Min Jae nodded, leaning down to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. “Alright. We’ll be back in a bit.”
Andy grabbed his suitcase handle. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” Min Jae’s grandmother tutted again, smacking his arm with her oven mitt. “My Min Jae almost never brings anyone home, so it’s a treat to have you here.” She smiled,warm and loving, spreading the wrinkles on her round cheeks into a heart shape. “And now I have two idols to feed.”
Min Jae led Andy to his bedroom while his grandmother disappeared into the back of the house. Just like with his house, Andy had no idea what he expected Min Jae’s bedroom would look like until he was inside it. Like before, it was perfectly Min Jae. Pale, beige-painted walls that looked gray in the dim light from curtain-covered windows. Small, maybe a quarter the size of Andy’s room, but well laid out and exceedingly tidy. A double bed with a dark brown comforter, a tall, narrow, light wood dresser, and a small, matching desk. On the wall, a framed, autographed DAZ3 poster, a wire-bound calendar with a mountain scene still showing August, and a small framed corkboard with a collection of miscellaneous items pinned to it. Everything was in its place, with just enough personality to convince a stranger that it belonged to a real person.
Andy nodded, showing a small grin to keep from frowning. This was a room for whatever character Min Jae was playing at home. Even in his own room, he remained a mystery.
“Sorry.” Min Jae apologetically frowned. “It’s not much.”
Andy let his real smile emerge. Fake or no, he was the last person to shame someone for their modest means. He was a grown adult living at home with his parents, too. “It’s totally fine. I’ve been sharing a room not much bigger than this with four guys for the last month. Just take your farts to the bathroom.”
Min Jae chuckled. “I can always open the window. Let me show you the bathroom so we can wash our hands. Then we can eat.”
Andy waited for Min Jae to wash up so he could pee before washing up. He’d had too much coffee that morning, thinking he wasn’t going anywhere for the weekend. He followed his nose to the kitchen, a small room on its own, common to older houses, with white cabinets, wood counters, and a small, vintage dining table on metal legs, where Min Jae was already seated.
“Ah, Andy,” Min Jae’s grandmother beckoned for him to come inside. “Have a seat. I’m just serving you both now.” She stood beside the stove with a ladle dipped into a large pot. “Have you had doenjang jjigae before?”
Andy nodded as he sat across from Min Jae. “Yes, ma’am. My mom’s mother always made it for me when I was sick.”
“Of course, she did.” She ladled a healthy serving of the fermented soybean paste stew into an earthenware bowl. “It’s a sign of a grandmother’s love.” She brought the bowl to the table, set it before Andy, and stood by, waiting.
Andy dipped his head. “Thank you, ma’am.” He grabbed the spoon set before him–the long, Korean kind–and went for his first spoonful. Earthy, spicy, and perfectly warmed. Definitely spicy. Yikes. He chuckled as he swallowed. “It’s delicious.”
Min Jae’s grandmother offered her heart-shaped smile and a grateful nod. “Thank you.” She turned to Min Jae. “Eat, boy. You’re letting it get cold.” She glanced at Andy over her shoulder and winked.
Min Jae rolled his eyes. “Yes, grandmother.” He dutifully took a spoonful, closing his eyes as a smile graced his lips. “So, I overheard Andy earlier say that his family doesn’t celebrate Chuseok.”
Andy paused, his spoon hanging halfway to his mouth, so he could glare at Min Jae.
“What?” His grandmother ladled stew into a third bowl. “Well, I hope he doesn’t mind joining our celebration.”
“I don’t, ma’am,” Andy quickly replied. “If you don’t mind having me, that is.”
She tutted. “Not at all. Any friend of Min Jae’s is family in this house. And celebrating family is what Chuseok is all about.” She smiled. “And this gives me a chance to teach you more about it.” She gently patted Andy’s hand. “Our traditions are simple, but, I’m sure your grandmother would appreciate it, regardless.”
Andy ate while Min Jae’s grandmother told him a few storiesfrom Min Jae’s childhood. Nothing salacious, just cute, funny anecdotes. His favorite was the first time she’d taken him to dance class when he was a boy. Especially the way she described Min Jae’s near fury when he couldn’t immediately perform the instructor’s complicated choreography. Andy grinned. Min Jae hadn’t changed at all. But he took the friendly ribbing with good-natured warmth. Andy understood. His grandmother was amazing.
Andy was already falling into a comfortable food coma by the time they’d eaten and washed the dishes. But Min Jae’s grandmother had other ideas.
“Alright, boys,” she announced. “Bellies are full. Now the real work begins. We make the songpyeon.” She set out three bowls of fine, slightly wet white rice flour and a fragrant, sweet filling of sesame seeds and honey with almost religious reverence. She poured a kettle of steaming hot water into each bowl of flour, mixing a spoonful of green mugwort powder into one and a dash of bright pink strawberry powder into another, explaining the process as she went.
She looked at Andy and winked. “Now comes the fun part.” She put Andy and Min Jae to work, showing them how to knead each ball until it was smooth and pliable. Andy jumped right in, carefully watching Min Jae’s grandmother, her small, wrinkled hands moving with a lifetime of muscle memory, until they had three smooth balls of colored dough—white, pale green, and a soft pink. “Pay close attention now, Andy.” She took a small piece from the white dough ball, rolled it into a smaller ball, and made a delicate well with her thumb. After spooning in just the right amount of the sweet sesame filling, she pinched it shut, leaving a perfect, clean half-moon shape in her palm. She held it up for Andy. “See? It’s simple.”
Simple? That remained to be seen.
Andy's first attempt was a disaster. He packed in too much filling, and the sticky sesame mixture oozed out the sides as hetried to pinch it shut. He held up the lumpy, misshapen blob for inspection.
Min Jae burst out laughing, a genuine, bubbling laugh that started deep in his chest, lighting up his entire face and making his eyes crinkle at the corners. It completely transformed his features, erasing the hard, stoic lines he usually carried, revealing the handsome, happy young man underneath. Andy immediately joined in. He couldn’t help himself. At home, the ice king was fucking charming.
“You’re using too much filling, dummy.” Min Jae demonstrated spooning a much smaller amount into his dough ball. He neatly sealed it before adding it to a row of perfectly formed, identical songpyeon already arranged on a bed of pine needles in the steamer basket. “There. Like that.”
Min Jae’s grandmother took Andy’s blob and did her best to rescue it. But Andy eventually got the hang of the process, graduating from misshapen blobs to something resembling a proper half-moon. Min Jae jokingly made sure to keep all of Andy’s together, away from the others, as if their mere presence ruined the rest.
“You’re eating those,” Min Jae said. “It’s only fair.”
Andy chuckled. “Since when have you ever known me to turn down food? Besides, mine would taste just like yours once it's in your mouth.”
