Chapter 22 #2
"Vetkoek?" Liam asked, eyeing the pot of boiling oil sitting on his pristine induction cooktop.
"Fat cakes," Chantel translated. "Fried dough. Best thing in the world. Want one?"
"I..." Liam looked at the grease splattering onto the marble counter. A small part of his OCD soul withered and died. But then he looked at Chantel’s happy face.
"Sure," Liam said. "I'll try one."
"Good! Grab a plate. Anele! Breakfast!" Chantel screamed at the top of her lungs.
Anele came sprinting out of the guest room, followed by a sleepy-looking Tracey. Emi emerged from the master bedroom, rubbing her eyes.
"Why does it smell like a Pietermaritzburg taxi rank in here?" Emi yawned.
"Chantel has seized the means of production," Liam said, holding a paper towel with a hot, oily ball of dough on it.
"Sorry, Liam," Emi winced, looking at the mess in the kitchen. "I can clean it up."
"No cleaning!" Tracey ordered, taking the coffee pot. "We eat first. Sit, Liam. You look too skinny. You need grease."
And so, the disciplined Architect sat at his own dining table, surrounded by four loud, laughing women.
The Amapiano bass shook the shark tank. The smell of curry overpowered the cedarwood.
There was shouting in Zulu, debates about American TV, and Anele trying to feed a piece of sausage to a shark through the glass.
Liam took a bite of the vetkoek. It was heavy, greasy, spicy, and absolutely delicious.
He looked around the table. Emi was laughing so hard at something Tracey said that milk was coming out of her nose.
Her eyes were bright. She looked lighter than he had ever seen her.
Liam realized he hadn't meditated, he hadn't run, and his kitchen was a disaster zone. And he had never been happier.
Tracey caught his eye across the table. She stopped laughing for a moment. She looked at Emi, then back at Liam. She gave him a small, solemn nod. Thank you.
Liam nodded back.
"So, Liam," Chantel asked, mouth full of mince. "Emi says you have a motorcycle. Can you take me for a ride?"
"Absolutely not," Tracey and Emi said in unison.
"Maybe in the parking lot," Liam whispered to Chantel with a wink.
"Yes!" Chantel cheered.
Later that afternoon, the penthouse had settled into a chaotic equilibrium. The gifts had been opened. The floor was littered with wrapping paper, new coats, scarves, and electronics. Anele was asleep on the grey sectional, clutching a new plush shark toy Liam had bought her.
Liam found Emi standing on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket, looking out at the city. The snow had stopped, leaving New York dusted in white powder. He stepped out, the cold air biting his face. He wrapped his arms around her from behind.
"Regretting the invasion?" he asked softly.
Emi leaned back against him. "Never. It’s the best Christmas I've ever had. But I am sorry about your kitchen. The grease splatter is significant."
"The kitchen can be cleaned," Liam said, resting his chin on her head. "Memories are permanent. Did you see Anele’s face when she opened the iPad?"
"I did," Emi turned in his arms. Her eyes were glistening. "You spent a fortune, Liam. The flights alone..."
"I told you," Liam said. "I'm investing in the foundation. They are your foundation, Emi. Which means they are part of mine now."
Emi reached up and touched his face. "You really are too good to be true."
"I have flaws," Liam insisted. "I secretly liked the Amapiano music. I might download it."
Emi laughed. "That's not a flaw. That's taste."
"Can I ask you something?" Liam asked, his expression turning serious.
"Anything."
"Tracey mentioned something earlier," Liam said. "When we were in the kitchen. She said she was glad you finally let go of the ghost."
Emi stiffened slightly.
"She meant Ran," Emi said quietly. "My ex."
"The one who... left?" Liam asked carefully. He remembered the story Ran had told him in the garage. The cheating. The scholarship loss. The shame.
"Yes," Emi looked out at the skyline. "He left five years ago. Just vanished. Tracey thinks I held onto him for too long. And she's right. I was waiting for an explanation that never came."
Liam felt a knot in his stomach. He knew the explanation. He knew exactly why Ran had vanished. He knew about the "cheating" (or at least, the story Ran told). He knew about the debt. He knew that Ran was currently sleeping on a mattress in a closet in Koreatown, punishing himself for exactly this.
For a moment, Liam considered telling her. He’s here. He’s fixing my bike. He’s sorry.
But then he looked at Emi’s face. She was happy. She was whole. Her family was here. The wound had finally scabbed over. If he brought up Ran now—if he dragged that ghost into this penthouse—it would shatter everything. It would ruin Christmas. It would ruin her.
Ran had made his choice. He had chosen silence to protect her. Liam decided, in that moment, to honor that choice.
Not for Ran’s sake, but for Emi’s.
"Well," Liam said, pulling her closer, shielding her from the wind and the truth. "No ghosts here. Only us. And a very loud teenager frying dough in my kitchen."
Emi smiled, the shadow passing from her face. "Only us."
"Come inside," Liam said. "I think Chantel is threatening to teach the sharks how to dance."
"Oh god," Emi laughed. "We better stop her."
They walked back inside, sliding the glass door shut against the cold. Inside, the penthouse was warm, bright, and filled with the noisy, messy, beautiful sound of family.
Liam watched them all for a moment—Emi hugging Anele, Tracey scolding Chantel. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of curry and pine. This, he thought, is the best structure I have ever built.
And miles away, in a cold garage in Korea Town, Queens, a mechanic sat alone with a sandwich, unaware that the woman he loved was laughing just across the river, surrounded by the family he had once hoped to call his own.
The city was big, but the circles were closing.
For now, though, the snow covered everything, keeping the secrets buried deep until the thaw.