Flesh & Blood

by A. E. Dooland

  That worried me. It meant she didn’t know them and their reactions as well as she thought she did.

  “Thank god!” she said, throwing her hands skyward. “Okay! Let’s go greet them!” She led me on shaky legs back down the hallway towards the door, before swinging it open to two people walking slowly up the dark path. “Hi, guys! You’re finally here! Was it bad traffic or something?”

  A man’s voice answered in Serbian. It didn’t sound like an apology, even though they were more than half an hour late.

  I felt like I might actually be visibly shaking, but I forced a polite smile onto my lips as if I was relaxed and pleased to see them anyway. Bree’s Mum stepped into the light, giving me a tight smile as she walked past us into the house, but Bree’s father stopped in the doorway to quite obviously size me up. He was a lot shorter than me, but, just like Andrej had been, was stockier. He was fair like Bree and her mother, with greying temples and a thick, long moustache on his upper lip. That moustache and his equally thick eyebrows made it difficult for me to tell what expression he was making. It was unnerving.

  Bree seemed unaffected. “Dad, this is Min Lee, my boyfriend,” she said cheerfully, presenting me. “Min, this is my dad!”

  He held his hand out to shake, and I took it. The skin on his hands was rough like Rob’s; he was wearing a pair of dirty tradie overalls, so I guess that explained it. “Dragan,” he said, with the same thick accent Bree’s Mum had. “Huh, you’re tall. I guess that’s why you need the car you have.”

  I had no idea what to make of that. It didn’t feel like a compliment as much as an observation, but there was also sorts of hidden barbs in it; not just tall, but taller than he expected—that’s what he meant, wasn’t it? Did he mean in general, or because all he knew about me was that I was Asian? And why did he mention my car and make a weak justification about why I needed it? To suggest I didn’t need such a good car? It felt... cold, unwelcoming. I felt immediately like I was trespassing, and his heavy brow and wide moustache did nothing to comfort me. I just nodded politely at him, because what else could I do? “Pleased to meet you,” I said in my deepest, most gender-neutral voice.

  Mrs Dejanovic said something short to him in Serbian as she went up the stairs and he replied just as shortly, and stepped past me inside the door, dumping a stack of letters on the hall table which Bree immediately dived into. Then, he half-turned back to me, giving me a thoughtful look. “Your English is good,” he commented, like he found that fact incredibly surprising.

  “Thank you,” I said, instead of ‘of course it’s good, I was actually born here’, as he turned and walked up the hallway, presumably to go get changed.

  “Don’t be long, dinner’s already probably cold!” Bree called absently over her shoulder at him, wrist deep searching through the mail. He grunted in reply and disappeared up the stairs.

  Then, we were alone again.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” I whispered to Bree, glancing after him to make sure he couldn’t hear me. “I think your father doesn’t like me.”

  “Nah, he’s just tired and grumpy, he’s been at work since 6am. He’ll be nicer when he can sit down and relax,” she said easily, and then held up an envelope with the Cloverfield Ladies’ crest on it. “Here it is! This will be my login info for the portal so I can get my assignment results. Oh my god!” She tore into it and yanked out the letter, running her eyes over it as she took her phone out of the pocket in her apron again. “I can’t wait to see what I got!”

  Once she’d entered the details from the letter into the login fields, the results page wouldn’t load. I tried on my phone, but no dice. “It’s probably some sort of code that doesn’t work on mobiles,” I suggested.

  Bree pulled a face. “That, or it actually isn’t available until tomorrow after all,” she said, and then groaned. “That sucks! I wanted to announce it at dinner! Oh well,” she said, stuffing the letter into her apron pocket and heading back to the kitchen. “Let’s set up.”

  She pulled me back into the kitchen and gave me a breadboard and a bread knife to hold while she retrieved the steaming fresh bread from the oven and plonked it on the board. Grabbing a bottle of Chardonnay out of the fridge—a good one, I noticed—she bustled me down the hall to a room at the end of it. It was the dining room, and Bree had clearly spent some time decorating it.

  There was a heavy antique dining table in the centre of the room, and Bree had draped a pristine white tablecloth in a diamond-shape across it. Four places were set, with the traditional two of everything I remembered from Hollywood movies: two knives, two spoons, two plates, and two chairs either side of the table so we’d all face each other. There were four beautiful big crystal wine glasses by each of the four set places, and towards either end of the table were two big crystal vases with a bunch of lush green foliage in them. It looked beautiful, quite professional, and like she’d gone to a lot of effort. I was impressed.

  “Put the bread in the middle,” Bree instructed me as she set the wine aside. I followed her instructions, and then we both stood back. She clutched my hand tightly. “What do you think?” she asked. “Will it do the trick?”

  She was making me nervous. “Why do we need tricks?”

  She pushed me with her shoulder. “Silly, it’s a figure of speech.” There were footsteps on the stairs. “Oh!” Bree said, leaping into action and ushering me around to the other side of the table and positioning me in front of a chair. She quickly peered down her front to make sure there was nothing on her apron, and then jogged over and stood hospitably by the door to welcome whoever it was.

  Bree’s mum wandered in and then stopped in her tracks when she saw the table. Bree took a breath, eyes wide, desperately anticipating her reaction. Mrs Dejanovic didn’t say anything about the table, though, she just gestured at it and asked Bree a question in Serbian.

  “You can sit anywhere,” Bree told her, and then helpfully pulled out a chair for her. A bit confused by the ceremony, Mrs Dejanovic thanked her. “What do you think of the table?” Bree prompted.

  She nodded at her daughter. “It’s nice,” she said simply.

  It seemed like a bit of a hollow compliment, but Bree melted at it. “I thought you’d like it!” she said, excitement creeping into her voice. “When I was pruning the roses out the front, I had to cut off so much foliage, so I thought, ‘why don’t I use that instead of actual roses?’ and it looks really pretty, I think. And with the black table and the white cloth, the green really brings some life to it.”

  I thought that was a pretty good colour analysis, but Mrs Dejanovic was literally just nodding politely at her, the way you’d nod at a child so you didn’t hurt their feelings.

  I don’t think Bree noticed. “And then I found the crystal vase in the dining room cupboard, and we haven’t used that since the last time we—” Heavy footsteps on the stairs stopped her mid-sentence and she hurriedly stood up straight.

  Mr Dejanovic came into the dining room, looking just as cross as he had at the door. He was also fiddling irritably with the cuffs of a white dress shirt he’d put on; he obviously hadn’t worn it for a while because it was tight around his stomach. He didn’t look very comfortable in it. “Vera,” he said to Bree’s mum to get her attention, and then presented his arm for her to turn up his troublesome sleeve. She did so, and then he sat down. “That’s better,” he said, and then looked forward at his empty plate.

  “Oh!” Bree said, and then hurriedly grabbed the wine bottle and started pouring us all wine, one by one. “Did you have a nice day at work?” she asked them.

  Mr Dejanovic grunted again. “We finished our order on time,” he said. “So there’s that.”

  “What do you do?” I asked politely.

  “I’m a welder at the Radic factories out west,” he said, and I nodded like I had any idea where that was, “been there for nearly twenty years.” That was pretty impressive, so I didn’t have to manufacture a reaction to it.

  “Mum
does the books there, too,” Bree told me, half-filling my glass with Chardonnay. “But they usually work different shifts. And then she cleans the local high school at night.” Mrs Dejanovic looked very sharply at Bree, as if Bree shouldn’t have told me that. “What?” Bree said, indignant. “Min’s mum was a cleaner as well.”

  Both her parents looked at me for confirmation. “She used to work nights, too,” I said. “And very early mornings. There’s no cleaning work during the day.”

  Mr Dejanovic looked like he didn’t believe me. “She bought you that car on a cleaner’s salary?”

  My eyebrows went up. “No, no,” I told him. “I bought it for myself—or rather, I borrowed the money myself.”

  He still seemed incredulous. “What does a boy your age do that pays for a car like that?” Without waiting for my answer, he turned to Bree and said something very stern to her.

  She looked very amused, which didn’t seem like an appropriate reaction to the tone of voice he’d used. “Oh my god, Dad, no,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He’s not a criminal. As if I don’t have enough problems.” She finished filling her own glass and looked over us to make sure we all looked settled. “Okay,” she said, as if her dad hadn’t just called me a criminal. “I’m going to go and get the first course!”

  Then, she went to the kitchen and left me alone with them.

  Mr Dejanovic was still watching me like a hawk from under those thick eyebrows. “So what do you do that pays for that car, and,” he gestured at his neck and then towards where Bree had gone, “that nice jewellery you bought Briana?”

  I grimaced. “I used to work for Frost International. For five years—well, four, really, plus a graduate internship. I finished up in April.”

  They were both squinting at me. Then, they glanced at each other and had a short exchange in Serbian. At the end of it, Mr Dejanovic was frowning and shaking his head. He waved vaguely towards his wife. “Apparently Vera knew you were older, but no one tells me anything around here. 26, isn’t it?” I nodded, bracing for some sort of disapproving reaction, but it never came. That was odd; you’d think parents would care about such a big age gap. “Why did you leave Frost?” he asked, instead. “Half the men I work with would give a kidney to work for that lot.” He paused, looking a bit sceptically at me. “Although, I think I just figured out why none of us ever get hired.”

  That felt…wow. Wow, I didn’t know if that was racist, or ageist, or whether he meant because I was wealthy—which he clearly assumed I was—but, yeah, wow. I mean, it was possible he was implying something less horrible, but I couldn’t think what it would be. It felt really racist, in an Asians Take All Our Jobs way. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, either. Not without ruining this whole dinner Bree had set up.

  I tried to forget about it. “I wanted to go back to university to do my master’s,” I told him, avoiding the whole saga about why I’d left. Then, because apparently I couldn’t just forget about it, I added, “But you can tell your co-workers that there’s probably a job going in Marketing if any of them are interested.” I smiled warmly to hide the fact I was having a subtle jab at him.

  He didn’t notice at all; in fact, he laughed like I’d said something funny. “On second thought, you can keep your job,” he said. “I couldn’t sit at a computer all day like Vera does. I’d go crazy, and this stupid thing is very uncomfortable.” He pulled at the tight collar of his shirt. “What master’s are you studying?”

  Here we go. I braced for it. “Fine Arts,” I said, and then quickly added, “I used art so much in Marketing I decided to specialise in it. I haven’t started in the studios just yet, though. I’ll start my research period in October.”

  While I was explaining it, Bree very carefully ferried in a tray with four bowls on it. All of them had some sort of thick soup in them, and the smell was delicious. She noticed her parents’ frowns. “You know all those paintings on the wall in my room?” she asked them. “Min did them all. Aren’t they beautiful? I used to follow him on this website called Deviant Art for years and, like, always secretly admire him and think that his art was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. Like, he doesn’t just do one style of painting, either—although he likes environments—but he can pretty much do anything you want, and…” When she realised Mr Dejanovic was giving her a very bored look from under his heavy brow, she took a little breath, flushing bright red and looking down. “Sorry, I’m talking too much again.”

  He looked back at me as she put soup in front of him. “You quit a job at Frost International to paint pictures?” he asked rhetorically. I could see where this was heading; I was beginning to realise I could tell a lot about a person by their reaction to the fact I was studying art. Before I could respond, he elbowed his wife playfully. “Oi, Vera,” he said, “I think I’m going to quit my job at the factory and go back to singing, what do you think?”

  She smiled at that. “I know you’re joking, but you should.”

  Bree sat down beside me, still smarting from being chastised. “Dad’s a really good singer,” she said, and there was something a bit over the top about it. It felt forced. “You should sing for us, Dad!”

  Instead of being delighted at all the compliments, he just looked really upset and frustrated for a moment. It passed. “There’s nothing to sing about,” he told us. “Besides, I’m definitely not drunk enough yet. In fact…” He held up his glass, and when Bree and Mrs Dejanovic did as well, I realised I was supposed to copy them. He said a few words in Serbian which the other two repeated, and then everyone drank, so I did, too. Despite the good wine, Mr Dejanovic didn’t take a sip to taste. He downed his full glass in one go. “That’s better,” he said, and looked quizzically down at his food, which was garnished with parsley.

  Bree hurriedly swallowed her mouthful of wine. “Oh! It’s lobster bisque,” she told us, presenting it. “Enjoy!”

  I inhaled the steam coming from the bowl. Despite how nervous I was, it made my mouth water. “It smells great.”

  Mr Dejanovic didn’t look so impressed. “Well, at least it’s warm,” he said, taking a spoonful.

  Bree looked hopefully at Mrs Dejanovic, but she was just quietly sipping it, looking down at the bowl. She pulled a face. “It’s a bit too thick,” she said, more gently than her husband had. “It makes the salt too strong. Do we have milk?”

  Bree’s lips pressed in a tight line. “I used it all.” She didn’t explain why that had happened.

  Mrs Dejanovic nodded, and then looked back at her food, resting her spoon on the plate and pushing it away a little. She said something in Serbian.

  “Oh…” I watched Bree visibly deflate. Well,” she conceded as best she could, “I suppose this is only the entrée. The best part is the main course, you’ll definitely love that. I can’t wait to show you guys, I’ve been working on getting it just right for ages!”

  Paying exactly zero attention to Bree, Mr Dejanovic asked me as soon as he’d finished his mouthful, “Do you have a part-time job as well as your studies?” I shook my head. “Well, we always have apprenticeships going at Radic. They’re not cushy office jobs like your last one, though: they’re real, good old fashioned hard work. But they’re honest and they pay the bills. Just speak to me and I’ll fix you up.”

  His offer was probably genuine—which I suppose in itself was a nice thing to do—but everything about how he spoke and how he just assumed I had a ‘cushy office job’ was so insulting. Everything he said felt full of booby-traps and snares, like he was completely unable to say something that was just friendly and nice. And he fidgeted, and grumbled, and that frown of his... With his eyebrows and moustache, it looked so menacing. He was like a caged animal snapping at the fingers of its handlers.

  He was every single bit the way Bree had always described him, which just left me asking one question: why was I here?

  Still, I needed to acknowledge his offer. “Thank you, I appreciate it,” I told him, privately thinking there was no way
in hell I’d work with Mr Dejanovic. I didn’t leave one toxic job with one toxic boss just to jump straight into another. Honestly, I’d rather starve.

  He nodded. “I’ve been telling Briana to get a job for two years,” he said, still in that friendly, amicable tone. “Since she seems to have a lot of time on her hands, hey, Briana? Making all this fancy food?” She opened her mouth to explain, but he didn’t even give her the opportunity to speak before continuing. “When I was a boy, I had to work in my father’s shop from when I was nine, there was no making excuses about school or study back then, you just fit it in! Vera was working on her farm as soon as she could hold a shovel. Here, this country gives kids the wrong idea. They think the world owes them something from when they are born. They think other people should be doing things for them, instead of the other way around. The country ruins kids. I have two adults in my house: one who thinks everything belongs to him, and another who thinks just showing up at school is enough.” He shook his head. “I should send them back to my brother at home so they could have a real taste of the world.”

  I looked across at Bree. Her eyes were glazed.

  “I bet it’s not like this where you’re from,” he said, and I realised he was talking to me. I looked back at him, and he clarified, “Asians. Chinese, all of those. You people know hard work. I bet kids have got it right back in your home country, eh?”

  I was very tempted to let him know that back where I was from in the far off distant land of Melbourne, it was actually very similar to here. I didn’t, though. If I was going to have a shot at coming out to him at some point, I needed to play nice. Sighing internally, I said, “My mother tells me kids study long hours in South Korea and don’t generally have jobs.” Actually, that was one of the reasons she cited about never letting me have a job when I was studying. ‘Don’t I give you everything you ask for?’ she’d say whenever I mentioned getting one. It was like being in the twilight zone, hearing a parent pushing their teenager into work.