by Jaclyn Jhin
Beverly cleared her throat. “You should always use another utensil to do that.”
Which one? “Oh sorry, I—”
“Makes you look like you’re not well-groomed.”
“Mother,” said Ian annoyed.
“What?” Beverly speared a slice of turkey. “These are important things one should know.”
I set down my fork and put my hands on my lap, trying to chew and smile at the same time. It felt like Beverly was watching everything my every move, just waiting for me to make another mistake.
She confirmed this a moment later when she looked at my hands. “You’re a nail biter.” I could tell she meant to make her tone upbeat, but it wasn’t convincing.
“Oh ... yeah.” I placed my hands in my lap, removing them from sight. “Just when I’m nervous.” Tonight, I had all but gnawed my nails to the quick.
“You have to let them grow out.” She said softly so Ian couldn’t hear. “Otherwise, they’ll always be an eyesore.”
“Mmmm, I guess you’re right,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.
“So, Kelly. Are you working your way through school?”
I noticed some of the people sitting beside us lean in to hear us better. Once again, I felt like I was some sort of specimen.
“I work as a hostess at a restaurant called Poseidon. I’m training to be a server.”
“Must be difficult to keep a job while studying,” Beverly said more to her audience than me.
I sipped at my water glass. “Yeah, it’s tough, but I really like it.”
She pointed her fork at me. “Yes.”
I automatically put my hands back in my lap, wondering what I did wrong this time. Beverly was quick to tell me.
“Don’t say ‘yeah.’ Say ‘yes.’”
“Mother, please.” Ian scooted closer, squeezing my knee under the table.
“What? I would have appreciated it if someone took the time to tell me these things growing up.”
I tried my best to look appreciative for Beverly’s wisdom. When I turned to Ian, he tilted his eyes toward the door.
“Are you sure?” I whispered. I noticed he hadn’t eaten much, either.
Instead of answering, he took his napkin off his lap and set it on the table. “Well, thank you very much, Mother. I’ll show Kelly to her room now.”
Her eyes widened. “So soon?”
“It was a long drive.”
“I’ll come with you, dear. You don’t know where the fresh slippers and robes are for that room.”
“We’ll manage.”
Ian took my hand, and we exited the dining hall, followed by stares. We passed the front entrance where the wine glass incident occurred, then broke into a near run down the hallway. My heels clacked against the marble flooring. On the walls, I noticed portraits of a young Ian with his dad. He looked a lot like Ian with his strong jawline, only his hair was more salt, less pepper. Beverly’s happy smiles in the pictures surprised me. Not only did she seem younger, her face once held a now absent softness. I noticed these were the only decorations that didn’t fit in with the otherwise formal decor. They seemed, well, normal. One blurry photo of Ian as a baby caught my eye. I took a mental snapshot for later—he was a pretty adorable kid.
It didn’t take long for me to understand why Ian had said I would need a bus to get the other side of the mansion. The hallway must have been a recent addition. The further we walked, the colder it became. Similar to how one’s toes and feet can miss out on receiving the body’s core warmth, the further extremities of the mansion didn’t receive the same heat from the central furnace. In fact, the more we traveled, the more it felt like we were going underground—if the underground in question were somehow constructed of expensive granite and marble.
At last, we reached a white door with a silver knob. After jiggling it several times, Ian pushed it open. We stepped onto wood flooring. A main hallway extended another hundred feet with four or five doors to each side. One was open: a bathroom with the fan humming. According to Ian, this wing was where the maids lived, which helped explained why things looked less sophisticated.
Ian led me to the edge of another room at the end of the corridor, where I saw my bags sitting on the bed.
“Sorry again,” he said.
I shrugged. “It’s fine. But I’ll miss you.” I reached up to kiss him. He started to kiss me back when we were interrupted by a harsh voice.
“I see you found it.”
Immediately, I withdrew from Ian and looked down at the floor. I felt like a scolded child, but he held onto my hand, unfazed. Beverly approached, staring at my hand in Ian’s.
She passed between us, forcing us to let go. “I would be remiss as your hostess if I didn’t show you around.”
We stepped into the simple room, furnished with a double bed, desk, and medium-sized closet. The carpet was brown and reminded me of a hotel. Clean, white blinds covered the windows. A lonely-looking painting of a mountain landscape took up one wall. It felt like everything here, especially the person in the bed, would be a temporary fixture.
Beverly opened the closet, revealing two shelves above the hangers and a white, fluffy robe. Clean, white towels hung from the steel bar above a pair of beige slippers.
“There’s a shared bathroom down the hall, but the maids will be very busy today, so I doubt you’ll see them. And I’m sure you can find everything else you need. You’re a big girl. Don’t need your hand held, do you?” She smiled tightly. “Ian, let’s leave Kelly to get unpacked and all that. She looks tired.”
Ian sighed, looking at me. I nodded. He had endured enough battles for one day. He leaned down to give me a peck on the forehead.
“Come, come.” Beverly waved him away.
Watching Ian go with his mom, I could swear they both tried to appear straighter than the other, each struggling for situational control. It took everything I had not to yell out for Ian, to grab his hand, but I said nothing, did nothing. At least I felt relieved to escape Beverly.
I shed my stupid clothes and changed into my non-penguin pajamas. I pictured telling Melissa that absolutely nothing happened between Ian and me. The more I thought about it, the stupider I felt for thinking something could have. Collapsing under the full weight of my exhaustion, I snuck under the heavy, brown, quilt-like comforters and stacked two white pillows beneath my head. I stared up at the beige, bumpy ceiling and felt the ends of the fuzzy blanket at my feet.
Within moments, a heater crackled to life, then I felt a brush of warm air seep into the room. I thought about where I might be if my parents were still alive. Probably at our table at home in LA. I pictured my dad droning on about Thanksgiving as if it was the best thing ever. My mom would roll her eyes, begrudgingly helping him prepare the turkey. At some point, she would bring the conversation back to something Korean to remind me this “silly holiday” was only half my identity. Meanwhile, Halmuni would hassle my dad for his cooking, while laughing at his jokes and taking seconds of his stuffing.
I pressed my palms against my eyes to try to stop the memories. It did no good. Tears trickled down my cheeks. I shook my head as they fell, trying to shake them off. “I miss you, Mom and Dad,” I whispered.
I couldn’t sleep so I reached across the floor, still halfway in bed. Grabbing my bag, I removed my phone. I pulled up Halmuni’s name and sent her a text. “I love you.”
I laid back against my pillows as I wiped my eyes. She probably wouldn’t reply, but I wanted to feel it vibrate if she did. I turned my head so the soft fabric could catch more of my tears and curled up with my knees to my chest, grateful to be alone.
My phone vibrated. I sat up.
“LOL,” I read.
I stared at the screen, then fell back on my pillows, laughing in spite of myself—in spite of everything. It was the thought that counted. The phone buzzed again.
“Be happy with Ian. Happiness good.”
I wiped away more tears, making my vision blurry as I r
ead the words over and over again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Someone touched me on the shoulder, and I opened my eyes slowly, feeling the crick in my neck from the stiff pillow. I had pushed the comforter and sheets down to the foot of the bed sometime during the night.
I blinked up to see Ian.
“Hey,” he whispered.
I groaned like I did whenever my mom tried to wake me for school, then flipped over to the other side. Strands of my hair fell in my face. I left them there. I wasn’t ready to face the day, especially not another one at the Anderson compound.
Ian laughed. “Okay, sleepyhead.”
I turned back around and mumbled a good morning, wondering when his mother would burst in.
“I’m sick of it here. Thought you might want to go home,” he whispered into my ear.
That was the best news I had heard in a long time. I immediately sat up, feeling lighter already. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I mean, we can stay if that’s what you want,” he chuckled.
Although I didn’t want to sound like an ungrateful guest, I’m sure my earlier reaction had clearly exposed my true wishes.
“No, really. Trust me. I’m ready to get out of here, too.” He kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll be back.” He walked to the door, then turned back before closing it. “Hey. I like your pajamas.”
I looked down at my light blue cotton pants and matching cropped top, saying a silent prayer of thanks to Melissa for talking me out of the penguin PJs. As I tossed my sheets aside and dove into my backpack, I realized Ian was the first boy to see me dressed this way. I really was a newbie in the romance department. Not wanting to dwell on that, I threw all my energy into getting ready. If anyone saw my smile, they probably would have thought I’d won the lottery. I’m going home!
I pulled on my jeans, a light-yellow T shirt, and grey Columbia hoodie, almost getting the latter stuck on my head in my haste. After slipping into my shoes, I hoisted the backpack over my shoulder, then looked back to make sure I didn’t forget anything. Crap. Should probably make the bed. Actually, I should probably make the bed perfectly.
I fluffed out each pillow and blanket, fitting them around the edges of the bed frame, trying to straighten everything at the top as I arranged the sheets and blankets. When I was done, it all looked a bit lumpy, so I started all over again, trying my hardest to smooth it out as I went. It looked a little better the second time, but still wasn’t flawless, so I tried again. When I was done, I stood back to examine my work. Ugh. Why can’t I get this to look just right? At last I gave up with a sigh of defeat, imagining Beverly tsk-tsking my work in her judgmental tone.
I opened the door. To my surprise, Ian was leaning against the wall. He handed me a mug of coffee. “It might be a little cold by now.”
After thanking him with a proper kiss on the lips (after first checking for his mom), I motioned to the bed. “Does it look okay?”
He wrinkled up his nose like he just smelled something rancid, making my blood pressure skyrocket.
“Oh, no. I’ll do it again.”
He broke into a grin. “I mean, if it was me? I’d probably pour some black paint on the whole thing and remove all of the feathers from the pillows. Might even rip the sheets a little.”
I rolled my eyes, pushing him out the door. “Okay, let’s go before you get any more bright ideas.”
* * *
Eerily quiet, the house was a far cry from the noisy party the night before. Ian told me his mother took an Ambien with a glass of wine every night, so I felt confident we wouldn’t encounter her prowling the breakfast nook or anywhere else as we trekked along the mansion.
Even the maids and servers hadn’t yet risen, so it must be early. I couldn’t help but feel like a trespasser or a burglar as we tiptoed through darkened hallways. Ian held my hand, guiding us to the bathroom where I cried last night. Careful not to make a peep, he didn’t even turn on the light for fear of hitting the fan switch. He opened the window, gesturing me to sneak out.
“It’s not much of a drop,” he whispered.
This was my first time making a window-exit, and I felt a rush, like I was one of those bad kids from high school who slipped out of the house to go clubbing. It dawned on me as I stepped onto the toilet seat to reach the sill that Ian must have done this before because he knew right where I should place my feet and hands. I didn’t even get a scratch as I landed beside a rose bush. Then we circled the long mansion’s gargantuan perimeter, my Converses squishing in the wet grass.
Ian used his key to unlock the exterior garage, packed with luxury European cars and Teslas. He made a big jokey show of opening my door for me like a valet, then ran around to the driver’s side and jumped in. We giggled as we sped off like crooks who had just gotten away with a daring bank heist. I couldn’t help thinking we made perfect partners in crime.
As we approached the gate, I peered out my window. It was a crisp autumn morning, and the sun had just risen, offering soft orange light through the dense clouds. No one was in sight—no early risers out for a walk with their dog, no fitness junkies jogging the premises. I inhaled a big gulp of cool air, letting it calm me. The grass was freshly watered from rain the night before, and gravel crunched beneath our slick tires. The enchanting storybook splendor of the grounds became more beautiful as the mansion receded in the rearview mirror.
We turned onto the main road back toward familiar streets: ones with chalky lines down the middle, debris on either side. A few scattered cars surrounded us, heading somewhere after the holiday. This part of the world more resembled the remote sections of Northern California I remembered visiting as a child. I liked the wind in my face with the window down as we cruised past thick patches of colorful trees.
Before long, we reached signs for freeway entrances, and the knot in my stomach relaxed. Soon, we would be transported back to the frantic busyness of New York City. I longed for its anonymity—its camouflage.
Ian interrupted my thoughts. “I had no idea that would suck so much.”
I rolled my window back up. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. You didn’t deserve to be treated like a second-class citizen. It was really disgusting.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my eyes on the road, watching Ian weave in and out of lanes.
“And I shouldn’t have blown up at my mom,” he continued. “My dad used to do crap like that, and I hated it.”
I put a hand on his arm, feeling him relax. “It’s okay. I feel bad. The purse, the—”
“No, no.” He took one hand off the wheel. “Seriously. I already have a plan to pay back Mrs. Williams. Lord knows she needs some more fresh alligator flesh. How would you like to break into the zoo with me tonight? You did pretty well sneaking out the window.”
“Ian—”
“Seriously, though. Mrs. Williams can go screw herself.”
I put my hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh.
“Anyways, I want to make it up to you.” He pulled his phone from the console and handed it to me. “Can you Yelp some bed and breakfasts? We can pick whatever one looks the best.”
I felt my face flush. Part of me was thrilled by the idea of being alone together, yet another part—the one that still slept in girly pajamas—recoiled in fear.
I took his phone but stopped short of unlocking it, even though I knew his code.
Ian noticed my hesitation. “Do you just want to be alone today?”
I didn’t want to be alone. But something held me back. I watched the cars on the highway as I allowed myself to imagine what this step would mean. I could feel tension mounting as the awkward silence dragged on. Is there anything worse than a painfully quiet moment between two people?
“Kelly?” Ian said at last with a pleading look in his eyes. “I wanted our first Thanksgiving together to be memorable. In a good way. Let’s do it again, but this time a thousand times better.”
I took a breath, then smiled
at Ian, opening the app. He was right. We still had a chance to save Thanksgiving. After reviewing listings and user reviews, I chose a quaint-looking place called Cozy Home Inn, its photo featuring mid-century furniture and an adorable tabby cat. It had five stars and was very close to our current location.
Several exits later, we pulled onto another gravelly dirt road surrounded by a few trees and a sign reading, “BED AND BREAKFAST” with a blocky, black arrow. We passed an old truck with blinking hazard lights sitting in the corner, and the buzz of the distant freeway gradually muted.
Another sign out front declared this location to be an historical monument, and I detected candles glowing in the windows. We swung around a small cul-de-sac to the front of a white clapboard house. Two stories high, it had a corrugated roof and large shuttered windows on the second floor. Two slight chimneys exhaled tufts of smoke into the early morning air. A tidy white picket fence encircled the property, reminding me of Tom Sawyer. More signs for parking directed us to the back.
I imagined returning here with Ian at Christmas time, daring to think this could be our little spot. I secretly pictured the lawn covered in white powder, the glow from within even brighter against a sheet of ice as we cuddled up against the warmth of the hearth with cups of hot chocolate.
We exited the car and approached the wrap-around porch. The chipped wood creaked as we stepped on the front steps. A plush red couch greeted us with grey pillows knitted with “Home Sweet Home” in embroidered cursive lettering. On the other side of the porch, an inviting hammock swung a little in the breeze. I suddenly imagined a hammock on the future house I had already built in my head. I pictured the two of us pressed together on it, reading books together, kissing.
“Kelly?”
Snapping out of my fantasy, realized Ian was carrying all our luggage.
“Oh, my gosh. Totally spaced.” I took my backpack from him.
His face looked earnest like he was trying to read mine. “You okay with this?”
“Yes,” I said softly, touching one of the white pillars near the door. I felt like I was in a dream.