I put a spoonful of rice in a leaf of lettuce, then used my chopsticks to add a piece of bulgogi, a smattering of doenjang sauce, folded it together and fit it in my mouth. Restaurants in New York had ssam, but homemade always tasted better.
Channing and Minjae ended up side by side at the table as if by accident, but it was obvious they wanted to be close. Their eyes cast about everywhere but on each other, as if they wanted to disguise their interest. But avoidance telegraphed to all of us that they were hyper aware of everything the other person was doing. I worried I must have looked similarly obvious to others when I was obsessed with someone. I wanted to warn Channing, but what could I say when there was nothing she was doing, exactly? I just knew as others must that they were deeply attracted to each other. Channing was smiling to herself, in the same way he was, as if sharing an inside joke.
They did talk. Throughout dinner, Channing and Minjae murmured with their heads together as if the rest of us weren’t there. I helped Austinget more bulgogi. When we’d finished, Paul went into the kitchen and returned with cinnamon rolls. A few didn’t have cream cheese frosting, to my relief. Paul, like me, it turned out, had a dairy intolerance. I told him they were my favorite, which made Channing raise her eyebrows at me.There is nothing between me and Paul like there is between you two, I said silently back to her.
After we were finished, Paul got up to clear the plates, and Channing offered to help him. In the next second, Minjae followed without giving a reason.
While they were in the house, Mrs. Yun said, “I remember the gymnastics meets. Channing’s score was near perfect. No fear, like a robot.”
“She might have gone to the Olympics. What a shame she stopped,” Mr. Yun said to us all.
“That’s hardly realistic,” Ames said. “The coaches here were never good enough to get us to that level. And that thing she did on the trampoline, anyone who does a year of gymnastics could easily do the same. Don’t be so impressed.”
The grandparents ignored her, wrapped up in their own nostalgic reverie. Clearly, they still wanted to talk about Channing’s past.
“Going to those gymnastics meets to watch you and Channing, like how could you have that kind of discipline?” Mrs. Yun said to Ames. “You were good, too.”
“But it’s dangerous,” Mr. Yun said. “I was glad you quit.”
“Everything changed after Channing’s mother died,” Mrs. Yun said pointedly to us.
Chapter 7
There’s a Korean expression my grandfather used that encapsulated the way I felt hearing Mrs. Yun’s words. Literally, it means you’re oppressed by a heavy, hot weight on your chest.Dapdaphae.My mother said it more often than anyone else in my family. I felt that now. What if Channing heard the Yuns talking about her this way? And Ames didn’t sound like a friend. Channing had never mentioned her to me.
I excused myself and went inside to keep Channing from coming out and hearing this gossip, but I was too late. I ran into her and Minjae walking out together, challenging each other to gymnastics moves and soccer tricks. I was relieved to see them pass right by the table, oblivious to the group chatting about her. Curious to see if Paul needed help, I continued into the kitchen. He still had a couple of pots to wash, so I offered to dry them.
Through the kitchen window, I saw Minjae grab a soccer ball in the yard and start continuously kicking it with his feet so it never landed on the grass. The children were dazzled. Channing countered with a cartwheel, to which Minjae clapped his hands and encouraged Edison and Austin to try. Then he and Channing timed cartwheels so they were synchronized and collapsed into each other at the last second, causing all of them to roll over in laughter.
“Impressive,” I said to Paul.
“Minjae can still do those, damn,” he said, shaking his head.
We watched them help each other up. “I can’t,” I said, and Paul shook his head. “Don’t look atme.”
It was getting late. Alice and Jesse walked through with the baby and said their farewells. Mrs. Yun came into the kitchen and thanked me and Paul for cleaning up. Ames stuck her head into the kitchen to say she was leaving, too.
I’d dried the last lid of a pot when Paul said, “Oh, here comes Kent.” Out on the terrace, a man was talking with Mr. Yun and my grandfather. He looked like any other Korean man who dressed well. He wore a formal dark suit, white shirt, and tie. He bowed deeply in my grandfather’s direction before straightening his posture again. I hurried out to the yard.
Channing and Minjae were now standing beside the door to the kitchen, in animated conversation. The children sat at the table near Mr. Yun, who was spooning chocolate ice cream into bowls. There were slices of watermelon and peaches on the table, as well. Apparently, the meal wasn’t completely over despite some people leaving. This was true of Korean visits I’d experienced. There was always more food if you stayed.
Kent positioned himself beside Mr. Yun. He was turned in his chair so his body was facing Channing and Minjae. Mr. Yun was extolling Kent’s work; how much he had done for East End and how proud the Korean families were of him. Up close, Kent had chapped lips and a crease in his forehead. A gold watch on his wrist shone bright. Clearly, he was older than us, but I didn’t know by how much. I rubbed my forehead to smooth any lines. I noticed that Paul’s lips were dry, too. Maybe all our lips were dry. It was summer after all. I made a note to buy more lip balm.
With his mouth slightly agape, Kent reminded me of a student in my class who had terrible allergies and perpetually breathed through his mouth since his nose was congested. Otherwise, he was nearly as handsome as Minjae. Nearly because when he talked, he became less handsomesomehow. I didn’t understand it. He had a way of hanging his head as if he was looking straight down at his belly or his feet. His chin to his chest. Then he’d look up again.
In contrast, Minjae laughed and gestured with his hands, comfortable in his body in a way Kent clearly was not. I tried to listen to Kent’s conversation with Mr. Yun and my grandfather. He seemed perfectly polite in contrast to Channing’s comments about him on the phone with me. Maybe there were different rules here in East End for friends and family that Channing and I didn’t understand. My parents never rang the doorbell before entering Channing’s house. The door was always unlocked.
“It’s truly an honor to meet you, Seonsengnim,” Kent said to Harabeoji. “I don’t know if you know this, but I saw you and Channing last year in Boston.” Kent was using the respectful honorific that loosely translated to “esteemed teacher.”
On the surface, Kent’s words shouldn’t have bothered me, but beneath them I heard a tone of desperation. He wanted to impress my grandfather.
“I apologize, where did we meet?” Harabeoji asked.
“Oh, I met you formally years ago. I’ve been a close friend of Channing’s family since she was a child. My parents were best friends with her parents, actually.”
My grandfather looked politely interested and moved a plate of peaches toward him.
Kent continued. “I worked with your son. My first job. An internship before Channing’s mother passed away. Anyway, like everyone in town, we felt awful when you moved out of town. Then recently I was in Boston, and there you were. I was across the street, and you and Channing were walking out of Mass General. You and Channing looked as if you were devastated. I wanted to help any way I could, but the light changed and I missed my chance to speak to you.”
