Chapter 18
It isn’t until I get into the house that I notice it’s way past noon, and Mom and Dad have been gone half of the day.
Maybe they scored a barely used chaise lounge from a designer brand and are arranging for its delivery.
Or maybe they’re having to haggle with the vendor, since Dad only packed suits and and gives rich-people energy.
Honestly I’m not sure what to make of it, considering we’ve never had to shop retail, let alone consignment.
But Mom and Dad must have anticipated being out all day, since I find cut rolls of kimbap wrapped tightly with plastic wrap on a plate left for me and Gavin.
Since Callie and I barely had time to eat, I’m famished.
I tear off the wrapper and put a piece into my mouth.
The sautéed vegetables wrapped in rice and roasted seaweed burst with a mix of sesame oil and garlic.
It’s so good, I don’t wait to finish the food in my mouth before I shove another piece in.
“You’re going to choke eating like that,” Gavin says, watching me stuff my face with unusual interest.
I try to tell him that he’s wrong, but the words don’t make it out of my mouth filled with sticky rice. Okay, so maybe I did overdo it.
Gavin picks up a sleeve of kimbap and pops a cut piece into his mouth. “Remember when Mom used to make these for us and we’d eat them on the way to school?”
“She did?”
“Yeah, when we lived in Koreatown.”
“Vaguely,” I say. I might’ve blocked that time out of my memory. Koreatown is a place to go for good eats or a good time. Not a place anyone aspires to live in.
“Korean sushi, that’s what we called this.” Gavin pops another piece into his mouth.
After finishing an entire sleeve, I reach over to grab another one. “I may not remember much from that time, but I’m glad Mom remembers how to cook. Except this one is a little different. It has a smoky flavor, like the SmokeShack burger from Shake Shack.” Somehow this amuses Gavin.
“What?” I scrunch my nose.
“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re enjoying it.”
“I know what you’re doing. You’re food-shaming me.” I narrow my eyes at him.
“I’m not food-shaming.”
“Fine.” I accept his answer and proceed to eat the second sleeve of kimbap. “So, what have you been up to while I was gone?”
“Just stuff,” he says vaguely.
“Okay,” I say, getting the hint. Clearly his magazine kept him busy all day long. “Honestly, Gavin. No explanation is needed. What you do in your spare time is personal. You do you—” I instantly recoil at the unintentional double entendre. “I mean, you know what I mean.”
“Jesus, El. Stop. I’m trying to tell you something.” This time I notice there isn’t an ounce of embarrassment in his expression.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m listening.”
After he takes in a deep breath, he says, “I made that.”
“You made what?” I look around, noticing nothing new.
“This.” He points to the kimbap in my hand.
“Stop lying.” I slap a hand in the air.
“No, really.” Gavin disappears into his room and comes back with something in his hand. I recognize it as the magazine he’s always reading.
“For the last time, Gavin, I don’t care that you look at porn!” I put my hands up to shield my eyes, but it’s too late. I see…“Wait, is that a dude? A fully dressed one?” I drop my hands once I confirm that this is not porn I’m looking at. “Who is that?”
“It’s Roy Choi.” Gavin pushes the magazine closer to me so I can see it properly. It’s an interview in The New Yorker, which is, like, the exact opposite of porn.
“Oh, that’s why he looked familiar.” I suck my teeth.
“If you wanted to meet him, I could have introduced you. I’ve been to several events with him.
Just wish you had said something sooner.
Who knows when I’ll be at an event with him again?
” Or if. I don’t say that out loud, since I still have every hope that I can earn enough to pay for Kiki’s services again soon.
“No, I don’t want to meet him. I want to be him.” He sets the magazine down.
“Okay, that’s not creepy,” I say, registering his intensity level as a hair below stalker status. “Gavin, do me a favor. Please never say that again.”
He ignores me and continues without skipping a beat.
“I’ve been reading about his life and how he dropped out of law school and went to culinary school.
He trained at Michelin-star restaurants and then left to start a food truck that makes what he calls ‘food that isn’t fancy.
’ And not only that, but he became an international success because of it.
But more than anything, I love that he blends his personal story with his professional training.
That’s what I want to do. Make fancy food with notes of my heritage.
Like bacon-and-mushroom kimbap and eggs Benedict with sautéed kimchi. ”
“Wait,” I say, processing what my brain is telling me. “If Mom didn’t make this, then she didn’t make all the other stuff wrapped in plastic…. That was you?” I say, finally getting up to speed.
Gavin nods, his face lighting up at my reaction.
“How?” I’m unable to mentally process how something so innovative came from a square like Gavin.
“I didn’t use ChatGPT at school because I was lazy.
I used it because I was busy learning how to cook.
I took night classes, which made it hard to focus during the day.
And, El”—he sighs dreamily—“I loved every minute of it. The challenge of making something new with the same ingredients is what gives me life. It makes me feel useful and accomplished when I create something people like. And I’ve never felt that way.
Not at school or with Dad. When I cook, everything makes sense.
It’s what I’m meant to do, who I’m supposed to be. ”
“Gavin, I’m so happy for you,” I say genuinely. But somehow I get the feeling that this isn’t something everyone would be happy about. “Does Dad know?”
“No, he can’t know. He’ll be devastated. Even more than if he knew about me getting kicked out of USC.”
“You really think so?” I know Dad has his heart set on Gavin working with him. But is being a chef that bad?
“Come on, this is Dad we’re talking about.
That man is so stuck in the past, he hasn’t evolved since Adam and Eve.
You cannot tell him anything he doesn’t want to hear.
If it doesn’t line up with his set of values, it goes in one ear and out the other.
And what’s worse is how he doubles down on his stance anytime anyone challenges him.
He’d never understand why I would give up a corporate job to work in a kitchen.
” Gavin shakes his head with a look of defeat.
“It’s why I started running. The mental load from trying to please Dad and stay true to myself was becoming too much.
I had to find a way to relieve some of the stress. ”
I guess that explains why he started an exercise regimen, but it isn’t a solution, at least not a long-term one. “Yeah, but how much longer can you keep something like this from Dad? You have to tell him at some point.”
“The best way to handle Dad is to keep up the pretense that I’m doing things his way in order to do the things I want to do.” Gavin’s stance is firm.
I’m speechless. As the responsible one, Gavin doesn’t disagree with Mom and Dad.
He doesn’t argue; he listens. He doesn’t say no; he says yes.
And when he’s told to follow in Dad’s footsteps, he follows.
But when I hear Gavin tell me about his sheer determination to underhandedly pursue his passions despite Dad’s unwillingness to support him, it’s as if he’s describing someone else.
He’s describing me. Suddenly it dawns on me that I might not be the only one who’s been struggling to fit in in this family.
“Just promise you won’t say anything to Mom or Dad about cooking. Not until I have a solid plan.”
I nod, giving him my word. Even though I want him to be honest with our parents about who he is, I have to respect the way he’s going about it.
“You know what’s weird?” I say. “I’ve always had an entrepreneurial spirit but suppressed the urge to ask to be part of the family business because Mom and Dad always made me feel like it wasn’t my place. This whole time you’ve been doing the same with cooking.”
After my words sink in, he releases a heavy sigh. “El, I’m sorry. I never knew that’s how you felt.”
“How could you? We’ve never talked about this stuff before.”
“True,” he admits.
I always thought our differences kept us from being close. But maybe I had it wrong this whole time. Maybe it was our similarities that made it impossible to see each other for who we really are.
The phone rings, startling us. I want to say that it’s because it’s an unfamiliar sound to us, but the truth is, it’s probably because we were lost in our thoughts. For a second it got deep between us.
Gavin picks up the phone. “Oh, hey,” he says as soon as he hears who’s on the other end, and he takes the phone to our room.
I’m about to head into the bathroom to take a shower so he can have privacy talking to Sonya.
But when I overhear part of his conversation, my ears inadvertently perk up.
He sounds—bro-y? I usually don’t have any interest in eavesdropping on any of Gavin’s phone conversations, which, as far as I can tell, are a snoozefest. But if he’s not talking to Sonya, then who is he… ?
I press my ear against the door and catch the last part of his conversation.
“Sounds good, man. I’ll meet you at the cafe tomorrow.” Gavin hangs up the phone, and before I can get my feet to move, he’s at the door.
“Um, can I help you?” he says, clearly catching me eavesdropping.
“I forgot something—bra—tampons—cramps,” I blurt out a series of words that usually repel him, but of course this time they don’t work.
“Sure” is all he says, opening the door for me to come in. The smirk on his face lets me know that he’s not buying my excuse.