Chapter 11 #2
My entire body moves against my will. Damn it.
I drop into the chair next to Ethan, who is already on his second pancake. He nudges my plate toward me. “Might as well eat. You’re gonna need the energy.”
I grab a pancake and stab it with my fork, ignoring the way Joel sits across from me, looking far too smug for someone I am actively considering murdering.
Mom, oblivious to my suffering, takes a delicate sip of her tea—and when the hell did she have time to make that? Come to think of it, why is there a bag of her favorite tea bags on my counter?
“Ethan, you and Tessa need to help set up the venue. Anna, we need final RSVPs from our side of the family. And of course, the big thing is the dol table. Everything has to be set up perfectly for Mina’s doljabi. And don’t forget—everyone needs to have their hanbok ready.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Wait. What?”
I mean, it’s not like I didn’t see this coming, but still.
Mom gives me the look. The one that says she is prepared to fight me if I open my mouth again. “You heard me, Anna. You’re wearing your hanbok. End of story.”
Joel, the worst person alive, perks up. “Oh, hell yes. Do I get to see this?”
I glare at him. “I will burn this entire house down first.”
“Of course you’ll see it. You’ll be there, won’t you Joel?” Mom says, ignoring my outburst entirely.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Joel grins, patting my mother’s hand. “Mina’s practically my niece.”
I glare in his general direction and witness my mother sigh contently.
I hope all of them choke on their breakfast.
Joel tilts his head, looking genuinely interested. “Wait, what’s a dol table? I don’t think I’ve heard of that before.”
Mom lights up.
Oh, god. No.
Joel has just made a critical mistake.
My mother might not be born Korean, but when she married in, she immersed herself so deep into the culture, you’d think she was a direct descendant of Shilla royalty.
“The doljabi is a tradition where we set up a table of symbolic objects,” she explains, eyes glowing with excitement. “Mina will pick one, and it’s supposed to predict her future. Like, if she picks a stethoscope, she might become a doctor. If she picks money, she’ll be wealthy. Things like that.”
Joel blinks. “So, like, baby fortune telling?”
Ethan snorts. “Pretty much.”
Mom swats his arm. “Ethan, it’s a serious tradition.”
Joel, being the worst person alive, grins. “What if she picks, like, a drumstick? Or a microphone?”
I groan, already seeing where this is going. “That just means she’s doomed to a life of financial instability.”
Mom gives me a look of incredulousness..
Joel fake gasps. “Anna, that’s a terrible thing to say about your niece. Are you telling me you wouldn’t support little Mina if she wanted to become a world-famous musician like her uncle Joel?”
I glare at him. “I’m saying I wouldn’t actively encourage her to starve.”
Mom sighs. “Just because your appa thinks the same way, doesn’t mean you need to follow in his footsteps, Anna. You used to love music. Just like any profession, you can be successful if you’re truly skilled.”
There it is.
I stab my pancake a little harder than necessary.
Ethan, sensing danger, shovels more food into his mouth like he did when we were kids.
Joel leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee like he’s enjoying a particularly juicy drama. “Speaking of your appa, where is he? Doesn’t he want to help out with all of this.”
Mom waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, you know Min-woo. He loves tradition, but he says planning parties is ‘too much of a spectacle.’”
Ethan snorts. “That’s his way of saying he’d rather read research papers and judge his students.”
I nod. “And critique my life choices.”
Mom shoots me another look.
Joel chuckles. “Still the same Min-woo, huh?”
Mom’s expression softens. “Always. He’s looking forward to the ceremony, though. And don’t let him fool you—he’s the one who insisted we use the university’s cafeteria for it.”
I roll my eyes. Of course. My father might not be into “spectacles,” but he’d make sure the event looked prestigious enough to represent his name.
Joel hums, still too interested. “Well, can’t wait to see him there. Hope he still remembers me.”
Mom smiles, too pleased. “Oh, he remembers. Trust me.”
I squint. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Joel hums into his coffee, far too entertained. “So, just to be clear—when he sees me, should I expect an immediate disowning glare or will there be a buffer period before he tells me I’m a disappointment for going into music?”
“Oh, Joel, Min-woo doesn’t say things like that,” Mom says with another exasperated sigh.
Ethan snorts. “No, he just stares at you until you feel like you should apologize for existing.”
I groan, already anticipating the headache this is going to cause. “I can attest to that.”
Mom gives me a pointed look over the rim of her teacup. “Anna, don’t be dramatic. Your appa is proud of you.”
I scoff. “Sure. In an ‘if only she had gone into engineering instead of app development’ kind of way.”
Ethan nods. “Or in a ‘she has a good job, but imagine if she’d gone to med school’ way.”
I point at Ethan and nod.
Mom purses her lips but doesn’t deny it.
Joel, of course, is soaking all of this in. “Man, I really did miss you guys.”
I glare at him. “Don’t be weird.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, resting an elbow on the table like he’s settling in for a show. “Am I not supposed to enjoy the family drama I was deprived of for years?”
Ethan gestures with his fork. “See? That’s the real tragedy here.”
Mom, as if sensing my rising frustration, smooths a hand over the table like she’s tidying up the air around us. “Min-woo is looking forward to the doljanchi, end of story. And,” she adds, looking at Joel, “he does know you’re back in town.”
Joel arches a brow. “That’s good, I guess.”
“And?” I say, drawing out the word, knowing full well there’s probably more to it than that.
Mom shrugs. “And nothing. He just said hmm.”
I deadpan, but counter, catching Joel’s curious gaze. “I’d be scared. That’s worse than ah.”
Joel frowns, looking between us. “What’s the ranking system here? I need context.”
Ethan sets his fork down, suddenly invested. “Okay, so hmm means he’s filing it away for later, possibly as evidence against you. Anna’s right. You should be on high alert.”
I nod. “And ah means he already knows and has thoughts he will reveal at the most inconvenient time.”
Joel blinks. “What about oh?”
Ethan and I exchange a look.
I grimace. “That’s when you run.”
“You are all so dramatic.” Mom rolls her eyes. “I just think it’ll be nice to have everyone together again. We’re all family, after all.”
Joel, to his credit, doesn’t gloat at that.
But he does meet my eyes again.
And for a second, just one second, something in his expression shifts—like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure he should.
I push my chair back, grabbing my now-cold coffee. “Great. Can’t wait for the inevitable disaster this turns into.”
Joel shifts in his seat, the corner of his mouth quirking up as I stand. “What’s the matter, Ace? Afraid you’ll have too much fun?”
I snort under my breath. “Oh yeah, Joel. So much fun. Being trapped in a room with you, my family, and my father’s inevitable disapproval sounds like an absolute blast.”
Mom clears her throat, and I immediately regret my words.
“I’m sure your father will be delighted to see both of you,” she says sweetly, but there’s an unmistakable edge of fix your attitude to it. “And it’ll be good for the family to be together again to celebrate Mina. Just like old times.”
Joel leans back, still watching me with that stupid amused smirk. “Exactly. What’s a little nostalgia between childhood friends?”
I glare. “We were never friends.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Anna,” Mom says, already rising from the table and smoothing out her cardigan. “You and Joel were inseparable when you were young.”
I nearly choke on thin air. “That’s revisionist history, and you know it. He’s always been Ethan’s inseparable friend. Not mine.”
Mom merely hums as she gathers her things, but before she can fully make her exit, she pauses and turns to Joel. “Oh, by the way, darling, I need your hanbok measurements, as well. Can you get them to me?”
Joel blinks. “Uh—”
“He’s not wearing a hanbok,” I blurt, horrified.
Mom looks offended. “Of course he is. He’s practically family.”
Joel, to my utter horror, beams. Beams like she just told him he won the lottery. “Wow, Mrs. Chang. I’m touched.”
I’m going to die.
Mom nods, satisfied. “I’ll make sure it’s ready for the ceremony. Just get me your measurements.” She turns to me, and her smile sharpens. “And I expect you to wear yours properly this time.”
I groan. “I wore it properly last time.”
“You tied the norigae onto your wrist like a bracelet,” she says flatly.
“…Fashion is subjective.”
She sighs. “Just be ready, Anna.”
With that, she gives Joel’s arm one last pat—traitor—before gathering her purse. “Ethan, come on, I need you to drive me to the store so I can order the food.”
Ethan groans but gets up, stretching before pointing his fork at me. “You’re gonna have to wear the hanbok, you know. There’s no getting out of it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re dead to me.”
“Love you, too,” Joel says, chuckling under his breath as he follows after our mother.
Joel snickers, clearly reveling in my suffering. “I can’t wait to see this. You all dressed up, looking like the perfect little—”
I whip around, pointing a menacing finger at him. “Finish that sentence, Price, and I swear to god—”
His hand catches my wrist.
Not hard. Not yanking. Just—firm.
Intentional. Like a silent demand that I look at him.
A shiver ghosts up my arm, unwelcome, unwanted.
My brain stutters, short-circuiting for the briefest second. Because this touch—his touch—is different from the casual, infuriating Joel I know. There’s no smirk, no teasing. Just the weight of something unspoken stretching between us and because he’s not talking, my brain is sputtering.
His thumb barely brushes my pulse, like he’s testing something. Like he’s waiting for me to pull away—or waiting to see if I won’t.
I should yank my hand back. I should roll my eyes and tell him to shove off. But for a fraction of a heartbeat, I don’t.
Joel notices. I can tell by the way his grip tightens, just slightly.
And then—
“Oh, I forgot my tea bags.”
My mother bustles in, completely unaware that she just shattered whatever this was into a thousand tiny, irretrievable pieces.
Joel’s hand disappears. Like it never happened.
I exhale too sharply. Step back like I wasn’t just standing there, waiting for—
I wasn’t.
I wasn’t.
Mom plucks her tea bags off the counter, then gives us both a knowing smile that makes my stomach twist.
“Well,” she says, eyes far too observant, “see you both soon.”
Joel smirks, like he’s enjoying this way too much. “Can’t wait.”
I don’t even have a clapback for that.
Because my wrist still tingles.
Because I have no idea what just happened.
Because I don’t want to know what would have happened if my mother hadn’t walked back in.
And that thought?
That’s what really terrifies me