I ignore him again and lean my head back against the window, watching the houses thin out to the sounds of the road and the heater.
We wind through two more turns and the road changes to newer, crisp black asphalt. There's a set of gates, and on the brick wall they feed out from are the words ‘Alder Estate’.
Pictures from my past flash through my mind like a slide show in quick succession.
“I think I used to live here.”
“You did.” That’s all he offers, and when I think about it, I don’t really need anything more. I know my dad makes a lot of money, I grew up in a condo by the beach. It's literally the reason my mom married him.
All the houses are on large blocks. Mid-century inspired with glass and cedar. The kind of places you see in architecture magazines.
Tek slows down at an already open brown-panel gate. Beyond it the house looks straight out of a seventies TV show; tall windows, stone, dark wood, and—unlike every other house we passed in the estate—there's not a single decoration in sight.
He pulls into the driveway and lets the van idle, his hands still on the wheel. “Omma doesn’t believe in decorations,” he says, as if reading my mind. But true to brand, there is no further elaboration. He just turns off the engine and sits there for several seconds before adding, “She’ll love you,” then unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out.
I follow, quickly rounding the van to catch up with him.
I pause, allowing him to step ahead of me onto the porch where he punches a code into the front door, and after a chime sounds, he opens it.
I step into the warmth and Tek closes the door behind me. For a second, I catch his eyes. They’re dark, almost pleading with me, before he quickly turns away to take off his coat. I do the same and hang it beside his.
One step further in and the house tells me everything I need to know. There are high ceilings slanting down from right to left with black stained wooden floors. It's split level with stairs just past the shoe rack that looks militarily enforced.
I take off my Vans and look at all the pairs of slippers that line the shoe rack's bottom shelf. All the same design, but in different colors and sizes. Tek pulls out a black pair and slides them on.
"They're Eden's." He nods towards the dark, forest-green pair. I shuffle towards them, assuming he's telling me to put them on, but he stops me with a hand against my chest, not dissimilar to how he just did in the van. "Those are for guests." He points to three maroon pairs at the end of the rack.
I remove his hand and guide him back so I can step in front of him, then use my right foot to drag out the largest pair before sliding them on.
Above the shoe rack is a wall of framed family photos. Tek as a toddler with shiny black hair, always on his own—occasionally with his parents—until he's a teenager and his brother was born. Then my brother starts making an appearance.
"I didn't know you did karate," I say, gesturing to a picture of him in a white uniform. "Or… Taekwondo?"
"Hapkido." He corrects. "Black belt. So watch yourself."
I give him a cheeky salute and he glares at me for a second before turning around, unintentionally showing me his wide shoulders and back; my eyes trailing down to his ass and how it looks in sweat pants, because hedid notdress up for the occasion.
"What's that smell?" I ask, forcing a distraction.
"Kimchi."
The air is thick with food smells; sweet, sour, and spiced. I hear a voice coming from deeper inside, but it's soft, speaking Korean.
I would be willing to learn…
Tek moves through the house to the kitchen, looking back to see if I'm following.
A woman stands at the stove, back straight, hair pulled tight into a bun, wearing a traditional dress I don't know the name of.She doesn't see me at first, but when she does look up, her eyes go straight to me, bypassing her son.
Her face is small, her skin porcelain, and her gaze like two black diamonds. She says something in Korean, and Tek answers in a tone reminiscent of a child in trouble. He gestures to me, stepping aside, exposing me completely. For a second, she looks confused, then something falls into place and she puts down her extra long metal chopsticks. She marches over, stands almost a foot below me, then reaches up and grabs my jaw with both hands. I freeze, unsure if I should move away or go limp. She turns my head from side to side, squinting as she studies my nose, ears, and eyes; her thumb brushing over my nostril piercings before flicking at the earring in my right ear.
"Aigo," she says under her breath, then lets go and takes a step back. "Carey," she declares. "Eden's little brother." It's not a question.
I nod, more than I know is necessary. "Yes, ma'am."
She snorts, "Ma'am," with an edge of disbelief. She points at Tek, then back to me, and lets out a loud sigh. "Tek-ah, you didn't say it was Eden's hyeong-je. I would have made more food. Lots of black bean noodles."
Tek shrugs like he's already had enough. "He doesn't eat much."
