“Hartford, Connecticut.”
“And what’s your favorite color?”
“Sage green.”
He gets up and stocks the bar miniature refrigerators with reused wine bottles filled with cold water, a bowl of lemons, and a bin of ice. I continue drawing, and try to build up the courage to ask him a question. I can’t let it be all about me.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I finally ask.
“I taught myself.”
“You didn’t go to school?” I follow up.
“I did for a little bit,” He says, slicing some more lemons. “It wasn’t for me.”
“Do you own this restaurant?”
“I rent the space from the owner.”
“What’s the best thing on your menu?”
“The Omakase.” I look over my shoulder to find him grinning. “I’ll feed it to you sometime.”
“How’s your mom doing?”
“She’s just fine.”
By 10:00 a.m. I’ve just about finished the outlines of the mountains and cherry blossom trees. I hear him rustling behind me, to the right, to the left, all over the restaurant, and then it’s silent again when he disappears into the kitchen. I stand static in front of my wall, not once taking a break because I finally feel like myself again. I smile to myself, pleased with my sketch. I am at my best when I am creating.
5
Ihaven’t seen Jae in a while, only hearing the faint sounds of chopping on boards and stirring in pots. I wonder what he is cooking. I wonder when his sous chef will arrive. Has he no other help?
Curiosity is beginning to get the better of me. Where is he? I’m beginning to miss his presence. Our chatter was familiar and kind. There is no pass-through window in the kitchen, only the short, vertical windows on the swinging kitchen doors.
I know he said not to go in the kitchen if I wasn’t wearing non-slip shoes, but how slippery could the kitchen be? Would the floors be blocks of ice or puddles of water?
I quietly walk to the swinging kitchen doors, peeking through the little plastic window. I see Jae standing behind a counter, massive chef knife in hand, slicing some very delicate looking vegetables. I inch as close as I possibly can to the door without budging it, hoping he’ll notice me peering through, so I won’t have to get his attention. I push my brain to think of a reason to want to get his attention.
A break. He said come get him if I want to take a break.
However, the doors begin to swing if I breathe out too deeply. I decide. This Is It. I’ll risk it. I push the door open.
And my life flashes before my eyes.
It’s like a slow-motion montage straight out of a slapstick comedy movie.
Jae—leaping to save me from falling on my ass the moment he sees me take a step.
Me—falling on my ass anyway.
“Hey! What did I tell you?” Jae snaps, yet despite the frustrated look on his face, he offers his hand to pick me up off the ground. “You can’t come in here without non-slip shoes.” He is scolding me like a child who can’t follow directions. My tailbone is immediately sore, but not as fast as I am humiliated for falling because I didn’t listen.
“I just wanted to let you know…I didn’t think it would be so?—”
“So what? Slippery? They’re called non-slip shoes for a reason.” Jae grumbles and shakes his hand at me, as if to emphasize that he’s still waiting for me to grab it.
“So slippery, yeah.” I hang my head and reluctantly grab his hand as he pulls me up with ease and leads me out of the doorway. I feel like a kindergartener being corralled away from the candy aisle in the grocery store.
