I Believe in a Thing Called Love

by Maurene Goo

  “Watch out!” I yelped, instinctively covering my eyes with my hands. Then I felt something heavy smash into my torso—something heavy but gentle. I opened my eyes to see Luca’s right arm stretched across me. Doing the Mom-arm seat belt. Before I could register how adorable that was, I actually found myself being thrown back into my seat by the Mom-arm seat belt. And then a giant boom as the air bags went off in the blink of an eye, smashing me in the forehead.

  There were a few seconds of silence as the air bags immediately started to deflate. Then I felt Luca’s arm move, on my lap where it had landed. He felt around, his hand grasping my thigh before stopping abruptly. “Are you okay?” I heard his muffled voice. I was still looking straight ahead, trying to register what had happened.

  I nodded, stunned but feeling okay.

  “Desi?” I heard slight panic in his voice and turned to look at him, his head also back against his seat, but turned toward mine. Dark eyes worried, beanie askew.

  I blinked a few times, seeing actual stars. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?” I asked.

  He also nodded, looking as stunned as me. “Yeah, but I think…” He felt under his left eye where a giant welt was forming. I winced for him, feeling very terrible for causing it. For some reason, in all my machinations, minor car accident never actually involved real injuries.

  He fumbled with the visor, popping it down and looking in the mirror. “Am I going to get a black eye?!” he screeched as he started to inspect his face. He let out a whimper when he touched the spot where it was tender. I was about to tease him except that this injury actually did look painful.

  We got out of the car and circled it. Other than the popped tire, it looked like his transmission had been dislodged after the car jumped the curb. Crap, way more damage than I had anticipated.

  I felt really shitty.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Should we go to the hospital?” I fretted while looking at Luca’s eye again.

  “I think it’s fine … I’m going to call a tow, though. I don’t think we can drive this thing. Can you go talk to those people who are coming out of their houses and tell them we’re okay?” he asked, already on his phone. I looked around and saw a few people coming over to see what was going on. Ugh.

  After I had reassured everyone that we were fine and had called for help, I suddenly heard a very familiar honk. Two short staccatos followed by one long blare.

  I turned around slowly to see my dad in his garage’s tow truck—Towjam, as it was endearingly dubbed. Noooo!

  “Uh, who did you call for a tow?” I asked, my voice high-pitched.

  “Papa’s Auto Shop, why?”

  Lord. I closed my eyes. How in God’s name did he pick my dad’s auto shop of all the auto shops in Monte Vista, in all the world. “Um, it’s just that—”

  “Desi?!” my dad shouted out the window. Oh no. I felt light-headed as I watched him park the truck wildly. Shit, shit, shit. I waved and smiled, so he would immediately know I was fine. “Hi!” I hollered. Luca looked at me and then at my dad. My heart was beating like crazy and I was breaking into a sweat.

  “Are you okay?” Luca asked, that little furrow showing up between his eyes.

  I shook my head. “No, that’s my dad. And he’s probably freaking out!”

  He looked confused. “But it was just a little accident?”

  “Yeah, and my mom just died from a pulmonary embolism is all,” I snapped.

  His eyes grew wide but he looked confused. “What does that have to do with—”

  Before I could say anything else, my dad was already hopping out of the truck and rushing up to me. His face was white with fear. “Desi! Did you get into an accident? Are you okay? What happened?” His frenzied line of questioning made my heart lurch and I kept my smile pasted on my face.

  “I’m fine, Appa. Just a small fender bender. Everyone’s okay.”

  The worry eased from his forehead, and I felt myself relax slightly as well. He started inspecting my head, not noticing Luca yet.

  “Um, Appa, this is my friend Luca.”

  My dad shot me the briefest of looks before turning to greet Luca. “Hi, Desi’s friend. I’m her dad.”

  Luca held his hand out. “Nice to meet you.” Then he quickly added, “I’m really sorry about the accident.”

  My dad took Luca’s hand. “No need for sorry, accidents are called accidents because they’re not on purpose, right?” Then he suddenly yanked Luca in close. “What happened to your eye? You hurt?”

  Luca touched his eye, and I knew that he wanted to wince but he kept his expression cool. “Oh no, just a little bruise.”

  My dad squinted for a second, then patted Luca’s arm heartily. “Okay, you tough boy!” Then he walked over to the car. “Okeydokey, so, whatchu going on here?” He started doing the mechanic crouch, bending over and shuffling around the car, peering under it carefully. I noted that relief seemed to wash over Luca, and I was touched by his (unnecessary) guilty conscience.

  “Looks like you ran over some nails in the road,” my dad said, holding up a couple in his hand. Oh brother. “What the heck are they doing here? Like cartoon?” he said, looking up and grinning broadly at us. I laughed weakly.

  Luca crouched down next to him to look at them. “Weird,” he mumbled. Then he straightened up, suddenly remembering. “Oh, we might have snagged the muffler, too.” So proud of himself. Alas.

  “Transmission,” I corrected. My dad looked at me approvingly.

  While they inspected the car (Luca was doing it out of bro-politeness it seemed; machismo was a little diminished every time he touched his face tenderly, though), I spotted Penny sputtering to a stop at the end of the street, with both Fiona and Wes inside. They were far away, but I was able to see their confused expressions. Fiona stuck her head out the window with a questioning thumbs-up gesture. I shook my head and waved her off until they finally drove away. I’d have a lot of explaining to do later.

  My dad whistled, a low two-note call that he had used to summon me my entire life. I walked over to him and he wiped his already greasy hands on a cloth he kept tucked into his front pants pocket. “Desi, I’m going to sweep up these nails, then tow the car and take Luca to his house. You can walk home, right?”

  “Sure,” I answered, my heart sinking into a tepid pool of water. Not only had I actually injured Luca like some relentless villain, but now the entire thing was a bust.

  But wait, I couldn’t give up. Damsel-in-distress move hadn’t been initiated yet. I walked over to Luca, where my dad couldn’t hear me. “Hey, I don’t want to worry my dad, but my head is killing me and I feel light-headed. Would you mind walking me home? He can give you a ride when he comes back.” I held my breath, willing him to take the bait.

  He shoved his hands deep into his puffy vest pockets. “Yeah, sure. Sorry about all this.” Guilt punch again. I waved my hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I think I just need to lie down.”

  I went over to my dad and gave him a hug. “Luca’s going to walk me home. Can we just give him a ride later?” He squeezed me very tightly before letting me go. “Okay, go rest.”

  As we walked away from the accident, I was able to relax for the first time since my dad arrived on the scene. Appa crisis averted and step 12 still in effect.

  We walked a block in silence. I saw Luca glance behind quickly, where my dad was already sweeping up the nails. I bit my lip, not liking leaving a mess for my dad to clean.

  Luca cleared his throat. “So your mom died?”

  “Um, yeah.” I cursed myself for dropping the M-bomb back at the accident.

  But. To be truly K drama, I needed to capitalize on the M-bomb. This was my tragedy, this was how Luca would see me differently—compassion for my hard knocks in life. To admire me for my bravery in the face of tragedy.

  Yes, ladies and gentlemen: I had to exploit my mother’s death to get a guy. I waited for lightning to strike my eyeballs, one bolt in each.

  Mom, I have no i
dea if you would have been the type of mother to hit me upside the head for doing this, or someone who would have just been so disappointed that you’d cry alone in your room at the monster you’d raised. But I gotta do this. Sorry.

  Luca was looking at me expectantly and as we walked under the breezy shade of fragrant eucalyptus trees, I chose my words carefully. “That’s why we live here. She was a neurosurgeon at UC Irvine. She died when I was little. And because it was so sudden and unexpected, it makes my dad worry about me, maybe more than other parents. That something could happen to me, too.”

  He looked at me straight-on with a sad smile. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. And the sweetness of it hit me like a ton of bricks.

  “It’s okay, no worries. I was only seven when it happened, so…” I trailed off, my familiar go-to phrase left hanging in the air.

  He frowned. “Seven. That’s not that young. It’s still, I mean, not to make assumptions, but it’s still old enough to be traumatized.”

  There was so much I could say to that. How everyone assumed you were this fragile, damaged person when you lost a parent. How that was never the case with me, how my dad was the best mom and dad I could have ever had.

  We reached my street and I breathed a sigh of relief. Necessary tragedy or not, I needed to fast-forward the romance stat.

  Luca cleared his throat. “So you’re like a disaster magnet.”

  “How do you mean?” I tried to keep my voice cool as a cucumber. A lying cucumber.

  “So far, in the few times we’ve hung out together, we’ve been lost at sea and then in a car accident. Adventure seems to follow you wherever you go.”

  I laughed nervously. “What can I say, I’m a regular Paul Bunyan.”

  “What?”

  “You know, Paul Bunyan, the giant lumberjack from American folklore who had all sorts of adventures?”

  “Yes, I know who Paul Bunyan is—aw, never mind,” he said with a defeated little laugh. “Anyway, your dad’s cool.”

  “Yeah, he’s the best.”

  The strange expression on Luca’s face made me defensive. “What?”

  Another inscrutable smile. He replied, “Nothing. It’s just … nice. That you’re so nice about your dad. I have no idea what it feels like to like your own father.” An uncomfortable silence settled over us. I wasn’t sure how to respond and bit my tongue before I said something flailureish.

  “Here’s my house.” I made an abrupt turn off the sidewalk to walk across my lawn.

  My house was a two-story cream stucco like all the others, with light blue shutters, an attached garage, and a spacious driveway. But unlike the rest of the houses on our street, our front yard wasn’t just lush and green (not that the entire state was in the middle of a drought or anything), it also contained several raised vegetable-garden beds. And a few random tires lying around. And a general feeling of A man without a wife takes care of this house.

  Luca stood awkwardly on the sidewalk as I started to walk up the path to the front door. I turned around and looked at him questioningly.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, he said, “I can just call a cab to take me home.”

  No!

  “Oh, really? Um, I don’t know, I still feel kind of crappy. Would you … Would you want to come in for a bit?”

  The question hung in the air between us like the most obvious seduction ploy ever. After a moment of soul-crushing silence, Luca took his hands out of his pockets and strode over to me.

  “Sure.”

  I opened the door and held it as he brushed by me into the house.

  Oh shit. Luca’s at my house. Now let’s make him realize he likes me.

  STEP 13:

  Reveal Your Vulnerabilities in a Heartbreaking Manner

  I instantly noticed all the embarrassing things you notice about your own home when looking at it through the eyes of a first-time visitor.

  The cool-at-the-time-but-now-outdated teal-painted living room walls. The ratty and obviously overused recliner. That one window that never got proper curtains so it had a bizarre paper screen propped over it—a screen with a popular Korean cartoon bear pattern.

  Power through, Des. Power through.

  “Shoes off, please,” I ordered breezily as I dropped my backpack onto the cold tile floors of the entryway and kicked off my sandals. But Luca had already started unlacing his black high-top Vans, bent over with one hand balancing himself against the wall. Hm, for some reason, his Asian house-training appealed to me.

  “You can go sit in the living room.” And then my voice faltered. “Huh … I feel … light-headed…” I stumbled over to the sofa, where I had already set out a pretty gray-and-white-striped throw and a nice fluffy pillow that morning. I resisted the urge to bring my palm up to my forehead. That would be taking the damsel-in-distress thing a bit too far. Maybe.

  I peeked to see Luca walking toward me, but he was clearly distracted, picking up a copy of Popular Science on the way over. “Did you hit your head on something?” he asked as he absentmindedly flipped through the magazine. Annoyance shot through me—when he hurt his own face he sure was concerned!

  “I don’t know,” I responded weakly. “Can you maybe grab me a cold washcloth?” I had conveniently set a fresh one on the kitchen sink next to a small pink plastic tub (a staple in every Korean household). “The kitchen’s that way.” I pointed.

  “Sure.” I heard him rummage around in there.

  I readjusted myself on the sofa so that he could either sit next to me or kneel by me. I fixed the hem of my sweater so it covered all rolly bits of my belly, then moved my hair off my forehead so that Luca could place the washcloth there all gently and lovingly—

  “Catch!”

  I looked up to see a frozen pack of peas headed straight for my face. My hands went up to catch it instinctively.

  “Those will be way more effective than a washcloth,” he said with a smug you’re welcome tone in his voice.

  “Er … thanks.” I placed it gingerly on my head. “Hm, so … Yeah, might need to take a little breather.”

  Luca was bounding away from me already. What the heck, where was this energy coming from? “So what’s up there?” he asked at the foot of the stairs.

  “Uh, just the bedrooms, you know? Like in a house,” I replied, annoyed that he wasn’t tending to me in my current state of distress.

  “Your room?” He turned around with an eyebrow cocked.

  “Yeah?”

  He started up the stairs. “Cool, let’s go see it.”

  I sat up straight and scrambled over to him. “Wait, what? No, don’t go in there!” My room was not part of the plan. No way did I want him in there—he would see the full range of Overachieving Dork, especially when he saw …

  When I walked in to my room he had already plopped down on my bed, checking out the wall of shelves to his left. “What is all that?”

  I was momentarily distracted by Luca sitting on my bed!!! SQUEAL. I gathered my wits and replied, “Well, sir, these rectangular paper vessels are called books.” I swept my arm Vanna White–style across the shelving. “Anyway, let’s—”

  “I see the books—you know what I’m talking about. All that.” He lifted his chin toward the Shelf.

  Ugh. Too late. It was filled with awards, certificates, old science fair inventions, sculptures I made for my dad as a kid—the living proof of my Type-A DNA. And usually I was proud of my Shelf o’ Overachieving Dork. But in front of Luca, I was mortified. I doubted Emily had a Shelf o’ Overachieving Dork. Unless it was a shelf filled with Beat poetry and bongs. And, like, lacy lingerie tossed carelessly over vintage books.

  “It’s stuff. Okay, now let’s—” I was interrupted by the swift, almost dancerlike grace of Luca leaping up to take a closer look at the shelf. The most athletic thing he had ever done.

  He whistled. “Perfect attendance seven times? Best handwriting, first place at the science fair, first place at the science fair, first place at the science fair
, first place—yeah, yeah. Top Girl Scout Cookie Seller. Arbor Society Award for Most Trees Planted. Christ … Wait, what’s this one?” He held up a golden Korean flag statue with Korean writing etched into the plaque below it.

  I grabbed it from him and placed it back on the shelf. “It’s … this thing.” He waited patiently for me to go on. “Um, the local Korean American newspaper gives it to students who get perfect SAT scores,” I rushed.

  Luca nodded his head slowly. “Yup. Okay, this has been a very revealing five minutes.” Exactly. Way too revealing. Yet, despite seeing my lunacy in the harsh light of day, Luca seemed to find it amusing, not repulsive. The grin never left his face as he picked up object after object. I watched him while marveling at how I managed to be living the list without even trying. This potentially embarrassing moment was totally step 13, Reveal Your Vulnerabilities in a Heartbreaking Manner. If my freakish accomplishments could be considered vulnerabilities, that is.

  “Hm,” I heard him mutter as he peered at a framed photo. It was one of me, Fiona, and Wes dressed up for Halloween last year. (Rock, Paper, Scissors. We were super-proud of this idea.) Luca jabbed his finger at Wes, who was Scissors. “Seems like you guys have history.”

  Every part of me wanted to yell, I would never in a million years. But I kept my mouth shut. No harm in dragging out the love triangle. Instead I grabbed Luca’s arm to move him along, keeping my other hand clutched around the stupid pack of peas on my head.

  “Wait, what’s this?”

  I wanted to cry. Damn curious weirdo! He was bent over my desk, looking at another framed photo.

  “This photo is … awesome,” he said, bent over and pointing. The Family Portrait. I had a vague memory of when the photo was taken—on the car ride to the studio, my dad had been insistent on wearing a newsboy cap and my mom was threatening him with divorce because of it. As with all their fights, it had ended with laughter and someone caving. My mom, in this instance.