Chapter 6
6
I ’m standing outside Sheila’s, dressed in my yellow T-shirt and overalls when I see a man who I think could be Ethan walking up. When he waves me down, I know for sure it’s him. I wave back eagerly and smile as prettily as I can manage.
“Hey! It’s Riley, from online.”
He looks me up and down, clearly checking out and judging my outfit, and he seems less than impressed. Ethan has yet to say anything, so I jump to explain the paint covered overalls. “I’m a painter.”
“Gotcha. Want to get something to drink?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer before going inside. What’s with this guy? He seemed really interested in me last night. He must be disappointed or maybe I’m not what he expected.
I go in after him, and stand in line close to him, unsure if I should stand beside or behind him. Is it rude to expect he’d pay for my drink? He orders for himself, not asking if I want anything.
I order a lemon tea and walk toward the pickup counter where Ethan is already standing.
“So, where do you work?” I attempt to start a conversation.
“I work for a PR firm,” Ethan sounds bored with my question, like a teenager talking back to their mother about missing curfew. “Where do you work again? What’s with the paint covered overalls?” He gestures broadly to my outfit. I know I didn’t dress to impress exactly, but I’m not a disaster today.
“I’m a painter. I’m painting a mural a couple of blocks over.”
“Oh, yeah, you mentioned that.”
Yes, I did mention that, dickhead.
The barista calls out “Large Americano for Ethan!” and he grabs the drink and heads to the condiments counter.
I wait for my drink and a second later hear, “Tea for Riley!” I grab my drink and next thing I know, WHAM. I slam right into Ethan, my tea spilling all down the front of his chest.
His reaction is my worst nightmare.
“What the fuck? ” He gives a low grunt, and grits his teeth.
“I’m so sorry!” I’m grabbing napkins from the dispenser faster than I thought possible. “I swear, I really didn’t mean to.”
I press napkins into his front, trying to soak up Lemon Lift Black Tea and Ethan is peeling them off just as I put them on, but I can’t help myself.
“Please, just stop.” Ethan grabs the stack of napkins from my hands and takes two gigantic steps back. I’ve caused quite the scene, and even though I’m not looking, I can feel the entire cafe staring at me. At me. Not Ethan. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”
“Wait! Just give me a minute and I can buy you a new shirt or something.”
Why am I always making a mess?
“I don’t want a new shirt.”
He gives me a nasty once over before leaving in a huff. I am still frozen in front of the pickup counter, now without my tea. I’m palming my forehead, cursing myself when out of the corner of my eye, I see someone approaching me.
Jae. Did he just see that?
When he says nothing and hands me a steaming to-go cup, I know he did. I say nothing, he says nothing, and we walk out of the cafe towards The Red Kettle side by side in silence.
We stand in front of his restaurant, face to face, drinking our tea.
“What was that?” Jae asks, his voice is hotter than my tea.
“That… That was my first date in three years,” I answer, my voice heavier than a cast-iron pan. “I didn’t know you went to that cafe.”
“I go to Sheila’s every morning before work. I am just not usually so lucky as to have a show to go with it.” Jae skims over my outfit, and reaches to my shoulder to pull off a stray thread.
“That was the guy you made me swipe on last night.” I scowl, feeling scorned over my embarrassing interaction with Ethan.
“I didn’t make you swipe on anyone. You did that of your own free will.”
“With your encouragement. I fear that this—” I gesture to myself “—is your fault.” I take a long sip of my new tea. “Thank you for this, by the way. It makes up for the bad date.”
“That was hardly a date, Riley.”
“It was a date for me.” I turn away, eager to start painting again, not eager to answer Jae’s questions. I don’t want him to get to know me. Because I want to get to know him . Jae has that kind of calm, charming aura about him. He had brought me a new cup of tea without even asking. He just brought it, not expecting anything in return.
Jae unlocks the door to The Red Kettle, and we stand in the entryway, opposite one another. We are like two cowboys facing off in a duel. Who will shoot first?
I look up at him. Jae is at least a foot taller. He looks down at me, his eyes fixated on mine. What’s he thinking? We stare at one another, but it’s not uncomfortable. His eyes are questioning and full of genuine interest, and I am drawn to them like iron to a magnet. I couldn’t tear my gaze away if I tried.
“You just need more practice.” Jae tells me matter-of-factly. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”
“I don’t have anything better to do,” I say, not serious, my voice almost sarcastic.
Jae pauses and grabs the door handle, and looks at me. He gives me a ferocious grin, and breaks out into a laugh. “Well, aren’t you just absolutely charming?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that—” I realize what I said might be misconstrued.
“I know you didn’t,” He breaks our staring contest. And before I say anything else, he goes inside. He, back to the kitchen, and me, to the primed wall in front.
When Jae doesn’t reappear like I hope he will, I get to work.
It’s still early, and I start with the mountains. I mix a sable black and use an angled brush to create the trunks of trees, the base of thick grasses and the shore of the lake. I fill in with the mildest of blues, greens and yellows to create a gossamer base of a field, lake and mountain scenery. I am lost in my own little world for hours, nothing in my mind but swirls of lapis blue, moss green and dandelion yellow.
I paint as if my life depends on each gentle flick of my wrist. I am walking on a fine wire tightrope, growing more delicate and fragile with each step. A blue so blue it makes you miss the sky and a green so green you are certain the grass couldn’t be greener anywhere else, anywhere but where you are. A yellow more yellow than the happiest feeling you could conjure. I don’t even have time to be depressed over the nuclear disaster that was this morning.
By the time I put down my paint brush, it is almost noon. Unlike yesterday, I haven’t seen Jae all morning. I won’t make the same mistake again by stepping foot into the kitchen, so I opt for a good, old-fashioned text message.
Hey there, it’s Riley. I’m about to finish up for the day. Do you want to look?
After a heartbeat, Jae exits the kitchen.
“Hey, let me see,” Jae makes his way over to where I’m standing, hands on his hips, inspecting my work where you can begin to see the mountains and the trees take shape.
“What do you think?”
“Looks like a blob of paint to me,” He cocks his head to the side, as if to get a clearer look.
I grimace. “That’s a good thing. Your mountains should be done by the end of the week at the rate I am going.”
“Cool. So, about what I said earlier,” Jae fidgets, his hands wringing at his sides, nervous for once. “You don’t have to come tonight. Unless you want to. I don’t want you to think you have to go on a practice date.”
“Oh?” I’m intrigued. Jae always seems sure about everything he says, no matter how incorrect, so it’s suspicious he’s backtracking.
“I mean, you definitely can if you want to.”
“I’ll be here,” I confirm.
After I’ve finished painting, I’m greeted by who must be Jae’s sous chef, and I immediately know I’ve made a more questionable decision than going out on a coffee date at 7:30 a.m.
“Welcome, welcome, nice to see you, Riley!” He greets. His brown hair is slicked back either from sweat or too much hair gel. He pulls out a chair for me while I wait. I am faced with my half-painted mural.
“I’m Murphy, and I’ve heard so much about you.” Murphy pours me a glass of ice water, and sets the table for two.
“Well, I’ve heard nothing about you,”
“Well, let’s get you up to speed, shall we?” Murphy offers me a sly grin. “Jae and I met in middle school. Him, total nerd. Me? Total opposite. He’d be nowhere without me.”
“You mean, you’d be nowhere without me?” Jae bursts through the kitchen doors, a very full plate in each hand. I am suddenly starving. I haven’t eaten anything all day. “I’m the one who gave you a job.”
“My father is the one who got you such a good deal on rent for this place,” Murphy lets out a groan and slaps Jae on the back.
“Have a fun date, man!” he shouts as he grabs a coat from behind the bar and slaps a baseball cap on his head.
“It’s not a date,” I quickly clarify. “It's a practice date. Jae was kind enough to help me after witnessing my tragedy this morning.”
Jae looks long and hard at Murphy, agreeing with my sentiment.
“That still sounds like a date, dude. Be careful, Riley. Jae, over here, total player.” Murphy laughs. Jae grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him out the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Murphy.” Jae closes and locks the door and pulls down the blinds in the front window. He turns around and clasps his hands. “Don’t pay him any mind.”
“I wasn’t planning to,”
“Really, don’t take him seriously,” Jae reiterates. “He’s full of shit. I just wanted to keep up our end of the deal.”
“I got it, don’t worry,” I offer a light smile as a consolation prize.
“The least I could do is feed you, right?” Jae gestures to the two plates in front of us. “Please, eat.”
You don’t have to tell me twice. It looks so fucking delicious. “What is it?”
Jae takes the seat where Murphy had been sitting, unfolds a chopstick from his napkin and uses it to point out each thing on the plate. Everything looks so expensive, more than I would ever pay for dinner. Jae explains each dish to me as he takes a bite, and I try after him.
“Sautéed pea shoots. I get these special from a guy to make sure they are just the right amount of tender and crisp. You sauté them over very high heat with chicken stock to bring out the aromatics. Next, handmade steamed vegetable dumplings. These are vegan actually. And I hand make the wrappers every Sunday night.”
“Where’d you get the recipe?” I ask.
“My mother, of course…now, the star of the show,” He stands and runs over to the bar fridge, and pulls out two small plates. “Saikyo miso-broiled nigiri. This is made with a sweeter, milder miso paste and is cooked lightly with a blowtorch. One of my favorite things to make.”
“It looks amazing,” I ogle the plate in front of me.
“And here we have, aji nigiri sushi. This is a very light and buttery fish, one of my favorite cuts by far. And for the side dishes. Baek kimchi. This is my take on the classic Korean side dish. Safe for white people, basically.” Jae chuckles at his own dig.
“It’s amazing. Where did you learn to make all of this stuff?” I ask him, my mouth stuffed with pea shoots.
“My mother’s cousin owns a sushi shop in Japan. I spent my summers there growing up, working in the shop and watching them cooking. I was a dishwasher. It was always my dream to open a restaurant, ever since I was a kid. Food was usually the only constant in my life.”
“Thank you for all this.” I gesture to the huge plate in front of me, bites of things still remaining. I couldn’t even come close to finishing. “Was this part of the practice date?” I ask, swallowing a burp.
“Well…I guess it was.” Jae looks pensive. “I didn’t really have an idea for your practice date. I just…” He trails off, looking down and away from my eyes.
“What?”
“Ever since I saw you in the apartment… can I be frank with you?” Jae now looks directly at me.
“What?” I repeat.
“I was concerned about you. It was luck that you applied for the mural. But you didn’t seem too well when I met you for the first time. I was going to try to figure out where your new apartment was.” Jae takes a breath. “And it felt weird not getting to know you after seeing I moved into your old place. There, I said my piece.” Jae rubs his temples the same way I do.
“Are you pitying me?” Frustrated, I stand up from the table. “Because if that’s the case, I don’t want your pity.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Jae leans back in his chair. “Please sit down.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I’ve been spending so much time with my mother these days. She’s rubbing off on me.” Jae runs his hands through his thick, black hair. “She is always trying to take care of everyone. Even now.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in the fall. She tries to pretend like it isn’t happening. But it is, and it’s an adjustment for everyone,” He takes a breath, and his voice turns serious. “I moved into your apartment to have more space for her. She can’t live with my sister much longer. They just don’t have the room.”
“How many sisters do you have?” I pull my feet up onto my chair, I’m still dressed in my paint-covered overalls and yellow shirt.
“Three. One older, two younger.”
“And which does your mother live with?”
“The older one. Izzie.”
“I see. When will you move your mom in with you?”
“After I renovate the apartment,” he says quietly, like I might be upset.
“I bet you’re going to knock down the wall between the studio and the den, right? It’d make a nice, large second bedroom.” Honestly, I’m glad the apartment was getting new light put into it.
“How’d you guess?” Jae laughs.
“I used to live there!” I had wanted to knock down that wall as well, but Grant insisted on keeping it in so we could keep the den as a third bedroom for guests. “Your mom is lucky to have a son like you.” I say.
“Yeah, you should try telling her that,” Jae scowls and cracks open a bottle of peach soju. He offers me a shot, but I decline. “She’s only ever angry with me.”
“What for?”
“For not going to university, mostly,” He stares at the half-painted mural. “All my younger sisters are students. Izzie is already a nurse practitioner. I’m just a chef. She says anyone can cook.”
“Not everyone can cook like you do,” I interject. “Cooking is an art.”
“She just doesn’t see the point in it, since it’s not…not a white-color job where you earn a lot of money,” Jae responds. “I’m hoping by opening a successful restaurant, she’ll see that I do work hard. Just as hard as Izzie, if not more,”
“When is the restaurant scheduled to open?” I ask.
“Next month, after all our suppliers are confirmed,” Jae takes another shot.
“I’m sure she’ll see the value in it after the opening,” I say. “I’ll bet it’ll be packed in here.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Jae gives me a soft smile. “You’re invited, of course,”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
We talk about everything we love about the West Village (all the cafes), but hate about SoHo (the tourists), and the movies we’ve watched recently ( Goodfellas, Sleepless in Seattle). He shows me photos of his sisters, Izzie, Kelly and Mae, and photos of Izzie’s daughter, Hallie.
I show him photos of Lily and my houseplants.
“Where’d you get all these plants? Can you get some for me?” Jae zooms in on a pothos plant.
“There’s a stand in Union Square Park. Haven’t you ever seen it?” I ask.
“I don’t really go that way,” Jae laughs. “Maybe I ought to.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I say. “It’s like, eight blocks from here.”
“I have everything I need right here.”
By the time eleven o’clock rolls around, we’re sitting next to each other on the bench, eyes droopy and hazy from being awake so long, essentially playing twenty questions with each other. There’s a palpable chemistry in the air, it crackles more than oil on a hot pan. I’m laughing, like actually laughing. Jae is funnier than he lets on and I’m walking right into every joke, but somehow I don’t mind. It confirms to me that my magnetic draw to him isn’t just a fluke.
“What Ghibli character would you be?” he asks.
“Ponyo,” I don’t hesitate to answer. “Didn’t you see me eat earlier?”
“I sure did. You eat well,” he agrees.
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Hot as hell and black,” Jae runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks tinged with pink.
“What’s your hidden talent?”
“I can juggle.” He confesses.
“Like a clown?” I giggle louder than I mean to.
“Just like a clown,” Jae smiles softly at me, not offended in the least. “But with knives instead of rubber balls.”
I rest my head on the table. I am tired, and emotionally fulfilled from my evening with this fine specimen of a man.
“I should get going. It’s late. Thanks for the food, Jae.” I sincerely say my thank you, grateful for the meal.
He holds his hand out to pull me off the bench, which I take gingerly, and walks me to the door, plates still on the table. I didn’t even hesitate to reach for his hand.
“Get home safe please.” Jae looks at me, something different in his eyes than the last few hours, and under his breath he mutters. “This is the part of the date where I would kiss you.”
“Excuse me, what was that?” I’m laughing, but I’m also backing away. There’s no way he just said that. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m just saying. Your date would kiss you before you leave for the night. Expect that on the next one.” Jae crosses his thick arms.
“What?” I say again.
“You just went on a date with me, Riley.”
“Yeah, but it was a practice date,” I’m flustered. “It wasn’t real. Even if you tried, I wouldn’t kiss you.” I say, determined not to let on that I’m thinking about kissing him.
“What makes you think I’d try?” Jae looks cross, leaning on the front door of his restaurant.
“You said it!” I nearly double over. Is this even happening right now? What’s going on with me?
“I brought it up because I’m helping you,” Jae says, touching my shoulder. “And I don’t want you to be shocked if a date tries to kiss you after.”
“I won’t be shocked, I can handle myself,” I say. “I can handle myself.” Repeating it makes it truer.
“You don’t look like you can handle yourself right now.” Jae is wide eyed, and I’m worried he can read my mind for a second. He’s touching my shoulder, and I want to kiss him for it.
What made me want to kiss Jae so badly all the sudden? Was it because he was nice to me? I had a habit of falling in casual love with anyone who was nice to me for more than a few minutes. The CVS cashier who handed me my receipt. The man on the subway who pointed out I dropped my scarf. The barista who called out my drink order.
No. It’s because he’s a fucking smoke show, and I haven’t been touched by another man in three years, and he was just the first to touch me in a long time.
I turn to leave, walking away from his grasp, waving my hand wildly like a flag. If I wave my hand faster, I can stop myself from turning around and trying to smash my face all over his.
This is the part of the date where I would kiss you. I repeat that line in my head over and over and over again on the way home. Thank goodness it wasn’t a real date, because if it was, I’d have kissed him back.