He lines up a shot. “Don’t thank me. Thank my Omma.”
I laugh. “She terrifies me.”
“She terrifies everyone.”
There’s a clatter from the kitchen upstairs, the sound of plates, and a voice calling out in Korean. Tek sets the cue down.
“Come on,” he says, and walks past me, his shoulder brushing mine as he goes.
Upstairs, the dining room is immaculate. Tek's parents are already seated at the table, his father wearing traditional clothes too. I'm introduced, and his handshake is firm, but he has nowhere near the level of intimidation that Tek's mother holds onto.
"It looks amazing," I say as I take my seat.
A proud look washes over Mrs Jeon, and she tells me; "My husband did not help."
He nods, welcoming the pour of soju Tek offers him. I get mine last, only accepting it because it seems rude not to.
In unison they all say, "Jal meok-ge-sseum-ni-da," and pick up their chopsticks.
In front of me there are lots of little bowls with different kinds of pickles and kimchi, mounds of noodles and pancakes, and a tray full of what looks like sushi. The only familiar thing is the mountain of stuffing, squared off like a brick at the end of the spread.
I follow Tek's lead with the food. He shows me how to wrap bulgogi in lettuce and which side dishes to use.
Halfway through, his mother turns to me. "You have somewhere else to be?"
I almost choke on a mouthful of scallion Jeon—which might just be my new favorite food. With a meager cough, I say, "Do you mean after dinner? I thought I'd just go home."
"Psh," she scoffs, but not in a rude way. "You don't want to get caught out in the bad weather. Wootek-ie stays. You stay. The boys always stay."
Oh god. Sleeping—or at least trying to—in the same house as Tek is a recipe for disaster. "I don't want to be any trouble."
She waves me off. "There's a spare room in the basement Eden always uses. Until he comes back, it's yours. And maybe after too… I might like you more."
Tek pushes a bowl of spicy radish towards me. "You'll like it better than an Uber at two a.m."
Two a.m?What the hell have they got planned?
I agree to stay, convincing myself it's because I don't want to offend his parents and not at all because I want to see what he wears to bed.
Tek’s father gestures for him to fill our glasses. He opens a new bottle of soju and when our glasses are full, his father stands and says a few words in Korean. We all drink, and even though I’m not a lightweight, my ears warm instantly.
After the meal I offer to help with the dishes, but I'm forced to watch as Tek and his dad clear the table. His mom wipes it down then brings out four new coasters, glasses, andanotherunopened bottle of soju. She pours only for me and her, then leans in close. "You like Broadrock?"
I shrug. “It’s quiet. That’s new for me.”
"You don't like the quiet?" Her eyes are as sharp as her mind, though not unkind.
I shake my head. “It's not that. I just didn’t know it would be so… empty in the winter, I guess.”
She nods, as if this is the answer she expected. “Tek just told me you work at the shop now. Do you like it?”
“I do,” I say, and mean it, leaving out the fact that it's the only thing still keeping me here.
Tek enters from the kitchen. His mother and I watch him as he takes a seat and pours his own drink. "Is he annoying you yet?" he asks his mom.
“Be nice to your friend,” she chides and Tek sulks—or pretends to, because as he looks away I catch the corners of his mouth lifting.
His mother turns back to me. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
