“How’d you guess?” Jae laughs.
“I used to live there!” I had wanted to knock down that wall as well, but Grant insisted on keeping it in so we could keep the den as a third bedroom for guests. “Your mom is lucky to have a son like you.” I say.
“Yeah, you should try telling her that,” Jae scowls and cracks open a bottle of peach soju. He offers me a shot, but I decline. “She’s only ever angry with me.”
“What for?”
“For not going to university, mostly,” He stares at the half-painted mural. “All my younger sisters are students. Izzie is already a nurse practitioner. I’m just a chef. She says anyone can cook.”
“Not everyone can cook like you do,” I interject. “Cooking is an art.”
“She just doesn’t see the point in it, since it’s not…not a white-color job where you earn a lot of money,” Jae responds. “I’m hoping by opening a successful restaurant, she’ll see that I do work hard. Just as hard as Izzie, if not more,”
“When is the restaurant scheduled to open?” I ask.
“Next month, after all our suppliers are confirmed,” Jae takes another shot.
“I’m sure she’ll see the value in it after the opening,” I say. “I’ll bet it’ll be packed in here.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Jae gives me a soft smile. “You’re invited, of course,”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
We talk about everything we love about the West Village (all the cafes), but hate about SoHo (the tourists), and the movies we’ve watched recently (Goodfellas, Sleepless in Seattle).He shows me photos of his sisters, Izzie, Kelly and Mae, and photos of Izzie’s daughter, Hallie.
I show him photos of Lily and my houseplants.
“Where’d you get all these plants? Can you get some for me?” Jae zooms in on a pothos plant.
“There’s a stand in Union Square Park. Haven’t you ever seen it?” I ask.
“I don’t really go that way,” Jae laughs. “Maybe I ought to.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I say. “It’s like, eight blocks from here.”
“I have everything I need right here.”
By the time eleven o’clock rolls around, we’re sitting next to each other on the bench, eyes droopy and hazy from being awake so long, essentially playing twenty questions with each other. There’s a palpable chemistry in the air, it crackles more than oil on a hot pan. I’m laughing, like actually laughing. Jae is funnier than he lets on and I’m walking right into every joke, butsomehow I don’t mind. It confirms to me that my magnetic draw to him isn’t just a fluke.
“What Ghibli character would you be?” he asks.
“Ponyo,” I don’t hesitate to answer. “Didn’t you see me eat earlier?”
“I sure did. You eat well,” he agrees.
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Hot as hell and black,” Jae runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks tinged with pink.
“What’s your hidden talent?”
“I can juggle.” He confesses.
“Like a clown?” I giggle louder than I mean to.
“Just like a clown,” Jae smiles softly at me, not offended in the least. “But with knives instead of rubber balls.”
I rest my head on the table. I am tired, and emotionally fulfilled from my evening with this fine specimen of a man.
