CHAPTER 11 #2
Her face is small, her skin porcelain, and her gaze like two black diamonds.
She says something in Korean, and Tek answers in a tone reminiscent of a child in trouble.
He gestures to me, stepping aside, exposing me completely.
For a second, she looks confused, then something falls into place and she puts down her extra long metal chopsticks.
She marches over, stands almost a foot below me, then reaches up and grabs my jaw with both hands.
I freeze, unsure if I should move away or go limp.
She turns my head from side to side, squinting as she studies my nose, ears, and eyes; her thumb brushing over my nostril piercings before flicking at the earring in my right ear.
"Aigo," she says under her breath, then lets go and takes a step back. "Carey," she declares. "Eden's little brother." It's not a question.
I nod, more than I know is necessary. "Yes, ma'am."
She snorts, "Ma'am," with an edge of disbelief. She points at Tek, then back to me, and lets out a loud sigh. "Tek-ah, you didn't say it was Eden's hyeong-je. I would have made more food. Lots of black bean noodles."
Tek shrugs like he's already had enough. "He doesn't eat much."
"You look different", she says. "Like him, but not like him. Last time I saw a picture your hair was down here." She draws a line by her collarbone with her index finger.
"I, uh—yeah." I look at Tek, but he's already hiding behind the fridge door.
"I like the hair. You look like a man, not a little boy. Your hyeong-je should cut his hair, too."
I nod, because what else am I meant to do?
My hands feel both cold and sweaty at the same time, so I jam them into my pockets.
Tek's mother turns away from me to hold out her hand to Tek.
After fishing around in his pocket he puts his keys in her palm.
Holding them tightly, she uses her other hand to grab him by the jaw in the exact same way she did to me.
From where he's leaning into the fridge, she wrenches his face towards her and speaks to him in Korean.
Tek mutters back and she shakes him a little before letting go.
Taking a small step stool by the fridge, she scuffs it with her foot over to the pantry, then uses it to reach up to a box on the top shelf. Holding it against her chest, she puts the keys inside it and shuts it again with a click that sounds very permanent.
Eyebrows up, I move to Tek. "Do you always hand over your keys when you get here?"
"I told you I don't drive when I've been drinking." Standing, he cracks a can of Sapporo with one hand in a practiced, fluid motion.
"I thought you said—" I start, but his mother cuts me off with a look that could halt a lion in its tracks.
"I lock them away."
Staring straight at Tek, and with no shame or care in the world that his mother hears, I tell him, "You didn't need to drink last night. All I wanted was to not spend another night alone in that apartment. You just had to sit next to me for half an hour. You didn't even need to talk."
Taking the long route back to the stove, Tek's mother slaps him on the back of the neck on the way past. "Take him to the bar, Tek-ah. He has no friends."
A big, cocky grin spreads on my face, then fades instantly. This woman has some kind of strange power. She makes you feel good but also like a pitiable loser at the exact same time.
"Why are you here and not with your parents anyway? Did you run away, too?"
With a chuckle, Tek opens the fridge again and hands me my own Sapporo. "You'll need to drink to get through the night."
"I have soju, too," his mother tells me like she didn't just start interrogating me. "I had more but Jintae took it—" The way she stops feels like a slip of the tongue, and I rush to fill the emptiness.
"No thanks. This is great." I crack the can. "It's all I need."
Her chin rises, her back straightens, and she gives me a quick, curt, nod. "My other son, Wootek's brother, he's… he's spending Thanksgiving with friends this year."
"Come on," Tek groans from where he's leaning against the side of the fridge. "Cut the crap, Omma. Carey already knows what's going on."
"Tek-ah," she scolds.
"His brother's gone, too. If anyone is gonna get it, it's him. And lying about shit doesn't help anyone."
"It's not a lie. He might be with friends."
"He might also be in a ditch somewhere with a bottle of lemongrass soju."
His mother's nostrils flare, but she holds it in, and I know it's all for my sake.
"It's kind of crazy, huh?" I say scratching my head. "Them both leaving at the same time. It's almost like they ran away together."
If a record was playing it would have scratched the second I finished speaking.
Two sets of dark eyes glare at me.
I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
"Shut your fucking mouth."
"Tek-ah, be calm." His mother puts her hand on his shoulder and guides him to take a step back.
"That would never happen, Carey. You see, your brother is like a third son to me.
And because of that, I know that he and Jintae do not get along.
I wish they would, but they are like true brothers. They do not agree."
I want to say something, anything, to apologize and insist I was joking because of course I was, but she's already moving. Already one step ahead, on to the next task. "This storm will be bad."
"It'll blizzard," Tek converses with his mother like nothing happened. Then, whatever she was cooking is off the stove, and she leaves the room altogether.
I nurse my can and look around the kitchen, trying not to notice how Tek's stare burns right through me, how his arms flex when he lifts the beer, or how the line of his jaw angles in a different way when he's annoyed at his mother, compared to when he's annoyed with me.
It really isn't fair that someone can look that good while being so grumpy.
He glances at me, and even though it's obvious that I've been looking, he just empties the can and tosses it into the recycling bin with perfect aim. He looks back at me, staring for several seconds, then asks, "You wanna go to the den, or the living room?"
"I've never been here."
He nods, grabs another beer, and starts walking.
I follow him down a short hall with an open study door, and into a living room that would make any designer weep.
The sofa is enormous and deep, but instead of looking like something you want to collapse into, it feels like a showpiece with zero creases and throw pillows placed just right.
Tek sits on the very edge. He rests his elbows on his knees and holds the can with both hands.
I sit beside him making sure to leave a large enough gap so he doesn't question my intentions. "Nice house," I say for lack of anything better.
He doesn’t answer right away, just watches the flicker of the fake log gas fire on the far wall. “My mother likes it. But my Appa says it's too big.” He glances over. “He’ll be in the garage. He won’t come out again until the food's ready.”
The fire makes soft clicks as the gas kicks back in, and I watch the way the light hits Tek's cheekbones; the shadows shifting when he looks down at his hands.
There's a moment when I want to reach out and touch him, just to see if he feels as tense as he looks. But I don’t, because that would be weird.
"You don't have to be the nice guy all the time. If you feel like I forced you here you don't have to stay."
“I wanna be here,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “I'm just scared of saying something wrong.”
He looks at me, and this time, he actually smiles. “You couldn’t mess up if you tried.”
I almost say, Wanna bet? but the moment passes.
Tek stands. “Let's go to the den. It's too stuffy in here.”
We move down the stairs to the lower level.
It's cooler, but in a refreshing way. The den is lined with wooden boards that have been painted white.
There's a pool table, sofas that look like you're supposed to sit in them, and a bar—but instead of bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind it, it's stacked with trophies.
"Hapkido?" I ask, pointing in their direction with my beer.
"Yeah. But they're mostly my brother's."
"He's a lot smaller than you, though," I say, recalling the pictures from the entry.
"But he killed it in competition. It's not always about being the biggest. The kid's wiley as fuck." Reaching for a pool cue, he picks it up and tosses me another. "You any good?"
I roll a few balls towards the rack. "I can fake it."
With the balls in place Tek lines up to break, but stops, and looks me dead on. "You don't have to fake anything, Carey."
My stomach tightens.
That sounds like a challenge. It would be if I'd said it.
Tek breaks, and the crack of the balls snaps me out of my spiraling.
I'm being stupid.
He was just being nice. He's treating me like a younger brother.
I'm better at pool than I alluded to and Tek catches on quickly.
After a while, I say, “Thanks for having me over.”
He lines up a shot. “Don’t thank me. Thank my Omma.”
I laugh. “She terrifies me.”
“She terrifies everyone.”
There’s a clatter from the kitchen upstairs, the sound of plates, and a voice calling out in Korean. Tek sets the cue down.
“Come on,” he says, and walks past me, his shoulder brushing mine as he goes.
Upstairs, the dining room is immaculate. Tek's parents are already seated at the table, his father wearing traditional clothes too. I'm introduced, and his handshake is firm, but he has nowhere near the level of intimidation that Tek's mother holds onto.
"It looks amazing," I say as I take my seat.
A proud look washes over Mrs Jeon, and she tells me; "My husband did not help."
He nods, welcoming the pour of soju Tek offers him. I get mine last, only accepting it because it seems rude not to.
In unison they all say, "Jal meok-ge-sseum-ni-da," and pick up their chopsticks.