Chapter Twenty-One. First World Problems and Real-World Feelings
Chapter Twenty-One
First World Problems and Real-World Feelings
I do not like hors d’oeuvres.
“Why would you ruin a potato with fish eggs?” I ask Felix, my nose crinkled in disgust as I struggle to chew at the Songs’ bougie anniversary party.
“Because it’s fancy.”
While caterers set up a spread, we check for poison by sampling each dish. So far nothing’s been dangerous, but I do think caviar should be considered toxic.
He watches with amusement as I scrape the caviar onto my napkin. “D’you want me to tell you how much that costs or would you combust?”
I stare at the tiny, salty orbs. I’m probably holding close to a hundred dollars’ worth of unborn fish in my palm, aren’t I?
His focus jumps to the staircase before I can answer. His expression shifts from being entertained by my unsophisticated palate to pure joy as Ava barrels downstairs. He hands his fancy-people food to Sunglasses and rushes to his sister. I hurriedly feed my fish eggs to Ginger.
Ava laughs as he picks her up and spins in a circle.
“How ya goin’, Aves?” he uses SimCom after putting her down. He runs fingers through her sleek black hair. “Has summer break been fun?” he signs perfectly.
She beams and wraps her arms around him for a second hug.
Mrs. and Mr. Song walk downstairs, arm in arm. Mr. Song remains neutral until his eyes fall on Felix, where a hardness sets in. Mrs. Song is just shy of euphoric as she watches her children catch up, her effervescence a direct contradiction to her husband’s cool detachment.
The picture I’d painted for nearly two years of a loving, functional family feels shattered since Felix opened up—now, the cracks are clear as I see how closed off Mr. Song is around his son. I wonder if I had previously ignored the tension because I just didn’t want to notice …
When Mrs. Song spots me, she hugs me tightly, and I allow myself to enjoy the fleeting moment of maternal warmth, closing my eyes and returning her kind embrace before she steps back. “I didn’t know you’d be coming! It’s wonderful to see you.”
I freeze. Did Felix invite me without asking? “I don’t mean to intrude—”
“No, no. You’re always welcome. You’re part of the family. I would have invited J-O, had F-E-L-I-X told me. I’m sure you miss her.”
“Yes, but I’ll see her soon.” What I don’t add is: I’m not sure Jo has the elegance or tact that the function requires. Besides, she’s teaching three ASL classes tonight. We wouldn’t have been able to see each other anyway.
“I see. You look beautiful, by the way!”
I shift uncomfortably. I don’t own anything formal, and I stubbornly refused to let Felix buy me a dress when he offered, so my only option was a simple black romper.
I thought it’d work, but now, seeing Felix’s perfectly tailored suit and Mrs. Song’s sapphire-blue evening gown, I realize how badly I miscalculated.
“You too.” I force a smile. “Happy anniversary!”
She lowers a hand from her chin and walks toward Felix and encases him in her own hug. He instantly relaxes into her arms. Mama’s boy.
Ava approaches me as their mom chatters to Felix in a blend of Korean, Kiwi-infused English, and ASL. It’s pretty impressive.
“Thank you for teaching him. His ASL is so much better! He knows slang, too!” she gushes.
“You helped! You taught him KissFist.” I wink.
She peers over her shoulder, and after confirming Felix is distracted, she turns back to me.
“I want to give him a sign name!” She waggles her brows conspiratorially.
“What about this?” She forms the letter “F” and pulls it away from the corner of her mouth with a flourish.
“Like the sign for ‘singer’ but with the letter ‘F’?”
I stifle a laugh and close my fingers into a no. Unbeknownst to Ava, signing “singer” with an F-shaped hand looks like “marijuana.” I’m equal parts surprised and glad Jo hasn’t taught her that.
“You want something music related?” I ask. She nods. After thinking, I present a one-handed version of the sign for “song” but alter my handshape to be an “F.” It’s a perfect homage to Felix’s career and name. “Do you like it?”
She bounces excitedly, repeatedly signing KissFist. Her enthusiasm is contagious. She rushes over to where Mrs. Song is doting on Felix while Mr. Song watches from across the room with a glacial frown. Ava interrupts by tugging Felix’s sleeve.
“Whoa, you look excited!” He laughs.
“I’m giving you a sign name! Natalie helped me come up with it.” She glances at me, and Felix follows her line of sight.
“True biz?” he asks, face full of wonder.
“True biz,” I reply, then motion to Ava, not wanting to steal her thunder.
Felix kneels like he’s about to be knighted, and Ava shows him the sign name we came up with.
He smiles wider than I’ve ever seen from him, which is an impressive feat for a guy who basically treats smiling as a full-time job.
“That sign means M-U-S … I-C or S … O-N-G, right?” he checks the origin of the modified sign. Ava confirms. “Thank you! KissFist!”
His eyes flicker to me, and he lowers another flat hand from his chin.
Before too long, the house is flooded with Seattle socialites, and the Songs are busy tending to guests.
It’s like Felix’s nineteenth birthday party, except instead of tacky Party City decorations and Will’s vodka-infused Kool-Aid from hell, there’s an ice sculpture and champagne with gold flakes in it.
I find the quietest corner I can and people-watch. Unfortunately, nearly every corner is filled with Hearing people chattering about yachts and the stock market.
While Ginger and I wander, several people mistake me for a server and ask for refills. I wonder what gives me away as an outsider. Is it my Ross Dress for Less romper or do I just have a lower-class aura?
We end up stationed by the kitchenette—a tiny kitchen attached to the main one. Because everyone needs a kitchen inside a kitchen. Obviously.
It’s a little less overwhelming here. But my attention is soon caught by Felix and Mr. Song having a tense conversation near the stairwell.
Felix’s posture is stick straight, muscles rigid. He stares at the floor while Mr. Song speaks. His dad’s hands move around in angered jolts that definitely aren’t ASL, and his face is twisted into a critical grimace.
Eventually, Felix reaches a breaking point and snaps back. He wildly gestures to the partygoers then points to himself, a vein in his neck bulging. Mr. Song scoffs and grabs his son’s shoulder, but Felix storms away. Toward me.
I step forward to meet him and take his hand, worried. “Are you oka—”
“I wanna introduce— —some people,” he interrupts. His brows are tugged in a frown, and I can feel his pulse racing through his wrist, but he doesn’t acknowledge the argument as he leads me through the sea of guests.
As we enter the backyard, he snags a champagne flute from a server and downs half of it in one gulp. Lingering July heat sticks to my skin as we walk to the far end of the patio. We stop in front of two middle-aged guests. “Dr. and Mrs. Williams?” Felix says.
A white woman in a classy gray pantsuit with a blunt, strawberry blonde bob eyes me distrustfully, and a Black woman offers a familiar, lopsided smile. She wears a burnt orange cocktail dress, and a bird-patterned scarf keeps bouncy black coils in place atop her head.
“Felix!” The second woman hugs him. “How are you, dear?”
“I’m alright, thank you, Mrs. Williams,” Felix says. His body relaxes, irritation fading. “This is Nat. My ASL tutor.” He motions to me, and I wave. “Nat, these are Will’s mums.”
Suddenly, the bird scarf makes more sense.
Mrs. Williams hugs me, and Dr. Williams gives me a no-nonsense handshake.
“Nice to meet you!” I greet. “So why’d you name your son ‘Will Williams’?” I ask, straight-faced.
Shocked, Felix sprays the champagne he was sipping. Luckily, he avoids hitting Dr. Williams by turning his head.
Ah. Right. These are Hearing people, Natalie. Don’t be so blunt.
“I mean, it’s cool! Definitely unique!” I chuckle awkwardly.
Mrs. Williams laughs heartily. “His first name is Seymour,” she explains. “But he decided that wasn’t cool in middle school.”
I take a second to formulate a response, since my first instinct is to question the name Seymour as well. “Oh. Nice. Is there, uh, a story behind that?”
I social bluff by occasionally nodding as Mrs. Williams yammers on about Dr. Williams’ great-grandpa Seymour. I don’t catch most of it, but I’m pretty sure he was a WWII pilot. Or something.
After that, she focuses on Felix. I politely exit the conversation as auditory fatigue starts to squeeze my brain.
On my way inside, I bump into Ava, who also looks overwhelmed.
Fleeting eye contact is all we need to know we’re experiencing the same thing.
I’m not happy she can relate to this very specific kind of exhaustion, but there’s something comforting about the solidarity.
She takes my hand and guides Ginger and me upstairs.
I’ve never seen this part of the Songs’ house before, but it’s on brand.
Chic art hangs on the walls, a Turkish rug runs the length of the hall, and on the landing there’s a leather armchair and bookshelves filled with classics. Austen, Park Wan-suh, Tolkien.
“Are you and Felix dating?” Ava springs the question on me. She dons the same knowing smirk both Jo and Bhavani have shot me.
“No!” I rush. “We’re friends. Kinda. Maybe. He’s … nice.”
“OK,” she signs, unconvinced. “But whatever you’re doing right now … don’t stop. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.” His body language during that heated moment with Mr. Song flashes in my mind.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” she tells me. “That room’s quiet.” She points to a door at the other end of the hall before disappearing.