses at their field, but useless with everyday stuff.
Dad’s spaciness was the exact opposite of how Mom used to be.
Or at least how she was in all the stories Halmeoni had told Grace.
According to Halmeoni, her mother had always been so on top of things.
Making sure the house was clean, dinner was cooked, and Dad’s tie was on straight.
Plus, she was an amazing surgeon who people traveled from all over the state to see.
When she died, Grace and her dad would have fallen to pieces without Halmeoni.
She had made everything seem so effortless. But Grace was sure she could be that way too with enough practice. After all, everyone always said Grace took after her mother. So it was just a matter of time before everything else fell into place.
In the meantime, Grace had her lists and reminders. And her carefully designed plans to follow in her parents’ footsteps.
Grace spooned up a plate of spaghetti for Dad before scooping some up for herself.
She tried to break a piece of the garlic bread she’d heated, and it crumbled in her hands. She must’ve left it in the oven too long. Again. But Dad didn’t seem to care as he crunched into it.
“Have you heard back from BU?” Dad asked, twirling a bite of pasta on his fork.
Grace sat up straighter at the mention of the program. “I still need to do the interview. It’s next week.”
“Of course. Do you feel prepared?”
Before Grace could reply, his phone dinged.
Used to his half attention and mumbled responses, she answered anyway.
“I’ve been going over some tips I found online about med school interviews.
Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask if you had any pointers?
Or advice to help me prepare, since you’ve gone through the interview process for college and med school? ”
“Hmmm,” her father said. It was unclear if it was in reaction to her request or something he’d read on his phone. Then he added, “If I have time.”
Grace knew it wasn’t an actual brush-off, though the offhand way he said it stung.
She shifted in her chair, and the list from Mrs. Brown crinkled in her pocket. She pulled it out, smoothing the folds against her thigh.
“Um, so, I talked to Mrs. Brown today.”
“What subject does she teach?”
“She’s not a teacher. She’s the guidance counselor. You met her…last semester…” Grace trailed off, hesitant to remind her dad of the incident that had brought him to her school for the first time ever. “She mentioned that she suggested I see someone, like, I don’t know, a therapist?”
“Ah.” Her father nodded, finally looking up at her again.
“Yes, she did. But I told her that there’s nothing wrong with you.
And I was right. You’ve bounced back. You’re smart and resilient, just like your mother always was.
” He smiled, and Grace forced a responding grin of her own, balling the list into her fists.
“Yeah, exactly. That’s what I said too.”
When her dad’s phone pinged again, he read the message before tapping out a lengthy reply.
“Is it the hospital?” Grace asked, changing the subject to safer ground.
He nodded, still typing. “We had a difficult case come in right as I was leaving. The residents seem a bit put out about it.”
His phone lit with a call, and he answered before the first ring ended. His eyes far more alert than they had been five seconds earlier.
“Did you get the results?” He pushed back from the table and took two steps toward the counter before turning back to look around the kitchen.
Without needing to ask, Grace retrieved his bag from the hook by the door, bringing him his tablet. He gave her a small nod and swiped into his saved charts.
“Yeah, uh-huh. Yeah, I’m coming back in.” He hung up, glancing around the kitchen again. “Grace, where did I put my jacket?”
She held it up before he even finished, and he shrugged it on.
“And your bag.” Grace held it out to him.
He gave her a pat on the shoulder. For her father, that was a huge sign of affection.
“Do you want me to pack your dinner for you?” Grace offered.
“I’ll just get something from the hospital.” He was already rushing out the door.
And Grace was left alone with way too much overcooked spaghetti.