Chapter 7
CASSIEL
THE SIXTH THURSDAY
The jets had been over the city since Monday and every day Cassiel had considered a new act of treason.
The roar came through Linden he did not cook, he did not help, and he was not expected to.
His role was not to cause problems and he was a master.
He finished the water, set the glass in the sink, and looked at the tray of mandu.
“Looking good,” he said, to no one in particular, and then to May, “You watch football?”
May’s head came up. “Niners?”
His father’s eyebrows rose a fraction of a degree. Cassiel had specifically told May not to bring up the Niners.
“I—yeah.” May was now navigating a minefield he’d been warned about. Any distress was not a result of Cassiel’s lack of diligence. “It’s been a… they’re having a season.”
His father regarded May.
“You don’t follow football,” came the conclusion.
“I’ve got a jersey?” May’s grin was sheepish. “Couldn’t tell you the quarterback’s name. Oh, my brother once almost got to take a picture with Sourdough Sam but they picked a sadder-looking kid.”
His father nodded. This was apparently sufficient. He tilted his head towards the living room. “Pregame is on.”
“Why are you stealing my assistant to watch TV?” his mother groused to her husband.
“Minseok is here,” his father said.
“I am still here,” Cassiel confirmed.
May glanced at Cassiel, a quick check, eyebrows raised, as if asking an autistic man for advice on social cues was a logical course of action. Cassiel returned the expression. They were all communicating through eyebrows tonight. May shrugged and followed Cassiel’s father out of the kitchen.
“Bring those to me,” said his mother. She gestured at the stack Cassiel was working on. “Go supervise—Appa might scare him away by boring him to death.”