36. Lina
Lina
I looked at Jonathan with wide eyes. “What?” I asked.
Jonathan shrugged nonchalantly as he stirred a piping hot Korean stone bowl brimming with tofu soup. Red pepper flakes encrusted the sides of the bubbling bowl as he cracked a raw egg directly into its boiling contents.
The pharmacy was surprisingly normal-paced today.
We didn’t have crazy rushes throughout the day as we had recently.
A trickle of patients came in and out at a reasonable rate, making it easier for all of us.
Jonathan asked me to meet up with him at this Korean tofu soup shop for dinner, since he had something to say to me.
“My mom wants me to move out,” he repeated.
“Did something happen? How did the conversation go from you asking her about her relationship to her asking you to move out?” I asked with knitted brows.
He finally glanced up from the soup he was still stirring.
“Nothing happened. My mom started talking about Julie’s life now.
How she’s married with a child on the way.
My mom wants the same for me. She wants me to focus on myself and live my own life, outside of her and my childhood home.
She believes moving out will help me with that. ”
I took some time to let what he said settle. “Your mom sounds so understanding and progressive, especially for a Hmong mom,” I finally said.
Jonathan’s lips curved softly. “She is. But I can’t help but feel like she’s kicking me out.” He laughed.
I smiled with him. “You’re lucky though,” I said.
“It’s hard having more traditional parents.
My mom threw a fit when I told her I wanted to move out; that caused me to stay with my parents for another year until it just became unbearable.
When I finally moved out, my dad was just worried about my safety, which is reasonable.
My mom, on the other hand, didn’t speak to me for a month.
Now I try not to talk to her at all when she calls . . .”
He froze as the tofu soup in front of us continued to roil. His body hesitated, as did his mouth, curious but afraid to ask me.
“I’m not that close to my family if it wasn’t obvious from what I’d said about my siblings already,” I said, almost whispering so low I wasn’t sure he could hear me over the noise around us.
We were sitting in a booth, which helped drown out the chatter. However, it was dinnertime, with plenty of families with small children either yelling over one another, or parents trying to flag down a server for more side dishes.
I continued explaining in a low whisper, “I’m also not a good Hmong daughter, or sister.
I’m a bitch. I’ve abandoned them by living on my own, never answering their calls, and drawing hard boundaries between them and myself.
My only saving grace is that I still pay for my parents’ rent, utilities, and internet despite not living at home anymore.
That’s pretty much it. When you told me I was perfect a few weeks ago, I’m not.
Jonathan, I’m just a girl with a lot of baggage from home. ”
He frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Based on what you told me some time ago in the moving truck, I know your home life hasn’t been easy.”
“Yeah. It’s . . . hard. Like I’ve mentioned before, my family isn’t the easiest. Growing up as Hmong kids, we’re all taught the importance of family.
It’s rooted in us from a young age that our family is supposed to be the most significant people of our lives.
Because in family, there’s love and support,” I said.
“Yet, all I am to my family is a bank account. All they ever want from me is money and more money. They were going to use me until the day I got married.”
My cheeks flared hotly at the mention of anything more than what we were now.
“If not, then they’ll use my money until they’re no longer here.
That’s what my mom and sister had said to other people, at least, according to one of my cousins.
My family doesn’t respect me. Not my older sister.
Not my older brother. Especially not my parents—specifically my mom. ”
“From what you’ve told me about what you’ve done for your brother—helping him with his legal fees and financially supporting him—you’re a good sister. If you’re still paying for your parents’ bills, you’re a good daughter,” Jonathan said gently.
He leaned back in his seat and sighed. “You’re not the bad one just because you’re not living with them, not answering their calls to protect your peace, or not letting them take advantage of you. You’re good, Lina. You’ve done all that you can. That’s why you have those boundaries.”
My bottom lip trembled despite the mask of indifference I wore. Tears burned and hazed over my vision as I let out a small cough to hold all the emotions I felt intact under my thinning armor.
I nodded, neck rigid. His fingers intertwined with mine. “Yes. That’s true,” I mumbled.
“You’re so strong, Lina.” He tenderly squeezed my palm. “But when it gets too hard and you need someone to rely on, you have me. I’ll always be here for you. When we’re married, your family will have to deal with me—”
His mouth fell open, and my face burned hot. The grip he had around my hand tightened, his cheeks and ears burning blood red. He cleared his throat before continuing.
“When we’re married, your family will have to deal with me,” he said, grinning. “They’ll have to go through me before they can touch you, and they don’t want that.”
“They don’t?” I arched a brow at him.
I had never really seen Jonathan as intimidating before. Even when he snarled and bit back with snarky remarks, he was never threatening. He may have scared Neng that night in the pharmacy parking lot. However, Jonathan Lo wasn’t someone who was fearsome or formidable.
I glanced at Jonathan’s hands. Thick veins protruded from underneath his skin, twisting in various directions to the strong forearms hidden underneath the long sleeves of his crisp baby blue button-up.
From memory alone, I traced the curve of his defined deltoid muscles and across the width of his wide chest. My cheeks warmed with a sharp inhale of breath.
“I can be scary,” Jonathan insisted, nodding, finally taking a sip of his tofu soup.
I scoffed. “But you’re not actually scary. It’s all for show.”
He laughed, shrugging. “You know who’s really scary though?”
I sipped my bright red tofu soup, which was spicy, just how I liked it. “Who?”
“The Hughes twins. They’re scary when they’re angry.” Fear flashed across his eyes as if he were recalling an incident from all his years of knowing them.
“What?” I laughed. “They seem so sweet though.”
“No. The sweetest people are the scariest when they’re angry. You shouldn’t let their soft demeanor fool you,” said Jonathan, shaking his head. “It’s the ones with the icy demeanor that turn out to be the sweetest beings. Like you.”
I stilled, a spoonful of rice halfway to my hanging mouth. The only person who had ever claimed I was a ‘sweet person’ had been Mary, who’d also known me for more than half of our lives together.
“I’m not sweet,” I refuted softly. “I’m just me—whatever in the world I am.”
He looked up at me, grinning with bright eyes. “Nah, you’re a soft and sweet person under your hard and icy exterior.”
“I’m not,” I countered.
“Fine,” concluded Jonathan, giving up far too easily. “You’re just Lina Lee.”
Typically, I’d arch a brow at him. There was something brewing underneath his agreeable facade. I continued eating and so did he. After finishing dinner and paying for our meal, we found ourselves standing in front of our cars. We had parked next to each other.
He pulled me against his chest. Both hands were on my face as he tugged my cheek against his lips. He kissed me, and I thought that was all . . . until his tongue slipped out and lapped over the fullest part of my cheek. His teeth suddenly scraped across my skin before he bit down in one sharp nip.
“Jonathan!” I yelled, pushing him away.
He threw his head back and laughed out loud. I glared at him as I drew my hand over my sensitive cheek. Teeth marks were now embedded in it.
“Soft and sweet. Exactly like how I like my desserts,” he crooned.
I scoffed, placing a hand on his chest. His eyes brightened and the smile he wore twisted into a mischievous grin. When I shoved him a few steps back toward the trunk of his car, his playfulness waxed as his eyes twinkled.
“You’re so fucking cute when you’re being mean to me,” he said.
“Oh, really?” I asked. “I thought you didn’t like that about me.”
He shrugged. “I like it when you yell at me and tell me what to do because I’m yours.”
“Because you’re mine?”
“Tell me what to do like I’m your pet, and I’ll gladly do it.” He chuckled, stepping closer to me and closing the distance between us.
Before he could get any closer, I placed an index finger on his chin. He stopped in his tracks. “Sir,” I said, and the shine in his eyes immediately darkened into an inky-black. “You’re going home.”
He laughed. “Fine, I’ll go home.” I pulled my hand away from him, but he stood firm next to me. “Aren’t you going to give me a good-night kiss before we part ways?”
Without saying a word, I angled my head upward toward him. His smirk stretched wider as he leaned down and kissed me. His greedy mouth licked and bit my lips eagerly before he hungrily swallowed me down.
We kissed for what felt like an eternity until I heard kids coming out of the restaurant in the distance. I pushed Jonathan away at once, and he let out a frustrated groan, so low it sounded almost like a growl.
“Jonathan, we need to head home,” I stated.
He kissed my temple, humming. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I pulled away. When I looked up at him, I discovered this soft, tender expression on his face—gentle eyes with a faint but happy smile. “What?”
He cupped my face with his hands. “When I move out, I want you to come over and stay.”
“Like, moving in?”
“If you like, but I’m not pressuring you.
You’re Little Miss Independent and Perfection.
And I don’t think I should have any right to interrupt the way your life is right now,” he chuckled softly.
“What I mean is, you can come and stay however long you like. My place will be your home away from home.”
Warmth seared across my chest. “I’d love that,” I said.
Jonathan smiled wide. “Yeah?”
I smiled with him. “Yes.”
He leaned over and kissed the cheek he’d bitten earlier. It didn’t ache as much, but it still hurt under the light pressure of his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I replied as he kissed my other cheek. “Go home and make sure your mom’s fine.”
“She’s on a date. She’s fine,” he laughed. “I’ll see her when she’s sneaking in.”
“I’m glad you were able to talk to her this morning, that you can joke about how she’s dating again.”
“Me too.” Jonathan nodded. “And I’m glad I was able to tell her about you. I’d love to introduce you to her one day soon.”
Heat rose from the pit of my stomach to my chest and up to my scalp in a matter of seconds. “I’d love that.”
“Andy is hosting a watch party for this new psychological thriller movie; it’s coming out this week on some streaming platform.
I was wondering if you’d . . .” His words mumbled off into an incoherent sentence.
His cheeks blazed bright red as he cleared his throat.
“As I was saying . . . I was wondering if you’d like to be officially introduced to my closest family members as my girlfriend. ”
“To stake your claim on me?” I laughed.
He grinned proudly. “No. To stake your claim on me.”