Free Food for Millionaires

by Min Jin Lee

  The crowds milled past them, and Casey inched closer to Ella’s side of the aisle to get out of the way.

  Ella opened her arms to embrace Casey. “I’ve missed you.”

  Casey didn’t know what to say in return, but she hugged her back. She could feel Ella’s thin shoulder blades beneath her hands.

  “How are your parents?”

  “Good,” Casey answered. “I saw them last week at their store. And spoke to them Friday. My father’s thinking about buying another building. Elder Kong found a smaller one for him. You know the other one burned down. The cost of this one is much lower, and—” She stopped abruptly. David was nodding encouragingly, but Casey remembered the primary rule about talking about money in front of people like David Greene. You shouldn’t. Money was alluded to in where you spent your holidays or your hobbies, but never in dollars and cents. She had learned all this in college. “Anyway, they’re both well.”

  “Your mom?”

  “She’s good. She even went to church today.”

  “Irene would love to see you.”

  “Oh, how is Irene?” Casey asked. “I have hats for her. I made her two for the summer. A canvas beach hat in white and a linen in a tangerine color. But summer has ended almost—”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet of you.” Ella felt happy. “Are you free for lunch? Can you come by? I wanted to call you and talk to you about the wedding. Can you come? I made a frittata last night, and we have this very good brioche from. . . Casey, please.”

  The organ music of the postlude swelled about them. Ella slipped her arm through Casey’s and led her out of the church.

  Irene ran into Casey’s arms. She showed off her sock monkey Grover. Casey made funny voices behind Grover. Irene considered the monkey seriously, understanding that the voice came from Casey, yet she talked to Grover anyway. David made Casey a Bloody Mary that was delicious.

  The dining table had already been set with four places, with white roses for centerpieces. Ella set another place.

  “Who else is coming?” Casey asked.

  “I have a confession,” Ella said. “But I didn’t tell you before because I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  Casey laughed. “Ella Shim is now conducting subterfuge? I am impressed. Divorce has been good for you.” Casey’s drink was half-gone already. She took a bite of the celery. Irene made a face when she was offered some.

  “Grover—” Irene stuck the sock monkey near the stalk.

  “Mmmm,” Casey said, pretending to be the monkey eating the celery. “Crunch, crunch.”

  Ella smiled, afraid to break the good feeling. “Unu is here.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, he’s not here right now, but he’s staying here with me. He’s had some troubles. David helped him get a job at St. Christopher’s, and he’s starting next month. Teaching statistics and pre-cal.”

  “Is he all right?” Casey asked. “He’s living here?”

  Ella nodded. “He’s much better now. I mean, he’s doing great, actually. But the gambling, Casey. You never told me. That it was serious.”

  “It wasn’t your business,” Casey snapped.

  “No, Casey, I didn’t mean that you had to tell me. I think you were respecting his privacy. I understand that. I do. I think you were right not to tell me. It wasn’t my business.”

  Casey stirred her drink with the celery stalk. What would he say when he saw her? That’s why his phone was no longer in service. He must have moved out of the apartment.

  “Where is he now?”

  “He went to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting. He’ll be back any minute. I didn’t want you to be surprised.”

  “Why are you telling me all this? It’s none of my business.”

  Casey had offered to take him to those meetings, but he had not gone. But now that he was at Ella’s, he was going. How did Ella get him to quit gambling and to get a job?

  “Maybe I should go.”

  Irene pulled at Casey’s shirt, pushing Grover into her hand. “Talk,” she said. “Make Grover talk.”

  Casey picked up Grover. “Hi, Irene. Can we eat banana cake for lunch? Yum yum yum.” She made Grover kiss Irene’s cheek.

  Irene laughed, but Casey’s mood had darkened considerably. She wanted to go back to the Gottesmans’. She’d been trying to figure out what to do with her living situation in the fall. Now both she and Unu were living in other people’s houses. It was so pathetic.

  Casey picked up her handbag.

  “I do wish you would stay,” David said. “I’ve heard so much about you. All wonderful things. I wanted to hear about your hats. Did you make the one you were wearing today?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “It’s beautiful. Ella wore the one you made for her to my mother’s birthday party. She looked marvelous in it.”

  “Oh,” Casey said. “That’s nice.”

  “Everyone said I should wear the hat all the time,” Ella said.

  Irene raised her arms, and Casey put down her drink to pick up the child. She kissed her on both cheeks, then put her down.

  Casey tapped her jacket pocket. “May I?” But she remembered her friend’s allergies. “I mean, never mind. I’ll step outside for a minute.” She didn’t want to smoke in front of Irene anyway. “I won’t be long.”

  In the backyard, Casey lit her cigarette and inhaled. White roses climbed the green trellised wall. They had faded a bit, but the smell was glorious. Irene’s toys were strewn about, and Casey felt comfortable seated on the Chinese ceramic stool. She would leave after her cigarette. Ella couldn’t really expect her to stay. What was the point of it?

  She heard the sliding glass door opening.

  “Wonder Woman, where are your cuffs?”

  Casey smiled at him. A patch of gray streaked Unu’s forelock. He looked good to her, less tired than before. He smiled at her, too.

  “I had planned on leaving after this cigarette.”

  “Am I so awful that you’d run away?”

  She shook her head no. “I’m sorry that I’m here. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Sit, please. Ella sent me out here to convince you to stay for lunch. She misses you terribly.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Do you?”

  “We’re ridiculous.”

  “Yes,” he said. “How was your summer?”

  “I got the offer.”

  “Are you going to take it?”

  “Why did you ask me that?” she asked. No one else had asked her that except for Charlie Seedham.

  “Because you hate it there.”

  “I don’t hate it.”

  “Okay, you don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it,” she said calmly.

  “In a way, it’s tragic when you can do something you don’t like,” he said.

  “Will you like teaching?” She felt like arguing with him.

  “I don’t know. But I will try it.”

  “Fair enough.” Casey hesitated for a moment before saying, “I wanted to ask you about my things.”

  “I was evicted. Your things are gone.” He had been practicing this statement in his mind for some time, not knowing exactly when he’d have to recite it. “The landlord took them and probably sold them. I’m sorry. I will pay you back.” This was one of the steps from GA—making amends or something like that.

  “Everything?” Casey put her hand to her mouth.

  “Everything.”

  “Oh. My.”

  There were no more cigarettes left in her pack. Her purse was inside the house.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “If you make a list of what you had and tell me how much it was—”

  “No.” She closed her eyes. “I guess we’re even.”

  “No. We’re not, Casey.”

  She opened her eyes and blinked, hurt by what he’d said. “I am sorry about what I did. I do regret that.”

  “And I’m sorry that I didn’t—”<
br />
  Casey shook her head. She didn’t want any apologies.

  “Hey, I have missed you.”

  Casey nodded, but she couldn’t face him. She clasped her hands together. “I don’t think I’m going to take the offer.”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t think I’m going back to business school.” The words just came out. She could never keep anything from him, though she hadn’t known this last thing herself. Unu had seen her act a fool, yet in all the time he’d known her, he hadn’t judged. Then she’d hurt him. It had meant a lot to have his respect. His company. His friendship. “I don’t think I can, Unu.”

  “Even better.” Unu reached over, his large hand enveloping hers.

  She pulled her hand away gently. There was a plastic tub of street chalk on Irene’s child-size picnic table. With yellow and green chalk, Casey drew a row of tulips on the slate-paved ground. The heads of the tall flowers resembled giant soft-boiled eggs with their shell tops cut off, their edges crimped simply.

  “Grown-up life is harder than I thought,” he said.

  “You’re not kidding.” They both chuckled.

  “Why don’t you make hats?” he said.

  She almost laughed. “There’s no money in that.”

  “Since when did you want money?”

  She stopped herself from calling him “private-school boy.”

  “Are you really not going to finish business school?” he asked.

  It sounded so much worse to hear the word finish, as if she were leaving something undone. She put down the chalk and dusted off her hands, then sat down again.

  “I just can’t see it.” She tried to imagine herself as a milliner; that was not impossible. “And the loans—”

  “It would be stupid to get into more debt if you don’t need the degree.”

  “My life has become stupid.”

  Unu moved closer to her and kissed her.

  He pulled away first.

  “Casey, you lack nothing.”

  “I am living in someone else’s guest room, and I can put all of my possessions in one suitcase. And so can you.”

  Unu didn’t flinch. “It’s temporary. I’m not ashamed of that. I’ve helped others.”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip. “You helped me.”

  “Casey, I wouldn’t want you to become one of those hard people.” He placed his hands beneath her wrists and held them gently. “They’re so bare without them.”

  Casey studied the underside of her pale wrists. Loose braids of thin blue veins ran up her arms.

  From the kitchen, Irene tapped on the glass door, despite her mother having forbidden her to disturb Uncle Unu and Aunt Casey outside. They turned to see her and waved. Irene tapped some more, smiling.

  Unu picked up a piece of purple chalk. Hunching over, he drew long stalks of grass framing her flowers.

  She fell softly on her knees and began to color in the petals, and Unu joined her on the ground and began to draw a tree.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank my superb agent Bill Clegg, who is both wise and kind. I feel fortunate to have his keen insights and steady counsel. I am grateful to Suzanne Gluck for her faith and passion, and to Matt Hudson, Matt Lewis, Alicia Gordon, Cathryn Summerhayes, Caroline Michel, Shana Kelly, Tracy Fisher, and Raffaella De Angelis for their tireless efforts on my behalf. I owe an enormous debt to my incomparable editor Amy Einhorn, whose intelligence and care shine throughout this book. I am grateful to Jamie Raab and to the marvelous Emily Griffin, who patiently answers all of my many questions. I would like to acknowledge the inspired work of Tanisha Christie and Anne Twomey. Much thanks to Chris Barba, Emi Battaglia, Judy DeBerry, Kim Dower, Linda Duggins, Randy Hickernell, Mindy Im, John Leary, Kelly Leonard, Jill Lichtenstadter, Tom McIntyre, Tareth Mitch, Martha Otis, Bruce Paonessa, Miriam Parker, Les Pockell, Jennifer Romanello, Judy Rosenblatt, Roger Saginario, Renee Supriano, William Tierney, Karen Torres, and Sona Vogel.

  A number of kindhearted and patient individuals agreed to be interviewed for a work of fiction—no small act of trust—and gave of their time to explain many difficult things to me. Thanks to Linda Ashton, Ana Bolivar, James Calver, Ben Cosgrove, Lacy Crawford, Christopher Duffy, Alexa du Pont, Stuart Ellman, Chris Gaito, Shinhee Han, Alex Hungate, Brian Kelly, Lisa Kevorkian, Alex Kinmont, Hali Lee, Jin Lee, Dr. John Mastrobattista, Christopher Mansfield, Anthony Perna, Dr. Mary Rivera-Casamento, Catherine Salisbury, and Ginee Seo.

  I am deeply grateful for the friendship of Lynn Ahrens, Jonathan Angles, Harold Augenbraum, Shawn Behlen, Susan Berger Ellman, Ayesha Bulchandani-Mathrani, Kitty Burke, Lauren Cerand, Alison and Peter Davies, Steven Fetherhuff, Sam George, Susan Guerrero, Sarah Glazer and Fred Khedouri, Wendi Kaufman, Henry Kellerman, Robin Kelly, Wendy Lamb, Diane Middlebrook, Nancy Miller, Tony and Sue O’Connor, David and Michael Ouimette, Kyongsoo Paik, Jennifer Peck, Lois Perelson-Gross, Peter Petre, Sharon Pomerantz, Iris San Guiliano, Angella Son, Sally Steenland, Lauren Kunkler Tang, Jeannette Watson Sanger, Kamy Wicoff, and Donna and Neil Wilcox.

  I’d like to thank Speer Morgan and Evelyn Somers of The Missouri Review, Carol Edgarian and Tom Jenks of Narrative Magazine, Quang Bao of the Asian American Writers Workshop, and the New York Foundation for the Arts for their invaluable support.

  I am indebted to Elizabeth Cuthrell for her intelligence, encouragement, and goodness. Robin Marantz Henig has taught me much about literary excellence and artistic community through her work and life. Elizabeth and Robin gave me a book when I didn’t have one. Bob Ouimette has offered solace in the writing of this work and continually teaches me about the meaning of friendship. Thanks to Rosey Grandison, whose love and labor permitted me to write. It was Dionne Bennett who saw this book first and whose love and insights have been indispensable to me since we were girls. Dionne, you made me believe that it was possible. Thanks to my family for their love, sacrifice, and faithfulness.

  And finally, my darling Christopher and Sam: You are my sunshine.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MIN JIN LEE went to Yale, where she was awarded both the Wright Prize for Nonfiction and the Veech Prize for Fiction. She has received the New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowship for Fiction, the Peden Prize from the Missouri Review for Best Story, and the Narrative Prize for New and Emerging Writer. Her work has also been featured on NPR’s Selected Shorts and anthologized in To Be Real (Doubleday, 1995) and Breeder (Seal Press, 2001). She lives in New York with her husband and son.