by Maurene Goo
In the portrait, we were posed in classic triangle family-photo pose. My dad standing behind my mother, who was seated, holding me in her lap. My dad was wearing a deep burgundy sweater and that gray newsboy cap, a thick lock of hair showing dashingly through. His hands were resting awkwardly on my mom’s shoulder and his smile was one of pain more than joy, a toothy grimace. I was four and wearing a cat-print dress with my hair curled and tied back with bright yellow ribbons, eyes shut tight and mouth open in the middle of some silent-horror-movie scream.
A true parade of pain until you panned over to my mother. In the midst of all the awkward and bad, the chaos stopped and froze around her delicate frame. Her long, soft hair framed a face with sparkling, amused eyes and a wide grin showed off a set of teeth that never had to see braces. Intelligence and good humor radiated from her.
“I see you get your charms from your father,” Luca said drily. I hit him. He stood back and looked at the photo a while longer. He glanced at me and smiled shyly, the first shy-anything I’d ever seen on him. “She was really pretty.”
She was pretty. I felt a constriction in my chest and a familiar gnawing. Not necessarily because I missed my mom—I did, but just a bit. My memories really were hazy. Rather, it was something I felt for my dad, for the loss that our little family suffered so long ago.
“Yeah, she was,” I said matter-of-factly.
Luca grinned. “How did your dad end up snagging her?”
I elbowed him and straightened up, moving away from my desk. “What do you mean! My dad’s a total catch.”
“Don’t get me wrong, your dad’s cool. But your mom was a total fox. Dr. Fox.” He waggled his eyebrows.
I sat on the edge of my bed. “Yeah, well, my dad was a fox, too, back in the day. Their love story is ridiculous.”
He sat down next to me. “Oh, yeah? Tell me.”
We were sitting close and I felt every hair on my body stand on end. My right hand was numb from holding the peas to my head. “Well, they met in high school and she was the most popular, smartest girl in class. And my dad was a total punk.”
“Wow, high school sweethearts?”
“Yep. They fell in love, and of course my mom’s snobby, fancy parents didn’t approve, so it was this whole star-crossed-lovers thing throughout high school and even when she was in college. They shipped her off to the U.S. for med school, hoping that would end things.”
Luca was rapt. “Wow, that’s extreme.”
“Total dramatic-parents-type behavior. But it didn’t work because my dad just saved up money working and followed her. Here, to California. When her parents found out they were living together, they disowned her and my dad worked as a mechanic to pay for her tuition. And when they got married, my grandparents finally caved and took her back.” I always held those disowned years over my grandparents. I had met them a couple of times but I got the distinct feeling that I only reminded them of painful memories. They sent me fancy Korean beauty products every birthday and a check, and that was pretty much my only interaction with them.
“Your parents’ story is right out of a movie,” Luca said. “I think my parents met on a blind date.”
I finally dropped the peas from my head; my arm was getting tired. “Yeah. My dad’s never even considered dating since she died.”
“Really? Wow, it must have been total heartbreak,” Luca said with a little smile.
I flinched. “He doesn’t need to date anyone, though. He has me!” I laughed.
Luca gave me serious side-eye.
And then I felt the ol’ flailure specter hanging over me. “We’re like two peas in a pod. Happy as clams.” Please, more food analogies, Des. “We don’t need anyone else.” Those words landed in the room with a thud. What’s hotter than hearing a girl talk about how all she needs is her father and no one else?
When I finally gathered the nerve to look up at Luca, his strange expression said it all. And then the late-afternoon sunlight created a Michael Bay–esque lens flare and I could practically hear our Korean love ballad blast in jarringly in the background. “You okay?” he asked suddenly, dark eyes concerned, mouth set into a frown.
Oops, I guess I had just been staring at him. I nodded. “Yep, just fine and dandy.” Ugh, why.
He laughed his honky little laugh, and his face cracked into a wide smile. “Okeydokey then!” Pretty good impression of my dad. Then his eyes dimmed. “Sorry, I should have been driving more carefully.”
My heart melted into a pool of guilt. “You couldn’t have seen those nails. Don’t be sorry,” I said in a low voice. Was that sexy? Too sexy? Ah! How did people do this?!
His eyes met mine and suddenly … suddenly it felt real. I wasn’t faking this, this intensity I was feeling. And damned if he wasn’t shooting intensity right back at me. The wounded-damsel act—holy effective romance enhancer. This was it. Kiss time. Holy crap.
A wave of heat passed between us—the vibration of our bodies’ atoms and molecules transferring heat. Yep, just like conduction heat transfer, Desi. Very romantic.
And then he blinked. And the moment passed as quickly as it had come. He straightened up and took off his beanie, running his hands through his hair. A gesture I now recognized as a nervous habit. Then a door slammed downstairs and my dad’s voice echoed through the house. “Desi! I am back!” I scrambled off the bed.
“Appa’s home!” I chirped, pushing Luca out of my bedroom. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
He hesitated just long enough for me to feel embarrassed. Was that too bold? Too lame to ask him to have dinner with my dad and me? But before I could backpedal, he nodded. “Sure!” I bit back a smile as we headed downstairs.
STEP 14:
Lock That Baby In with a Kiss! Finally. Maybe.
When we got to the kitchen my dad was washing his hands in the sink. “Okay, Luca, your car needs new transmission. But also, oh boy, lots of other problems, sorry to say. It got very damaged and it’s already kind of old thing, right?”
Luca nodded. “It was my mom’s car before I started driving it. And I’m one hundred percent sure she didn’t really take care of it.” He looked at us quickly, self-conscious for some reason. “I mean, she’s not irresponsible or anything—she just wasn’t ever interested in things like taking care of the car.”
“Sounds kinda different from your dad,” I said, pulling out scallions, thinly sliced brisket, tofu, and eggs from the refrigerator.
He leaned back on the counter and nodded. “Yeah, they couldn’t be more different.”
I opened the pantry to grab three packs of ramen.
“Ramen?” Luca asked, voice laced with doubt.
“Yup, food of the gods.” I handed my dad a pot, which he immediately filled with water. Once it was filled, we swapped—I placed the pot on the gas stove and he took the tofu and scallions from me. A cutting board was already set on the counter ready for him, swiftly placed there by me while he had been filling the pot. He started chopping while I cracked the eggs open over a metal mixing bowl.
“You guys are like a well-oiled machine,” Luca said with admiration. He straightened up and stood in the center of the kitchen, looking uncertain and shy. “Can I help?”
Helpful, obedient Luca was a whole other world of charm. Whipping the eggs, I looked around. “Hm, I think we have it covered.” Then I remembered something. I took a hard-boiled egg from a Tupperware container of them we kept in the fridge, still nice and cold, and handed it to him. “For your future black eye,” I said with a smile.
His hand reached for the welt on his face instinctively and my dad walked over to Luca and peered at his face. Then he laughed, really loud. “That’s just baby black eye! You’ll be okay, tough boy.”
Luca managed to look embarrassed about his wimpiness for a second before staring at the egg curiously. “What do I do with this?”
My dad took it and placed it under Luca’s eye, then repositioned his hand so that his palm was open and holding the egg i
n place. Then he rolled it slowly on the area where he was hurt. Luca was very still and, I guessed by his strained facial expression, just a teeny bit weirded out. “Asian-style remedy to help with black eye,” my dad said sagely.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. My dad was totally milking this ancient oriental act. “Okay, Appa, I think he gets the picture. He can probably take over now.”
My dad shrugged and walked away, leaving Luca to stand there rolling the egg under his eye awkwardly.
“Since I’m clearly useless, can I learn how to make this masterpiece then?” he asked, stepping over next to me and subtly placing the egg on the counter. Luca’s physical proximity always released something purely chemical in me, and I stepped back slightly so that I wouldn’t turn into a malfunctioning giggly twit in my dad’s presence. I’m sure he didn’t find this unusual at all—a random hot guy hanging out at our house.
“Why are you making scrambled eggs?” he asked.
Cutie dum-dum. “Not scrambled. These are going to go in the broth near the very end. They’ll cook and make the soup all nice and thick.”
“I like lot of eggs but Desi she gets stomach problems if too many,” my dad said helpfully, tossing the sliced scallions and tofu into the boiling water. I dropped in the thin slices of brisket right after. Really, Appa? Let’s talk about my bowel movements some more. I gave him a furtive look and he shrugged innocently.
Luca smiled. “Learned the hard way?”
My dad guffawed and nodded his head vigorously. “Exactly right!”
They both laughed and I continued to beat my eggs into a frenzy. “Ha-ha,” I said. “Hey Luca, can you open the ramen packages, then hand me the noodles?”
Luca tore open the packages and handed me the rectangles of dehydrated noodles. “I used to eat these ‘raw’ as an after-school snack,” I said proudly.
I felt a knuckle grind the back of my head. My dad gave me a look, too. “Don’t remind me.” I laughed, then focused back on the ramen. “So watch carefully, Caucasian lad, this is how you make our superspecial ramen.” I dropped the noodles into the water and then started breaking them apart gently with chopsticks. In the meantime my dad was grabbing a jar of kimchi from the refrigerator.
Luca was watching us intently, like he was actually fascinated by this entire procedure.
“We only use a little of these powdery seasoning packets,” I said, shaking one and then ripping it open and pouring its contents into the pot. “We’ll save the other ones for later,” I said while sweeping them aside. “The real goodness comes from here.” My dad tipped the kimchi jar ever so slightly over the pot so that a bit of the juice dribbled into the soup. Everything boiled deliciously.
“Want to do the honor of pouring the eggs in?” I asked Luca.
He nodded and grabbed the metal bowl and was about to tip them in when he hesitated. “Wait, so like this?” It actually felt very nice to be showing Luca how to do something.
“Yes, the whole thing, dump it in.” As soon as he did, I started mixing the eggs around with my chopsticks. “This is basically done; the eggs will continue to cook.” My dad had already started setting silverware and bowls out onto our tiled kitchen counter where we ate most of our meals.
I turned off the stove and set the boiling pot onto a cat-shaped trivet. “Ta-da! This is how fancy Korean folk eat.”
Luca clapped. “Epic. Really.”
We made eye contact and I grinned. I couldn’t help it. He grinned right back and for a second I forgot my dad was two inches away from me.
My dad settled on a stool at the edge of the counter and waved Luca over. “Sit down and eat before it gets cold!” I placed a small dish of kimchi on the counter as the final piece and we sat down.
“Cheers,” Luca said, holding up his chopsticks. I clicked them with my own, my dad reaching over to join us.
* * *
“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Lee,” Luca said as he stood up from lacing his shoes. He held out his hand.
My dad looked amused as he took it. “No problem. You’re good at doing dishes, so you can come over every day!” He laughed and I joined in nervously. Ha-ha, Appa. Ha-ha.
“Drive safe,” my dad said sternly as we stepped out.
I patted his arm. “I will.”
He stood in the doorway watching us as we got into the Buick. As I backed out of the driveway he waved at us, a dark and sturdy silhouette against the warm foyer lights.
Luca waved back and I gave a little honk. It was silent for a while as we drove down the dark streets, lit in neat intervals by faux gas lamps.
“So where do you live?” I asked.
“On Marisol—it’s a little north of the cove,” he said, sticking his arm out the window, letting his fingers drift idly along the waves of the breeze. “You and your dad … It’s killer to witness.”
The radio played quietly in the background, something kinda Johnny Cash. “What do you mean?” I asked. My eyes stayed on the wide, pristine road.
“That kind of relationship. The way you guys are. I’ve never seen anyone like that with their parents.” He was complimentary but there was something sad hanging on the edges of his words, as if this nice thing highlighted the crappy thing in his own life.
“Do you get to see your mom often?” I ventured gingerly. The music switched to something distinctly Elton John.
The breeze whipped through the car, lifting our hair, our voices. He nodded his head. “Yeah, she kind of freaks out if she doesn’t see me at least a couple of times a month. I spent a few days over holiday break with her.” His voice was wistful rather than annoyed like most teenage boys’ would be talking about their mothers. He glanced at me. “I bet you find that weird.”
I shrugged. “I get it. I’m an only child, too, remember? We’re not weird.”
He pressed his index fingers into a little steeple between his nose and mouth. When he spoke, his voice came out muffled. “You are weird. I know you think you’re normal—but you’re weird.”
I fiddled with the radio. “Hm.”
“Everyone’s weird, though. If you’re not even a little weird, you are truly weird. In that bad way. Not in the good way.”
“Uh, did we suddenly get high without me knowing?”
“I’m serious!” Luca’s voice took on a jovial tone. His guard down, just completely earnest. It reminded me of when he’d talked about his art project. The only time Luca seemed to wake up from his lazy-cool-guy slumber. “You know what I mean. People who have absolutely no weird in them, they’re so boring it’s creepier than anything a weirdo can do. Like, actually, when I first met you, I thought maybe you were of that variety.”
We stopped at a red light and I braked sharply. “Gee, thanks.”
“I said when I first met you.”
I looked over at him. “Ha! And now? After seeing me in my natural environment you realize that I am a special, special snowflake?”
He practically cackled with glee. “More like—I realize you’re human. With a lot of hilarious trophies.”
I’m sure he meant despite my trophies. But when I glanced over at him he smiled. “It just adds to the appeal.”
My pulse quickened. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s nice to know you’re a little odd. Otherwise you’re so…”
I tensed up—I knew what he was going to say. “Let me guess … controlling? Uptight? Crazy?”
He smiled at me in that bratty way only he could get away with. “Well, as long as you’re aware—”
“Listen. Do you know what being in control does? It gets stuff done. Do you think I was good at soccer when I started? No, I sucked. I tripped over the ball the whole first season. But I forced myself to practice—morning fitness runs, days hitting the ball against my fence, nights studying YouTube clips. Until one day, I was good. Really good.”
He held up his hands in defense. “I believe you, Des. You win at soccer! It’s just, I mean, you know you can’t control
everything?”
I gripped my steering wheel. “Why does everyone say that? You can.”
“No, you can’t. You of all people should know that.”
The car lurched forward as I accelerated when the light turned green. “What does that mean?” I asked calmly, knowing exactly what he meant—my mom.
I felt his discomfort from my side of the car. He shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. “I just mean, look, shit happens in life. You’ll only drive yourself crazy trying to control everything. That energy could be expended on other things…”
The breeze coming in through the open windows cooled me off somewhat. “Like what? Living life to the fullest?” I scoffed.
“Something like that…” His voice trailed off in a strange way. A few seconds later, he pointed out the window. “Hey, you can pull over here.”
The beach parking lot we pulled into was empty. “Do you live near here?” I looked around at the large homes lining the street across from the beach.
“Yeah.”
I put the car in park and looked at him, but his head was turned away, gazing out the window. And then, before I could blink, in one purposeful swift motion—he took off his seat belt, reached over the space between us, and pulled my head toward his.
Lips met mine, soft, a little chapped, and warm. My eyes were open in true K drama heroine fashion. What in the world? My mind was registering what was going on, but my heart was going berserk, running in circles. FIRST KISS, an alarm was blaring. MOTHER OF DRAGONS, THIS IS MY FIRST REAL KISS. Was I doing it right? Oh my God, was I supposed to open my mouth now? Wait, close your eyes first, you freaking creep. Okay, eyes closed. Now wait, do I breathe? Aaaaaah.
But then everything stopped and the world was muffled—the waves were silenced and the car around us disappeared. My chaotic inner world just froze. And Luca and I were alone, suspended in space. My lips parted and his fingers brushed the back of my neck. All that existed was that hand and the mixing of our breaths.
For the life of me, I couldn’t tell you how long the kiss was, but then it was over as abruptly as it had started. The hand left my neck, leaving it cold. I touched my fingers to my lips and looked up. Our dazed eyes locked. Luca looked perplexed for a second, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed.
