Chapter Thirty-Six
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The commercial kitchen space was pretty much perfect. Twelve pristine cooking stations with the master station at the head of the class. State-of-the-art flat-screens between every two cooking stations to show any detailed demonstrations. They would come in handy when Emma had to teach her students how to peel and slice dried jujubes, for example—fiddly little suckers.
Opening up her own cooking school had been her dream for as long as she could remember. And it was about to finally come true. Then what was this cold, hollow ache in her chest all about?
“This is wonderful, Mr. Goo.” Her smile felt forced. “I love it.”
“Don’t tell him that,” her dad said, ribbing his friend. “It’s kind of like buying a used car. You can’t tell him you love it.”
“This is why you could never match wits with me, Jae.” Mr. Goo grinned. “The special rate I’m offering Emma is actually a bribe. She’ll owe me one, so she’ll have to agree to open that gungjung yori restaurant with me someday.”
“Still, I wouldn’t sign anything until you’ve had a test run.” Her dad rubbed his jaw. “Let her use the kitchen for a night, Byoung. Maybe she could hold a group class here. What do you think, my dear?”
“Um… I…” Emma shook off her melancholy and nodded with some enthusiasm. “That actually sounds like a great idea. I could invite my friends here for a cooking party and give all the stations a workout. That is… if you’re okay with that, Mr. Goo.”
“I see no problem with it as long as you clean up after yourselves,” Mr. Goo said magnanimously, but he had the expression of a man who had hooked his prize fish. “This kitchen will perform like a dream. I’ll just go and prepare the leasing papers now.”
“Cocky bastard.” Her dad chuckled and slapped his friend on the back.
“I’ll let you know the date and time as soon as I put the party together.” Emma bowed from her waist. “Thank you, Mr. Goo.”
“No need for that.” He waved aside her gratitude. “I told you this was purely for selfish reasons.”
Emma didn’t believe that. Mr. Goo was a generous man and a good friend to her dad. She was very fortunate. She felt guilty that she wasn’t giddy with excitement. Maybe she was just worried about Michel after Sophie’s texts earlier. Yes, that must be it.
She said goodbye to her dad and Mr. Goo, who needed to hurry to make their tee time, and walked to her car. Instead of driving home, she took out her cell phone. It wasn’t like Michel to get plastered in the middle of the day. She hoped he was okay.
Emma:
How are you feeling?
No dots scrolled along the screen. She pulled into the afternoon traffic and headed home, unease gnawing at her insides. She didn’t have any lessons this evening, so she was on her own for the first time in a long while. The prospect of being alone with her thoughts made her brittle with nerves.
Emma dropped her purse on the entryway console and automatically headed toward the kitchen on slippered feet. It was past five o’clock, so she should start prepping for dinner, but the thought of cooking didn’t tempt her tonight. Her stomach lurched with a sense of wrongness. She waved aside her panic. She didn’t have to want to cook every night—even though she always wanted to cook, especially when something was bothering her.
Refusing to overthink her odd mood, she retrieved her purse and trudged up the stairs to her room. She checked her phone—no reply from Michel—and dropped it on top of her dresser. Her lack of sleep from the night before must be catching up with her.
She got a bath started, sprinkling in a generous amount of her favorite jasmine bubble bath, and went back to her room to change into a robe. The water was almost ready when she returned to the bathroom. She lit the votive candles around the tub, then blew out the long match, watching the smoke curl around the blackened tip.
Emma soaked in her bath until all the bubbles disappeared and the water turned lukewarm. She dried off listlessly and found herself rushing back to her bedroom. She’d left her cell phone in her room on purpose so she wouldn’t spend her entire bath staring at the screen, willing a text to arrive from Michel. But she lunged for her phone as soon as she walked into her bedroom, hands scrambling. Nothing .
Why would Michel get drunk in the middle of the day? Something had to be wrong, right? Was it her? Was it them? Suddenly, she was ticked off. What the hell was wrong with him? Forget it . She wasn’t doing this. Tonight, she decided, was going to be all about self-care.
First, she needed comfort food, but she didn’t feel like making anything elaborate, so ramyeon it was. Using the spiciest gochugaru she had stored in the freezer, she rendered the chili powder in some avocado oil. Next, she cut two cloves of garlic into paper-thin slices and chopped a stalk of green onion. Preparation complete, she boiled a packet of Shin Ramyeon with a poached egg, adding the sliced garlic to the broth. When the noodles were cooked to al dente perfection and the egg was just hard enough to still be runny in the middle, she turned off the stove and finished the ramyeon with a drizzle of chili oil and a handful of chopped green onions.
She ate her ramyeon with her eyes watering from the heat, slurping the noodles fast and loud. She didn’t even think she was hungry, but she picked up her bowl and drank the last drop of the soup within ten minutes.
“Ahh.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Eating spicy food was the best stress buster.
Her mouth still tingled from the heat even after she finished washing the dishes, so Emma scooped herself a giant bowl of vanilla ice cream before heading to the living room. She sank down on the couch and clicked on the TV. She planned to top off the evening by rewatching Coco . She was going to cry like a baby when Miguel sang “Remember Me” to Mama Coco. There was no better self-care than a nice, long cry.
Emma was lost in Mama Imelda’s soulful rendition of “La Llorona” when her cell phone dinged from the coffee table. She almost didn’t check her phone, but she paused the movie with an aggrieved groan.
Michel:
I’m feeling mortified but otherwise fine.
All her forgotten worries rushed back to her.
Emma:
Is everything okay?
Michel:
Yes, of course.
His response was suspiciously fast.
Emma:
I thought something was wrong…
Michel:
What could be wrong?
She wanted to call him and scream, I don’t know! You tell me! But in the end, she texted back, Haha. Nothing, I guess .
Except for the fact that he was leaving in less than a month and she loved him so much it hurt to breathe. Michel obviously didn’t have the same problem. What could be wrong? That clueless dingus. Her eyes and nose stung with impending tears. She sniffed them loudly away. Everything was okay. He’d just partied away the afternoon with his cousin. It didn’t seem like him, but she’d only known him for a little over a month. How would she know if he liked to let loose occasionally?
Emma:
The commercial kitchen was fantastic by the way. It’s everything I could’ve hoped for. I think I’m going to sign the lease agreement as soon as humanly possible.
She actually had no idea what she was going to do. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. It terrified her. The one thing she could always count on was knowing what she wanted in life. She had everything figured out. Or so she’d thought. She wasn’t certain of anything anymore.
Michel:
She stared at his flippant response and grew more furious by the minute. He couldn’t pretend to care a tiny bit more about her freaking future? Didn’t he have any follow-up questions? Wasn’t he going to beg her not to sign the lease agreement and to come to Rouleme with him?
Emma gasped so loudly that she clapped a hand over her mouth even though she was alone. Go to Rouleme with him? Where the hell did that ludicrous thought come from? But if he asked… would she go with him? And then what? Become a princess ? What about her dad? No. This line of thought could only lead to trouble.
She had to remember her original plan. Once Michel went back to Rouleme, she would marry the perfect-on-paper husband to protect Auntie Soo’s reputation and ensure the security of her own business. Emma would create a warm, secure home with her impeccably compatible match and make sure that her dad was well taken care of. That was the future she had decided on for herself.
Her godmother hadn’t mentioned once that Emma had promised to marry a man she matched her up with—that her matchmaking business depended on it. Auntie Soo just seemed genuinely happy that Emma had found someone. She couldn’t repay her godmother’s love and loyalty by scampering off to some foreign country to play princess. Not that Michel had ever implied that there could be a future for them.
A jagged fissure opened up in her heart. Enough is enough . She had to stick to her plan. That was the only way she was going to survive this.
Emma:
I’m planning a little cooking party to test out the kitchen. Will you, Sophie, and Gabriel come?
Michel:
I’ll ask them. As for me, it goes without saying that I’ll be there. I can’t wait to see your future cooking school. I know it’s going to be amazing.
The tight knot in Emma’s chest loosened a little. Of course he cared about her future. He cared about her. She would make sure that their remaining time together would be filled with enough happiness to last them a lifetime.