“Next,” I say, moving on.
The bathroom is spotless and sterile, a sea of white tiles and chrome fixtures.
Antoine barely steps inside. “No antiques in here.”
“You’re really serious about Pedro’s challenge, huh?”
“Oh yes, very serious.”
I continue toward the guest room. “This was my room,” I say as we step inside.
My stuff is gone. The walls are now painted beige, and the sofa bed is accessorized with four identical cushions. My customized desk was replaced with a nondescript side table.
Antoine scans the space.
I lean against the doorframe. “The walls were purple back when I lived here and covered with posters.”
“What posters?”
“Take a wild guess.”
“Hmm.” He puckers his mouth. “No idea.”
“K-pop bands, silly!”
“Of course.” He smiles. “No antique K-pop music boxes?”
I smile back. “No antiques at all, unless you count my primary school trophies, which my mom probably threw out, anyway.”
“Shame.”
Next, I show him the kitchen, as antique-free as the rest of the apartment.
“Well,” Antoine breathes out, “it was worth a try.”
“Maybe the dessert will cheer you up.”
“I’m sure it will,” he says brightly.
I wouldn’t be so optimistic if I were you…
We get back to the dining table, just in time for round two of the enhanced interrogation. Somehow, Antoine survives it. The dessert doesn’t kill him, either, at least not right away.
By the time we’ve helped clear the table, my nerves are shot.
Antoine seems to have gotten over his disappointment about the music box. To my astonishment, it looks like he came through my family’s inquisition unscathed. If anything, he seems proud at how he didn’t OD on the Szechuan spice.
“Thank you for the dinner,” he says as we prepare to leave. “It was an unforgettable sensory experience.”
Mom doesn’t bother pretending to be flattered.
“Hmm,” Dad grunts and shuts the door.
Outside the building, we stop and stare at each other with a silent “what now?” The show wants us to live apart this week and sleep in our own beds. That’s exactly what we did yesterday, and the day before, after we returned from Sardinia.
Antoine looks around. “The outdoor diners are gone.”
“It’s almost midnight,” I point out.
