CHAPTER 25 #2
I glare down at the spare ribs on my plate.
I reposition the chopsticks in my hand, and the conversation goes on as my mouth grows drier.
“I’m glad Tek-ah has someone watching out for him.”
Carey nods. “He keeps an eye on me too."
“So he’s helping you settle in?”
“He is now.” There’s a pause as Carey presses the sole of his foot against my inner thigh. “If I’m being honest, he was a pretty awful boss to begin with. He kept ignoring things that were right in front of him.”
I drop my chopsticks and fumble with my water glass while trying to get it to my mouth as quickly as possible.
I gulp it down but it doesn’t help.
Then I feel another pile of maternal disappointment dump all over me. “But things have improved, I hope."
“Definitely. He listens to me now.” Carey calmly takes a drink of his own water. “He’s learning that he doesn’t need to be in control all the time. He’s… He’s finally letting me take care of him properly.”
“At the shop?”
"Right." He nods a slow, intentional nod, and looks right into my mother’s eyes as he repeats, “At the shop.”
“Is he eating enough?”
His mouth twitches again, and I know it’s taking all his willpower not to look at me as he says, “I make sure he’s well fed.”
I fist the water glass again.
I gulp the rest down and pour myself some more.
I’m so much more than fucked.
I don’t know why I thought I could handle this sober.
I glance at my father. His head is down like he’s racing to fill himself so he can leave while Omma carries on like I’m not even here. “Has he taken you out yet?”
“Mmhmm.” Carey nods sweetly with noodles in his mouth. “My time outside of work is definitely… filled.”
My mother perks up. “That sounds like you’ve met someone.”
Carey takes his napkin and presses it to his lips, as if to buy time before answering. But below the table, his foot crawls higher, his toes flexing as he searches for me. Then he’s there, the pad of his foot pressing against my dick.
My thighs tense around him.
I grip my chopsticks again like a weapon.
He pushes harder and I grow beneath the pressure.
Carey puts down the napkin. “I have met someone.”
“Is it serious?”
“I hope so.”
My mother scoots her chair further to the corner of the table and even closer to Carey. “You hope?”
“I can’t force them to want me as much as I want them.”
“I don’t want you getting hurt.”
But you were fine with trying to force him to call his parents.
Carey shrugs like nothing could possibly hurt him. “It’s beyond that, Eomeonim. They know how I feel, but I guess it’s just harder for them to admit.”
What's to admit? He's been living in my house since the surf trip.
I want to tell him to shut his sexy mouth, but I’m using all my wits to keep from humping his foot.
“What’s not to love about you, my sweet Carey?”
“I know, right?” That damn grin is infectious sunshine. “But there’s bound to be a good reason why they’re holding back.”
“Maybe it’s too soon?”
“Maybe it’s their parents?”
I almost choke on my tongue.
“Then you make sure to tell her that she's always welcome here.’
“Oh, it’s not a girl.”
My fathers chair screeches across the floor boards and my heart jumps into my throat.
Has he figured it out?
Did he see us beneath the table?
Is he showing his disapproval of what Carey said?
I feel the pressure wane and Carey's foot start to slip away, but I grab onto it.
I need his touch and the calm only he can bring.
Without a word, or even another sound, my father picks up his plate and walks to the kitchen.
I look at Carey, and his head shoots back around to me. His eyes dart to my mother, and he quickly softens back down before asking, “Do you think he has a problem with that? Because… I have a problem with him having a problem.”
“Psh.” My mother's arms flap towards the kitchen, dismissing my father completely. “He’s a grumpy Ajeossi. He doesn’t like anything.”
I sigh again and release Carey's foot, but the second contact is lost, I start to feel the tension rising up from my toes.
He swivels in his seat towards my mother, drapes his arm over the back of it, and crosses his legs. “But do you think it’s a problem?”
“He never listens. He probably didn’t even hear.”
He corrects her. “I was asking if you have a problem with me being with a guy?”
“Me? I…” She straightens her Hanbok again. “I thought you liked girls.”
“I do.” His face is blank, and I feel like I’m going to explode. “I like everyone. I don’t discriminate.”
I watch my mother’s face morph before settling.
She turns to me. “Did you know about this?”
I pick up some kimchi with my fingers. “He can sleep with who he wants.”
“So… Why?” She’s choosing her words so carefully. “Why a man this time?”
“As opposed to what other time?” Carey copies me by putting some kimchi in his mouth. “Being bisexual means everyone’s equal to me.” He licks his fingers. “I don’t look for a girl because I was with a guy the time before.”
Still not using my chopsticks, I take a small ball of rice and chew on it. “Is that something you can get your head around, Omma?”
“I’m not an idiot. I’m not closed minded. I’m—”
“Close minded—”
“Tek-ah,” she snaps.
“If you weren’t you’d be back to prying instead of losing your words.”
Her voice raises an octave. “I don’t care.”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
“It’s really okay,” Carey interjects, all bright and cheerful and full of grace.
But I know this is what he wanted. He’s a shit, and he’s perfect, and I want him on me right fucking now, but my mother has proven—yet again—how unacceptable it would be to remain part of this family and have a public relationship with Carey.
It’s why I don’t tell her anything. It’s why I don’t call her, and grit through the conversations I do have.
I stand more abruptly than my father and march to the kitchen.
I cross his path as he loads utensils from the sink into the dishwasher.
Opening the fridge, I grab the first two bottles of soju I see and let the door slam shut before moving to the cupboard above the sink.
I snatch out two glasses and stare down at my father.
His face is blank, and my anger swells. At him, Omma and Jintae, at the whole fucking world. Everyone except for Carey.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
Still bent over with his hand on a plate, Appa asks, “With what?”
“With what Carey said. With him dating a man?”
My father stares blankly over my shoulder for several seconds then straightens out, backtracks to the fridge, gets out his own soju and glass, and pours himself a drink.
I watch him down the liquid in three large gulps, and when the glass pangs against the granite bench top he says, “I couldn’t listen to it anymore. ”
I watch him refill the glass in a sort of suspended animation, terrified of what he’ll say next.
“You and him... Jintae and Eden…” he brings the glass to his lips a second time. “I just want you to be happy, and…”
“And?” I say because he paused for way too long.
“And for your Omma to shut up.”
I laugh, dry and awkward. “I don’t think she likes it.”
“And what say does she have in the matter?”
I mean, he’s not wrong. “But what if Carey was your son?”
“He isn’t.”
“But what if—”
“Jintae isn’t gay,” he announces with a shake of his head and a final pour of soju.
I love how he doesn’t even consider I might be talking about myself.
I want to shake him and scream because how can he be so stubborn?
So willingly non observant. So staunch in the belief that there is no possible way he could ever have a son that isn't the right way around. There’s no question, no room to wiggle in his statement.
He wants me to be happy, but just like my mother, it comes with a set of rules.
If I showed up with Carey at every holiday for the next thirty years, would he still deny it?
Would he believe us life-long friends just so he could die knowing the only way he screwed up as a parent is by having a son covered in tattoos, and not that his first-born goes home and fucks a man?
“Not everything is about Jintae,” I say under my breath and leave the kitchen.
Back at the dining table, I slam down both glasses and stand between Carey and Omma as I pour Carey’s full to the brim. As I slide it towards him, he looks up at me and his hair falls aside, bearing his forehead. And I have to fist my hand so I don’t run my fingers through it.
Stepping away, I round the table and return to my seat—leaving the glass in front of my mother empty.
She stares at me, and I glare right back.
It’s a level of disrespect I’m certain is lost on Carey, but she knows exactly my intention.
“Are you gonna have some?” Carey asks, wrapping his fingers around the glass.
I crack the cap on the unopened bottle in front of me.
“I thought you didn’t want to drink today?” my mother asks, and it's prickly.
“You’ve got my keys,” I tell her with as much composure as I can, then drink half the bottle in one go.
“What about the food?”