Chapter 10
Channing said I was a pessimist. To her, my reaction to those children left by themselves in front of Duane Reade was an example.
The parent came and all was well, she reminded me.
For her sake, I tried to be more optimistic than I felt inside.
I still had to be cautious. Noticing what was out of the ordinary could save someone’s life.
I’d gone to the grocery early before Channing and the children woke to buy a few staples: milk, bread, eggs, butter, and, for Channing, avocados.
She loved them for breakfast. On my way to the store, Harabeoji called from the Yuns’ house to see what our plans were for the day.
I told him we had to clean the house and that we’d check in with him later.
I wanted him to enjoy the time he had with his friend.
Until this point, we had planned to spend only the weekend in East End.
As soon as I returned to the house, I cut open the avocado that was the ripest. Rather than a lovely hard brown seed, the center had a shriveled and hollow husk. I dropped it on the counter in disgust.
Channing came into the kitchen humming under her breath. “I don’t know if it’s sleeping in, or running around in the Yuns’ yard, or because you’re here, but I feel so much better,” she said. “Just kidding, I know it’s because you’re here.”
“Always,” I replied, and then pointed to the strange avocado seed.
She studied it and said it was fine. This was not the first time she’d encountered this phenomenon.
I was skeptical. To prove her point, she searched the internet and showed me the screen of her phone.
“It means the avocado tree didn’t have enough water, so it made the avocado stop growing to nourish the other avocados on the tree.
But the avocado itself is fine to eat. Just as good. You worry too much.”
Despite the evidence she’d shown me, I couldn’t trust that the avocado was edible.
It looked rotted in its sacrifice. Channing ate her half of the green fruit, mashing it and spreading it on a slice of bread with olive oil.
I hesitated spooning out my half. Would it make me sick?
I had to go back and read Channing’s source and find several of my own before accepting its validity.
Not a pessimist, just thorough. I liked certainty.
Besides, why did we have to eat the fruit that had been released to save the rest of the tree? It felt wrong somehow.
There was so much washing and putting away and throwing out to do because the house was a mess from two weeks of Channing and the boys living in it without doing much of anything but using all the plates and cups and gadgets.
Garbage needed to be collected and bagged and removed from the house.
Channing claimed the parents of the boys had failed to inform her about garbage truck schedules.
It was Austin who said there were bins in the garage that his dad took to the curb, and Edison who told us their pickup day was Monday.
Channing noted it on the calendar of her phone with an alarm to remind herself.
At four o’clock, when the parents of the children called, they shouted on speakerphone at Channing for their sons’ missing three days of camp during the week.
Channing looked stricken with remorse as the Ahns continued to berate her. I mouthed the words, “Why didn’t you take them?”
She teared up and apologized to the parents.
She promised to try harder; she explained that she thought the boys had told them when they talked each of those days.
Mrs. Ahn said it was Channing’s job to inform her, not the children’s.
Mr. Ahn said he’d paid for those camp days. Channing apologized again.
Then she took the phone to the living room, where the boys sat in front of a video game on a big screen, and let them talk to their parents one by one.
“I feel terrible. I thought camp was optional. The kids said it was. Weird thing is, how did they find out?” Channing said afterward to me.
“Hardly the point,” I said. “The kids were obviously trying to get out of going.”
“But how did the parents know? Did they call the camp to check on me?”
Sometimes my cousin focused on the small matters rather than the large.
“I missed school all the time, and this isn’t even school.
They said it was a summer activity for the kids,” she said.
“I wanted them to go because then I’d be free of them, but they didn’t want to wake up.
They needed their sleep. But did you hear what she said?
Why does she think I didn’t want them to go?
How am I supposed to make them happy and do what the parents want?
I couldn’t tell the parents on them. Why would I lie? ”
“Not telling them is kind of like lying,” I reminded her. She shook her head and wiped down the counter one more time.
“Did you tell them Harabeoji and I were here?” I asked. Before she could answer I added, “I think they should know. I’d want to know if I was a parent. And tell them you don’t want Kent walking in unannounced. He’s their friend. They should tell him to stop.”
“He probably told the Ahns about camp,” she said, and went back into the living room to talk with them. I had my second cup of coffee. Channing returned to the kitchen in minutes.
“They’re fine with you and Harabeoji. They already knew you were here, but how did they know?” she said.
I shrugged. It did seem fast. Had the Yuns somehow been in touch with them? Then her phone pinged with a text, and Channing read it and said, “There’s our answer. It’s Kent. He said he talked to the boys’ parents. He texts me like this every day.”
“Did you tell the Ahns to stop him from coming in?” I asked. “He can’t do whatever he wants whenever he wants when it’s convenient for him. Nor does it mean he gets to marry you.”
She widened her eyes at me. “Where did you get that idea?” she said.
“He asked Harabeoji last night at the Yuns’, I forgot to tell you.”
She burst out laughing. And I had to join her. “I’m so glad you’re here, Dahee. He’s gross. You should see all the stuff he bought me. I should never have accepted it. It was just awkward—he caught me off guard.”
“Let’s get rid of it,” I said.
“You’re right,” she replied.
I grabbed empty garbage bags and followed her upstairs to her room, where she showed me a corner piled high with shopping bags of gauzy dresses and boxes of shoes.
“So weird,” I said as I shoved items into a garbage bag. I paused to hold up a pale blue linen maxidress up to myself. “This one isn’t bad.”
“That’s a great color on you, but it’s got Kent’s energy all over it. You don’t need bad luck,” she replied.
I dropped it promptly and said, “More like he’ll see me one day wearing it and be pissed.” I laughed. Then I got serious. “We should tell the boys’ parents, Harabeoji, and the Yuns. Anyone seeing this stuff would know Kent is over the top. He’s obsessed with you.”
“I’ll tell Harabeoji, but the Ahns probably love that about him.
Everyone loves him. You saw the Yuns. That’s just the way this place is.
I gave so much of my life to things that didn’t matter when I was a kid.
All those awards that other people said were important.
” She held a bag open, and I dropped an armload of dresses into it.
“You were a little kid, Channing.” I said as I opened a shoebox.
“Yeah, I know, but then when you learn you don’t have time to waste, you’re changed. You aren’t like everybody else anymore.”
Soon, two large garbage bags were full, and the corner was once again empty.
We dragged the bags to the stairs. I made sure the boys were still in the living room playing their games after hanging up with their parents before yelling up to Channing to let the bags tumble down to the landing and then to the first floor.
She followed soon after and surprised me by suddenly embracing me, her arms tight. “Kent isn’t going to ruin our summer.” There was her optimism.
“Good,” I said. Together we dragged those bags out to the garage. “We’ll drop them off at a donation center.”
“Yes, but not today. You’re only here for a little while.” She stretched out her arms and looked at me as if she were a bird about to take flight. “Let’s go outside,” she added.
I agreed it was a perfect summer day, not hot or humid, and she got the boys out to the side yard, where the Ahns had a little patio with some chairs and a small table. Nothing as elaborate as the Yuns’ terrace, but it was convenient.
Outside in the sun, Channing showed the boys how to do a gymnastics move where they sat on the ground and stood up in one motion. I was glad to see she was carrying over the coaching she and Minjae had done for the boys last evening.
I was sitting in the yard watching them when Harabeoji called and said he was helping Mr. Yun revive a garden. I told him we’d see him the next day. There was still laundry to do, and I knew if he was here, he’d work harder than he should at his age.
I was loading the dishwasher after dinner when the doorbell rang. Channing was upstairs putting the boys to bed, so I answered it. A uniformed police officer looked at me with suspicion. The sky was black above his head.
“Can I help you?” he said. Wasn’t I supposed to ask him that question? We hadn’t called the police. Did he have the correct house address?
I was so surprised I didn’t answer and tried instead to peer beyond this white man with piercing light brown eyes. Had something happened out on the street?
“Do you speak English?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Are you the owner of the New York state license plate?” he continued, speaking slowly, enunciating each word.
I nodded again.
“Name and identification,” he continued.
The palms of my hands stung with heat and tiny streaks of electricity. My brain stopped working for a moment.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Neighbors alerted us to an unidentified vehicle.”
Relief and comprehension arrived together. I smiled at him. “That’s my car. I’m from New York,” I said.
The man placed his hand on the door frame, bracing himself. “Identification, please.”
Channing appeared at the top of the staircase just then. She bent to look at us through the balustrade. “She’s my cousin. Just visiting. The Ahns know she’s here,” she called down to us. Her knee jiggled up and down.
“We’ve had break-ins,” he said.
“I know, I know, it’s your second time here in two weeks,” she said.
“Channing, could you get my bag from the kitchen? It has my driver’s license,” I asked. I didn’t know why exactly, but I didn’t want to let him into the house. He seemed threatening, though his request was simply identification. Was it his right to do so? Was I overreacting?
There was silence before she brought me my wallet. Despite my best efforts with sweaty fingers, the license wouldn’t budge. The plastic window in the wallet had glommed on to the document. I held it out to him, wallet and all.
“Remove it, please,” he said.
“Is this really necessary?” Channing asked.
The officer tilted his head at me. “It looks like I have to take you down to the station,” he said.