“You’re going to choke eating like that,” Gavin says, watching me stuff my face with unusual interest.
I try to tell him that he’s wrong, but the words don’t make it out of my mouth filled with sticky rice. Okay, so maybe I did overdo it.
Gavin picks up a sleeve of kimbap and pops a cut piece into hismouth. “Remember when Mom used to make these for us and we’d eat them on the way to school?”
“She did?”
“Yeah, when we lived in Koreatown.”
“Vaguely,” I say. I might’ve blocked that time out of my memory. Koreatown is a place to go for good eats or a good time. Not a place anyone aspires to live in.
“Korean sushi, that’s what we called this.” Gavin pops another piece into his mouth.
After finishing an entire sleeve, I reach over to grab another one. “I may not remember much from that time, but I’m glad Mom remembers how to cook. Except this one is a little different. It has a smoky flavor, like the SmokeShack burger from Shake Shack.” Somehow this amuses Gavin.
“What?” I scrunch my nose.
“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re enjoying it.”
“I know what you’re doing. You’re food-shaming me.” I narrow my eyes at him.
“I’m not food-shaming.”
“Fine.” I accept his answer and proceed to eat the second sleeve of kimbap. “So, what have you been up to while I was gone?”
“Just stuff,” he says vaguely.
“Okay,”I say, getting the hint. Clearly his magazine kept him busy all day long. “Honestly, Gavin. No explanation is needed. What you do in your spare time is personal. You do you—” I instantly recoil at the unintentional double entendre. “I mean, you know what I mean.”
“Jesus, El. Stop. I’m trying to tell you something.” This time I notice there isn’t an ounce of embarrassment in his expression.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m listening.”
After he takes in a deep breath, he says, “I made that.”
“You made what?” I look around, noticing nothing new.
“This.” He points to the kimbap in my hand.
“Stop lying.” I slap a hand in the air.
“No, really.” Gavin disappears into his room and comes back with something in his hand. I recognize it as the magazine he’s always reading.
“For the last time, Gavin, I don’t care that you look at porn!” I put my hands up to shield my eyes, but it’s too late. I see…“Wait, is that a dude? A fully dressed one?” I drop my hands once I confirm that this is not porn I’m looking at. “Who is that?”
“It’s Roy Choi.” Gavin pushes the magazine closer to me so I can see it properly. It’s an interview inThe New Yorker, which is, like, the exact opposite of porn.
“Oh, that’s why he looked familiar.” I suck my teeth. “If you wanted to meet him, I could have introduced you. I’ve been to several events with him. Just wish you had said something sooner. Who knows when I’ll be at an event with him again?” Orif. I don’t say that out loud, since I still have every hope that I can earn enough to pay for Kiki’s services again soon.
“No, I don’t want to meet him. I want to be him.” He sets the magazine down.
“Okay, that’s not creepy,” I say, registering his intensity level as a hair below stalker status. “Gavin, do me a favor. Please never say that again.”
He ignores me and continues without skipping a beat. “I’ve been reading about his life and how he dropped out of law school and went to culinary school. He trained at Michelin-star restaurants and then left to start a food truck that makes what he calls ‘food that isn’t fancy.’ And not only that, but he became an internationalsuccess because of it. But more than anything, I love that he blends his personal story with his professional training. That’s what I want to do. Make fancy food with notes of my heritage. Like bacon-and-mushroom kimbap and eggs Benedict with sautéed kimchi.”
“Wait,” I say, processing what my brain is telling me. “If Mom didn’t make this, then she didn’t make all the other stuff wrapped in plastic…. That was you?” I say, finally getting up to speed.
Gavin nods, his face lighting up at my reaction.
