“There aren’t any salons listed as tenants yet,” said Eunjae, scrolling further down the page with his thumb. “And it won’t be ready for a few more months, so that gives you time.”
He let her take the phone. Jiyeon studied the pictures, absently tucking a stray tendril of hair behind one ear. “I think I know where this is,” she murmured. “I might even be able to afford it. I’ve seen some spaces with similar square footage, reasonable rent but awful location.” And Eunjae watched as hope began to blossom there, lighting up this face that he’d come to know so well in such a short amount of time.
It felt like nailing the high note in a song that challenged him, expanding to an octave outside his range. It felt nothing short of intoxicating.
He shook his head in an effort to clear it. “There’s this, too.” Eunjae switched to Google Maps, navigated to the address he’d saved, and zoomed in. “Just down the block, there’s a florist. You could stop for flowers every day if you wanted.”
Jiyeon lifted her head to stare at him. “Flowers?”
“Yeah. You’re always wearing flowers.” Case in point, today’s outfit involved a black shirtdress with buttons shaped like daisies. Three more daisies featured on the silver clip she’d used to pin her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck.
“I think you like them a little,” said Eunjae.
“Just a little.” She smiled. “You’re something else, Ryan Kim.”
He shrugged, suddenly a touch too warm in his Wanna Waffle t-shirt. “I’m just some guy from Brisbane.”
“With a lot of brothers.”
“Uh, eight of them.”
“Eight?” But Jiyeon clapped a hand over her mouth, backpedaling instantly. “Nope, forget I said that. And I never heard you mention having eight brothers, either.”
“Probably for the best. I think I’d tell you anything if you asked.”
“That’s not very mysterious of you.” Great, he’d said that out loud.
She found a pen in her tote bag and scrawled the leasing office’s phone number on the inside of her arm. “I’ll leave them a voicemail on the drive back. Maybe we can go see it tomorrow. Ask Denny for the day off, okay? I’m off too.”
They really needed to crank up the air conditioning in this grocery store. “Me? I’m going with you?”
“Well, yeah. You found it, after all. You’ve gotten yourself involved. You have to stick around, at least until after tomorrow.”
Mr. Han came ambling back, then, having successfully acquired the steel-cut oats. “Not instant!” he proclaimed. “Denny saidnoinstant oats. This is the right kind, steel oats. Steel, you know, like swords. Won't get a lecture this time. Rolled oats, quick oats, blah blah oats. So confusing. And the boy has to be so strict all the time.”
“Sorry, I just need to check and make sure: they're sword-cut oats?”
“You know my meaning, Han Jiyeon!”
They went to check out. The line moved at a glacial pace. Eunjae parsed through the latest reply from Arthur. Then he read a text from Kazu that contained an email address for the founders’ former executive assistant, the closest thing to contact information that they’d been able to scrounge up so far. It was a stretch, but better than nothing. He’d work on that later, after he figured out how best to petition Denny for a day off.
Unfortunately, these plans were dashed. Even before Eunjae got out of the car, he saw the two figures standing by the front window at Wanna Waffle. Figures in baseball caps pulled low over their faces, their identities instantly obvious to Eunjae despite the masks they wore.
Jungwoo and Max were there, waiting for him inside.
26
Longafterhe'dsetthe grocery bags in the kitchen, and long after the initial wave of emotion — shock, relief, confusion — Eunjae still couldn't settle on how he felt about his brothers’ arrival. He struggled to contend with the nagging notion that this should be simple. Jungwoo and Max were here. He loved them. He'd missed them. So he should be glad to see them, right?
But he wasn't. The joy of seeing them was tempered by a creeping apprehension that filled him with shame. And then there was annoyance, even a glimmer of rage. Eunjae battled the urge to push Jungwoo and Max back outside so that they stood on one side of the door and he stood on the other.This place is mine. You don't belong here.
And yet, Eunjae didn't belong in the life he'd been borrowing, either. His brothers were a physical reminder, an encroachment of reality. That was what he resented, Eunjae corrected himself. Not Jungwoo, not Max, but the impossibility of his situation. This truth that he would never be able to outrun.
“Why do they keep calling you Ryan Kim?” asked Jungwoo. The three of them sat in the empty dining room, at the same corner table where Eunjae had eaten on Waffle Wednesday. The shades were drawn and the door had been locked. Muffled voices could be heard in the adjacent kitchen as the Hans restocked their fridge and pantry for the Sunday rush.
“I mean, it's not like hyung could give them his actual name,” said Max, sounding scornful and superior in the way only a fresh-faced twentysomething can manage. Not wanting to tell the whole rambling story, Eunjae nodded his head in agreement. This proved somewhat challenging with Max’s arms draped around his neck.
“Sure. That makes sense. Smart of you, really.” Jungwoo reached out to swat at Max, who swatted right back at him and continued clinging to Eunjae like a barnacle. “Let go, you big baby. Weren't you just yelling at him the other day?”
