“We have all the time in the world.” He kisses both my cheeks, my forehead and then my lips, and I let myself be calmed by his touch. “Except, I have to go to prep the dinner service, but I will come back later.” Jae caresses the top of my head before standing.
“I’ll be here.” I walk him to the door, and before he can leave, I tell him, “Thank you. For everything.”
“You know it. You’re my girl.” We hold hands like lovesick teenagers in the doorway. “You know what? Come by for dinner. I’ll cook you something special.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll come at eight.” I give a soft smile, all tears seemingly retracted back into my ducts.
As he leaves, for the first time in a long time, I feel at ease.
20
Aweek later, I arrive at The Red Kettle at approximately 8:00 p.m. It’s the first truly hot day of the season, and I have to tie my hair up. My dress sticks to the back of my thighs and before I can regret my outfit choice, I see her. Across the street. Young-mi.
I wave at her, and she waves back, recognizing me. I hurry across the street to greet her.
“Young-mi, what are you doing here?” I ask.
“Jae has not called me in a week,” She says nervously. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” I say. “Just busy with the restaurant.” I point towards The Red Kettle. “I’m about to go in. Do you want to come with me?”
“No, no,” She shakes her head, leaning on a wooden cane. “He’s too angry with me.”
“He’s not angry,” I tell her.
“He only talks to me through Izzie. She wants me to call him first.”
“Maybe you should,” I say. “He would like that.”
Young-mi glances across the street at the restaurant. “I will think about it.”
“Are you okay here, by yourself?” I ask her.
“Yes, yes, I am meeting my friend up the street,” she explains. “Don’t worry about me.”
I turn on my heel to go, but before I forget, I stop. “Would you like to do painting lessons with me?” I ask her. Young-mi thinks about it for a moment.
“I would like that,” she says after a long pause. “But only if it’s okay with Jae.”
“I will ask.” I tell her before I turn to cross the street back towards the restaurant. Before I know it, Mae is ushering me in and telling me how beautiful I look. She seats me at a table directly in front of the mural.
I admire my work before I sit down. It complements the space quite well, and I’m glad I went with acrylic paints. I snap a photo for my portfolio, not minding the other patrons sitting in front. I spot Jae in the opposite corner of the restaurant, his hands full of plates, chatting with an older couple.
I take a moment to observe him as he works. He chats with the couple for a few seconds longer before handing dishes off to a busser and moving on to another table. A young couple with a toddler. Hands clasped behind his back, asking them how their food is, he presents them with a grateful smile. Mae walks past him and seemingly whispers something to him, and he turns around towards me.
As Jae notices me, his grin expands further across his face. He gives me a wave from across the dining room but doesn’t make his way over. Instead, he disappears into the kitchen. When he returns, he’s carrying a steaming bowl of bulgogi over rice in one hand and a bubbling cup of jasmine tea in the other.
He serves me with a quick kiss on the cheek, before checking in on other customers and then disappearing back into the kitchen, presumably to prepare more meals. I read the specialsposted on the wall near the bar—seaweed salad, lollipop chicken, bulgogi and broccoli over rice, crispy tofu tacos and halo halo.
Food is Jae’s love language. He has been feeding me since we met. I think back to the smoothie he made me, the times he fed me after I was painting. The dumplings. How he named his restaurant. It all boiled down to food.
I am fascinated by how much a plate of food says.
Please stay.
