by Lily Kay
As we passed the Italian restaurant, Cavallo’s, Emmy lightly pinched my arm.
“Lou?”
“Yeah?”
Emmy hesitated and nodded at Sierra. “Is that Gavin?” She pointed to the patio across the street in front of Greens, the local vegetarian restaurant.
I squinted and turned my lips down. He sat across from a young woman, her dirty blond hair swept up in a messy bun.
“Sure looks like him.” Sierra’s observations were not helping me ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.
Try as I might to tell myself not to look anymore, my eyes wouldn’t obey. They registered Gavin and the girl mid-giggle, as she leaned across the table and lightly tapped him on the chest.
“Okay, let’s go somewhere outside of town to eat.” My voice threatened to drown into my gut.
“Totally agree,” Emmy uttered. She and Sierra grabbed an arm and hauled me back to the parking lot. We drove to the next town over and ate at a Vietnamese Pho restaurant I loved.
They discussed their days, ignoring the elephant dining with us, until I finally poked Sierra.
“It looked like he was on a date.”
“You don’t know if it was a date. Or maybe it was, but not the romantic kind. Maybe it was for work, or the volunteer place you said he helped out with.” Sierra wanted to make my relationship with Gavin work, but the cards stacked heavily against us.
“You saw them. They were definitely friendly.” Though until we were exclusive, Gavin had every right to date whomever the hell he wanted.
“Well, maybe they have a relationship like we do with Nick and Matt,” Emmy encouraged.
“If it was for work, wouldn’t he have said, it was for work?” A reach because I didn’t want him to be on a date.
“I don’t know. But you’re seeing him tomorrow. Casually bring it up,” Emmy said.
“Exactly,” Sierra agreed. “You don’t want to come across as a jealous clingy girlfriend, but you can still ask how his night went, and see what he says.”
I plastered a wane smile across my lips. “Okay. I’ll ask tomorrow.”
~ ~ ~
Friday came quickly, and Gavin was all attentive and smiles during composition class. No sense of guilt tampered his aura, at least not based on his demeanor. His voice emitted giddiness when he informed me we would have a “proper date” this time, with no distractions or interruptions.
“I promise.”
“Where are we going?” I was curious what establishment equated a proper date.
“We are going to my place where I’ll be cooking dinner.”
Dinner sounded nice. Though did he expect me to stay the night? Oh no, would he want me to spend the night? Maybe I wanted to spend the night? But I didn’t. But I did. Ball sack. My brain was about to explode if I didn’t stop thinking.
“Sounds good.” I gulped.
“Louie, babe. It’s simply dinner. No other expectations.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Though I’ll admit I am hoping for some cuddling.”
And I beamed, because I wanted snuggle-time, too. Well, I eventually wanted to spend the night and have sex, without having to work through the fear of having sex. But I wasn’t about to voice any of my crazy talk.
“Okay, sure.”
Despite my doubts about seeing him with mystery girl last night, I couldn’t stop daydreaming about spending time with Gavin. Emmy and Sierra were right, I had to talk to him. I convinced myself it wasn’t a date but a work meeting. Because Gavin did say he wanted to be with me, and I wanted to believe him. I counted on my instincts to be right this time.
I had a silly smile plastered on my face the remainder of Composition class because Mickelson kept saying things like, “Louise, no smiling. We are writing requiems, not preludes.” Or “Louise, if this were the intro music for a musical comedy, you could smile. Since we are writing music for a psychopath, you should not be smiling. At all. It’s creepy.”
“Can’t I be smiling because I’m proud of my work?”
“Not when we’re writing the background music for a serial killer. No smiles. Makes me wonder about you, Louise, and if I should contact the special train to take you to the monkey doctor.” He tapped his pointer finger against his temple and widened his eyes.
Okaaay. Not quite sure how to respond. Like I said, Dr. Mickelson’s brilliance also equated weird. Quite weird.
“Fine. Dr. Mickelson. No smiles.”
I swear, I almost made it, until I saw Gavin frown at me, and then wink. I couldn’t help but smile, being as stealth as possible, while I counted the minutes until class ended.
Mickelson excused us. “Have a fantastic weekend everyone. I want your first movement done, including full orchestration by next Friday. I don’t care if it’s crap. I expect something on paper.”
I made some final notes in my planner and pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. I normally wore contacts but today I rushed, and my black plastic framed rectangular specs had to do.
“You ready?” Gavin approached me after he finished helping another student who asked him for some advice on their piece.
“Yup. You?”
His lips grazed my ear. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all day.”
“Really?”
He saddled an arm around me and pulled me closer. “Really. What it would feel like to have you in my arms, lying next to me.”
“We’re not naked, are we? Because I don’t think I’m ready for naked yet.” Explosive diarrhea, would he want to see me naked? Not sure I could do naked. Thinking blacking out is a better option than stripping off clothes.
“Semi-naked?” I heard the sparkle in his voice.
“Gavin.” Apparently not ready for semi-naked either.
“Kidding. You drive the pace.” His voice was soft, and he nudged my chin, encouraging me to face him.
“Aren’t you going to get bored with me? You already know I only had my first real kiss a week ago. Hopping into bed naked may not come for some time.” When I maintained his gaze, vulnerability enveloped me.
“Believe it or not, I genuinely like you. Not because I think I can get you naked, and you’ll be a fast lay. It’s not how this works. If I only wanted sex, you’d know by now, and we probably wouldn’t be together.” Gavin released my face and we linked arms, walking out of the building.
“Oh.” Bonus points for a helpful explanation.
“Yeah, oh. You don’t have to be all self-conscious about being naked or if I’m going to push sex. There’s no pressure on my end, okay?”
I fell a little more in like with him. Because he got me. And he wasn’t going to rush this.
With my hand still folded into him, Gavin brushed a quick kiss on my knuckles. “However, when you’re ready, I’m in full support of you being as naked as you want.”
“Excellent.” And I leaned into his shoulder, giving him a half hug as we strolled to the parking lot where he parked his black Toyota 4Runner.
Once we got inside his car, sinking into the tan leather interior, Gavin reached for my hand, and I thought about how I could caress his fingers all day. He had hands strong from crew combined with long fingers.
I imagined he could create magic with my body, if I ever did let him touch me naked. Maybe semi-naked. He pulled our folded hands up to his lips and kissed mine again. At this point, my mind played all sorts of nasty tricks on me, getting me all geared up for an awesome make out fest, and then sending me into panic attacks at the thought of revealing skin. I’d eventually have to explain the scars on my stomach and worried what he’d make of them. Worried I’d freak-out, and he’d disappear faster than Harry Potter.
“I’ll say it again. We won’t do anything you’re not ready for.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
What if we never got to a point where I could go all the way with him? What if I kept holding myself back?
What if I died a ninety-year-old virgin?
“You’re not going to die a ninety-year-old virgin. We’ll take it slow, but not that slow.”
Crap. Stupid filter, or lack thereof.
After about ten minutes from my house on Beecher Ave, we arrived at a cluster of recently built townhouses. Gavin unlocked the door, and something black resembling a round overstuffed sausage licked my legs.
“This is Swanson.”
“Swanson?”
“Who’s a good dog? Huh? Who’s a good dog?” And Gavin rubbed behind his ear, propelling Swanson’s leg to bounce like a sewing machine.
“And what kind of dog might we say, is Swanson?” I noted Swanson stood on legs about three inches off the ground. His ears were long and soft, but his nose and eyes were beady and small.
“His mom was a Chihuahua and his dad was a black lab mutt.”
“Talk about images I didn’t want to think about. Mom was the Chihuahua?”
“Yep.”
“Ouch. How did he manage to come through the birth canal? You know what, never mind, I don’t want to know.” I rubbed Swanson’s belly as the dog rolled to his back, his stubby legs pointing toward the sky.
“It was something special. He was from my college roommate’s dog’s litter.” Gavin meandered into the kitchen through the living room and poured Swanson some food. I spied the tiny dog flap embedded in the kitchen door allowing Swanson infinite access into the fenced back yard.
I set my backpack by the front door and scanned the place. Gavin was no slob as I noted the clean walls and the open space between the three rooms. The kitchen and dining room were divided by a counter with three bar stools. A brown leather couch and matching chair formed an L in front of a distressed wooden coffee table positioned to my left. Up against the wall to my right hung a sixty-inch flat screen TV. A framed Ansel Adams poster graced the wall above the couch, and a side table and black lamp were to the right of the couch.
“Your place is nice.”
“Thanks. Why don’t you join me in the kitchen?” Gavin pulled out his cell phone and switched on some jazz music.
I plopped down on a bar stool. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Not at the moment. I’m going to cook you some Korean food. Ever had any before?”
“Nope.” I sat for a moment, realizing how strange this conversation sounded. Me adopted from Korea, but never had tried Korean food. Forget strange, it was effed up.
“Cool. This is a fairly easy dish and pretty much anyone who tries it likes it.” Gavin opened his fridge and pulled out a bag full of veggies and some beef.
“What’s it called?”
“It’s called Japchae. It’s a stir-fry made with sweet potato noodles, veggies, and beef. My halmoni’s recipe. She and my mom made sure I learned how to cook a few things before I left for college.”
Gavin supplied me with a cutting board, knife, zucchini and carrots.
“Actually, you can do something for me. Chop these julienne style.”
“Julienne style?” Hey, I was a composition major, not a chef.
“Thin slices about two inches long.”
Gavin chopped the pieces of beef and fried them in a wok. He also pulled out an egg liquid concoction he must have made earlier. Adding green onion to it, he poured most of the mixture on another frying pan.
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the egg mixture.
“This is a Pajeon, a fried scallion pancake. Pretty common appetizer.”
“Sounds delish.”
“Trust me, it is.” With beef cooking in the wok, Gavin sautéed green onion, yellow onion, and crushed garlic. The smells awoke my salivary glands, and I wondered how long this dish took to make.
Gavin stir-fried the shitake mushrooms. Once I finished with my sous chef duties, he took the veggies and mixed the remaining ingredients together, adding the spinach, soy sauce, sesame oil, and sugar. The noodles were the thickness of spaghetti but clear like cellophane and went into the beef and veggie mixture next. Gavin flipped the pancake in between stir-frying and shimmied it onto a plate. Toasted sesame seeds went on top of the Japchae for garnish and we sat down at the table.
Aromas permeating the room made me drool, and I anticipated the meal. “Cheers.” I clinked my water glass with his beer bottle.
“Cheers. This smells amazing.” My first Korean meal. I was pretty sure my parents had never thought to look for a Korean restaurant. Chinese food, sure. But not Korean. I suppose better late than never, right?
He placed a fork and chopsticks next to the plate and I opted for the chopsticks. Gavin lifted a brow at me. “You’ve never had Korean food before, but you know how to use chopsticks?”
A nervous creak erupted. “My parents loved Chinese food.”
“Fair enough. Well, dig in.”
And I found heaven. His halmoni became my new food hero, because my taste buds had never been happier. Where have you been all my life, Japchae? You too, Pajeon.
Gavin watched me eat. Satisfied I liked it, he dug into his own plate.
“I’m still in shock you’ve never had any Korean food at all.” Gavin mustered in between chewing and swallowing.
“I think my parents weren’t prepared for adopting a kid from a different country. They’re Scandinavian through and through. I had a lot of fish, meat, and potatoes. But never Korean food. I never thought to ask for it, either. Besides, we didn’t have a Korean restaurant in my town till about a year ago and by then, I avoided going home. This is amazing by the way.” I shoved another mouthful of Japchae, savoring the taste.
“Good, glad you like it.” Mid sip, Gavin stopped and put down his beer. “Have you ever thought about going back to Korea?”
I flared my nostrils at him. Talking about things Korean made me uncomfortable. I don’t know why, but it embarrassed me. It didn’t seem embarrassing for Gavin, which both intrigued me and incited jealousy.
“No, I haven’t. At least not with any effort. Can’t afford it, and my parents never brought it up.”
Gavin paused before taking another bite, Japchae dangling inches from his mouth. “You don’t have any desire to see what it’s like?”
“I spent most of my life desperate to fit in with my family here and forget the fact I was Korean. The idea of actually going there didn’t cross my mind often, if at all.”
The lines between his eyes creased, joining the ones on his forehead. “But it’s where you were born. Where your ancestors are from. I’m surprised you aren’t even a little bit curious.” And I heard something like reproach in his tone.
I put my chopsticks down. I grasped why I didn’t want to talk about anything Korean. Or at least I slowly understood why. Because it was a constant reminder I could never live up to society’s standards of beauty, which in my hometown, represented white.
But how did I explain this to Gavin who grew up with his Korean mom and grandparents and was the epitome of beautiful with his mix of Eurasian and South American features in California? I averted my eyes toward my plate, hoping maybe his questions would evaporate.
“Lou?”
No such luck. I lifted my chin as I met his eyes. Those gorgeous green and gold flecked eyes. They probed.
“It’s complicated.”
“I may not be a psychologist, but I’m sure I can keep up.”
I paused, gathering my thoughts. I tried making sense of all this myself and I knew embracing my Korean heritage was all part of the bigger healing process. Along with my identity as an adoptee, as an Asian American who didn’t have a typical Asian family, the constant pull between what people saw me as,
and what I grew up thinking I was still? Still infiltrated my life.
American but not American. Asian but not quite Asian. And for pretty much my entire life, I denied anything Asian because I was embarrassed and ashamed.
“I spent a lot of years wishing I was white. I wanted to be able to look at my family and friends and see a resemblance. Obviously never happened.
“I would get questions like, what am I? Where am I from? Because I couldn’t be from Massachusetts. I had to be off the boat. It got hammered into me fast I couldn’t claim an American identity. It’s hard to deny because I wasn’t born here. But here is all I know and I’m a citizen. I am American, though not exactly what some people imagine as American.
“And then I met other Asians my freshman year here and they all joked I wasn’t a bonafide Asian because I didn’t grow up with an Asian family. Shitty, right? But in a way, they were accurate, because I didn’t know Asian culture. Despite non-Asians making fun of me, it didn’t matter to other Asians because I wasn’t a legitimate Asian. What right did I have to claim Korea? I’m sort of floating in this adoptee limbo.”
I stopped and bit my lower lip, afraid I said too much again. Afraid Gavin wouldn’t understand. Afraid he’d think this provided a session to complain.
“I’d like to learn more about Korea. But I’m scared. I’m freaked out Koreans won’t like me either. It’s not lost on me the entire country sent me half way across the world to avoid dealing with me.”
Gavin reached across the table and covered my hand with his. “It sucks you feel like you can’t embrace both cultures, but I get it.”
“You do? No offense, you actually look like you belong with your parents.” I sounded catty but how could he possibly get it?
“Truth is, I can’t understand what you’ve gone through. I’ve always known my family and who I am. My grandparents shoved Korean culture down my throat whether I wanted it or not and I had the Spanish and Portuguese language and culture from my dad. I’m grateful now, but I still get it all the time, people asking what I am.