One is too much, the other is not enough.
In hindsight, it really was kind of cruel of me to throw Carey in the deep end at Thanksgiving. The soju definitely helped, but that was all for my benefit. In general I need to be buzzed to deal with my mother, though a simple buzz was never going to suffice when it came to my growing attraction to him. This time around, however, I refused the liquor. I don't want to be clouded. I don't want to cover up. I want to experience life again. And seeing Carey lap everything up—keeping my mother on her toes, and even getting Appa to crack a smile—makes me tingle inside like I never have before.
I think it's pride.
He’s fucking thriving.
The second we walked through the door my mother presented him with his own pair of slippers. She took Eden's from the family shelf and put them with the guest's before telling Carey exactly where to place his when we leave.
The way he said thank you in Korean and twisted his fingers together with nervous joy as she spoke made me want to take his hand so badly, to squeeze it in mine and soak up his happiness. I wanted to wrap my arm around him, kiss him, and make a joke about his brother that only we could hear, but my mother stole him from me and she doesn't even know it.
As soon as his feet slid into those plush slippers Omma hasn't stopped fawning over him. She whisked him away to the kitchen, sat him down on a stool at the island, and ran through everything on the menu—offering him alternatives that have never been on the table for me. She complimented his outfit and stroked his face with the back of her hand as she praised the smoothness of his skin. I’m certain he's just a Jintae surrogate to help her through the holidays, but Carey doesn't seem to mind.It's symbiotic. Omma needs a son willing to let her dote on them, and he gets to learn what it feels like to have a mother make you the center of attention.
Whilst seeing him happy does fill me with a wholeness I forgot existed, it comes at a cost.
Since the front door closed, I’ve been separated from him. We only just tore the wall down, now there’s a literal table between us, laden with food and set for six. No one has mentioned that fact, either. Carey and I just did our job setting the places with what my mother supplied, both of us also hoping Jintae or Eden will show up unannounced. At my mother’s direction we took our seats across from each other and it felt like the scene from that movie where the table stretches out until the other side of it is so far away you have to yell to talk to each other.
Omma keeps passing Carey things with overzealous enthusiasm.
She watches every mouthful he takes.
He nods in approval of her Japchae as he chews and she’s instantly on her feet, bowl in hand, serving chopsticks at the ready.
“Omma, would you sit down. He can feed himself.”
She jerks her arm in my direction like I’m the crazy one. “Have some more.” She piles another mound of glassy Japchae noodles in front of him. “I made it with chicken this time.”
He looks at me; his face glowing, then turns to my mother. “Thank you, Eomeonim. This is the best meal I’ve ever had.” His pronunciation isn't great, but he's trying.
She waves off the compliment. “Here, have some beef, too,” she says, adding barbecued strips to his plate.
“I’m serious. If you keep feeding me like this, I’ll never leave.”
Her lips press tightly together as she reigns in her expression. “It’s nothing special. If you want my best, you should come at Luna New Year.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Has Tek-ah not told you that you’re welcome anytime?”
Carey rests his chin on his fist and stares straight at me. “No. He hasn’t.”
“That’s because he doesn’t like visiting me. I have to cook him all this steak just to get him to come.”
I huff and mutter, "Please," under my breath because I hate when she does this; places it all on me when she’s the one who slaved for hours to make more food than necessary becausesheneeded to feel important.
Carey taps my foot beneath the table. I raise my eyes but keep my head bowed. He gives me a soft, kind smile, and I kick his foot back to his side and load my mouth with jeon pancake so I don’t grin like a fool.
“Have you called your brother?” My mother starts her next line of questions.
“Mmhmm,” Carey mumbles around more noodles.
“And your parents?”
He shakes his head.
“Did you not want to go home for Christmas?” She’s starting to pry.
I answer for him. “You know what Lotte and Brian are like.”
