“Hey now.” He nudged my shoulder. “You are getting it right.You just can’t always see it when you’re in the middle of the mess.”
That got a laugh out of me, soft and surprised. “Like the pancakes?”
“Exactly like the pancakes.” He grinned. “Burnt edges, gooey center, and still worth every bite.”
I looked at him and the tightness in my chest loosened a little. Dad had always known when to joke and when to be gentle. His love was steady. There were no big declarations, just presence and small kindnesses. Like being here now.
We both turned as Mom stepped into the room, her voice careful. “It’s missing your grandmother,” she said, pausing at the doorway. “And that blue hanbok she always wore when we visited.”
Dad and I both looked at her. Her words carried no judgment, just memory. Softness, too, not a characteristic I was used to receiving from her.
I blinked at the drawing as if the idea had already been there, waiting for her to say it.
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Right there, in the corner. That’s what it needed.”
Mom gave a small, approving nod before disappearing back down the hallway.
Dad reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “Your mom would love being in it, too. You know that, right?”
I smiled at him. “She already is.”
16
LANDON
The field looked smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I was bigger—older, taller, stressed. The grass wasn’t the lush green I’d built up in my mind. Instead, it was scruffy and uneven, clinging to patches of dirt. The bases, if you could still call them that, were barely visible, faded rectangles that might as well have been chalk outlines of memories.
I waited for Kira.
Her text message asking to meet me here took me by surprise. I hadn’t reached out at all, wanting to respect her request for space. Truthfully, I thought space meant a longer time apart. I was grateful, though one week apart was more than enough for me.
In just a few minutes, she walked down the field, holding a red ball by her hip. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail under the cap she wore, and her cheeks were pink from the cool air. She was dressed athletically, and I was glad I happened to wear athletic gear, as I had a feeling about what we were doing here tonight.
“Hey,” I greeted her, shoving my hands into the pockets ofmy gray hoodie. Just to make sure they didn’t reach out to her of their own volition. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” She gave me a small smile, then looked around the field. “It’s nostalgic standing here. When we were kids, the field seemed huge, like some kind of kickball stadium.”
I laughed, kicking at the dirt around the home plate. “Yeah, back then, kicking the ball to the outfield felt like winning the Super Bowl. You were scary good. Had all the boys shaking in their cleats.”
Kira let out a laugh, her breath visible in the cold air. “Right. If by ‘scary good’ you mean I tripped over my own feet enough times to be terrified, then sure.”
I grinned, unable to help it. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re doing something every day that scares us.”
“You’re scared of kickball?”
“Not exactly.” She tossed the red ball in the air and caught it with both hands, palms flat. “But I am scared of facing truths from the past.”
Which truths?
Then she stepped forward and gently pressed the ball against my chest. “This is for you.”
I snorted. “How did you know I prefer balls over flowers and chocolate?”
She gave me a teasing look. “Are you implying this is a date?”
I faltered. “Kind of hard to call it a date when the girl I like asks for space.”
