Chapter 21 #2
May took the notebook back and closed it.
He tried to remember what their father had said exactly, but as usual his memory was slippery.
That’s what the notebook was for. The logic had been simple.
Thanksgiving bad = Dad said don’t upset your mom = No Christmas, no New Year = Mom doesn’t want you there.
“Right,” he said finally. “I guess. I don’t know. Dad didn’t want to make a mess.”
Anna rubbed her face, but gently, careful not to smear her mascara. May might have made fun of her but it wasn’t the time.
“Will and I are going over this afternoon. Do you want to—”
“Noooooope,” May said, reflexive, his smile manic. “Nope, I’m good. You go. Say hi. Tell Mama I’m alive and not on any drugs you wouldn’t dispense.”
“Maymay,” she sighed.
“Seriously.” He forked the smallest crumb of hash into his mouth. “I’ll go in my own time. Can you imagine trying to have that conversation with William there.”
Louis snorted and Anna sighed, abandoning whatever it was she was gearing up to say in favor of her eggs. Louis finally pushed his sunglasses up so that they perched douchily on his head as he finished up his second plate of French Toast Delight.
Anna paid, which is what Louis expected, and May reluctantly agreed after Anna pointed out that the red envelope money was from her and Will anyway.
May hugged her in the parking lot, the bomber jacket bunching at his elbows because the sleeves were almost right but not quite. She was warm and soft and smelled like the same perfume she’d worn since she was in high school. Heart-shaped pink bottle with a crown. Princess. He’d missed his sister.
“Text me,” she said.
“I will.”
She looked at him and he let her look, because Anna’s looking was different from their mother’s looking. Sometimes it felt the same.
“Okay,” she said. “I love you.”
“Love you too. Tell William… hi.”
Anna rolled her eyes, lightly punched his arm, and went her own way. Louis flipped him off, sunglasses back down. May flung it back.
* * *
Tuesday morning found May back in Chinatown, backpack slung over his shoulder as he hopped off the bus and walked up toward Stockton, saluting the colorful Buddha mural near the stop.
The rain had halted mid-ride, seemingly just for him.
Tori was singing in his ears as he passed by restaurants and hair shops and restaurants and hair shops and clinics and hair shops, and overhead the red lanterns from Saturday’s parade still hung over the street, paper a little weather-beaten now—the city’s CNY celebration come and gone while he’d been eating pasta in Dogpatch.
May sent the text to Cassiel even though there was almost no chance Cassiel had been within five miles of Chinatown:
May
Stockton looks like firecracker carnage. You dodged it, “Chinatown Guy”
The response came just as he was shoving his phone back into his pocket:
OPPA
By design.
– Koreatown Guy
May shook his head.
* * *
On Tuesday evening, May was sitting on the couch with his green notebook open, doodling circles. Green for personal. Green for family. He sighed and picked up his phone, only to find a text from Lauren front and center.
Lauren
Friendship test. Tell Cass he’s wrong.
May didn’t want to fail the test, so he obediently opened to the text thread for OPPA :
May
Cass, you’re wrong.
The reply came quite rapidly:
OPPA
Don’t speak for Lauren.
Do you want to call me Cass?
May
Uh!!!! Do you want me to call you Cass?
OPPA
hm.
No.
Wednesday, May sent a photo of the rain through Lau Kee’s kitchen window, the glass fogged, the neon of the BBQ sign bleeding red through the condensation, because it was pretty. Cassiel sent back a photo of the pocket watch, fully assembled, and a thumbs up.
Later that night, May tried out three versions of the jacket question before landing on:
May
Soooo do you want this jacket back?
OPPA
Bring it Thursday.
Meanwhile Louis had sent a screenshot of a gacha pull from some mobile game and the words fucking jpeg took 200 rolls and I hate my life. May hearted it. Louis sent a follow-up:
Louis
we good?
May
Yeah baby duck, we good
ANOTHER THURSDAY
May was already awake when the Gay Angel alarm went off at nine. He’d been awake since seven thirty, lying in bed with the purple notebook on his chest reading his own handwriting again. He put it on his face and closed his eyes for a few more minutes before getting up.
Shower and clothes. Today was a fancy day. A fresh pair of jeans, a knock-off sweater with a detective bear on the front, and the bomber jacket he didn’t really want to return. He shoved his feet into his sneakers, grabbed his backpack from beside the door, and left.
The bus came and he rode it through the avenues and the park, watching the fog burn off through the window. His crappy earbuds were in, imminently dying, Fiona Apple singing about being a tulip in love with someone she could only watch.
May meandered his way along the street until he reached the corner where Sparrow sat, purple in the sun.
He took a picture of the window box for good measure.
Someone had replanted, pansies in purple and white where the marigolds used to be.
He smiled at the little love letter drawn in the mouth of the chalk sparrow in the window, and made his way inside.
The specials board still had the Valentine’s mocha. May ordered one anyway.
Cassiel was exactly where May knew he would be. Back wall, uncomfortable bench seat, with his special swirly mug. He had a paper bag beside him—the other jacket. May kept Cassiel’s bomber jacket on his body, took the paper bag and didn’t bother opening it.
“Hey,” May said.
“You’re early.”
“I’m on time. Check your watch. Oh wait—you don’t wear one because you’re a watch-doctor who doesn’t wear watches.”
Cassiel raised an eyebrow. May sat down, dropping the paper bag down by his feet.
“…Can I just keep your jacket for another week? I think it likes me more than you anyway.”
“If you insist,” Cassiel replied, rather gallantly. He was wearing the same long brown coat from May’s lock screen photo, with the lapels and the waist belt that made his proportions look incredible. May switched seats, sitting next to Cassiel on the uncomfortable side.
They ordered and drank their respective lattes when they arrived in the coffee window. They talked about the Hamilton watch Cassiel was working on, about Lauren’s latest romantic escapade involving a guy and a horse, and said nothing about Seollal or doctors.
“—The Cantopop episode hit sort of a dead end. I asked Kev if I could take over as producer and chase the story. See if I can find something.”
“That’s…” Cassiel paused for long enough that May wondered if the next thing out of his mouth would be that’s a bad idea, May, but it didn’t come. “Interesting. Do you want help?”
“Maybe? If I don’t find anything. Are you volunteering to be my Watson?”
“Maybe.”
May opened the jacket to reveal the slightly wonky detective bear on his sweater. Cassiel poked it lightly with his finger.
“Ow, my abs.”
He cleared his throat before Cassiel could say what abs and changed the subject.
“Did I tell you about Sunny’s?”
“You went,” Cassiel answered, which meant he’d heard everything important from Minju already and May’s version would be the same, more or less, with more unnecessary detail.
“I mean, yeah. Your dad gave me a tour and now I know how to wrap a garment hooker.”
“Hanger.”
“Same thing.” May took a bite of his sandwich. “There’s a whole diagram on the wall about wrapping them. I wanted to take a picture and send it to you but then—”
But then they hadn’t exactly been talking and the first proper breach of that wasn’t going to be a picture of a diagram, even if the diagram was awesome.
“It’s been there since 2013.”
“Of course you know that.”
“My dad drew it. Minju colored. I abstained.”
May banked the admission and didn’t dwell on it. He’d think about it later.
“Your sister was… nice,” he added, because he’d already started this. “And Jaewon invited me to his birthday party.”
“He’ll expect an invitation to yours.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
When they left, the fog had cleared and the sun hit Irving Street at a low angle and turned every shop window white and gold.
“Walk?” May asked, already heading toward the novelty candle shop which now displayed big red heart candles and big pink… something-elses.
“Sure.”
There were five blocks to 4th Avenue. They walked side by side and May’s hand found Cassiel’s between the second and third block and stayed there. Swinging.
* * *