Page 15

RANDALL

I hear the ping from my phone as London and Julie’s texts overlap each other. It’s the day of the project showcase. There are so many details to finalize. The third graders’ parents keep texting me. Andy has a cold and can’t come. Sammy wants to help hand out food. Gretchen made a beautiful poster board with the growth cycle from seed to sprout of Chinese eggplant.

I shove my phone in the back pocket of my blue pants. There’s a knock on my door. I open it to find Halmeoni dressed in her finest clothes—a white silk blouse and red pants. Her simple gold wedding ring sparkles in the light.

“Come,” she says, patting the edge of my bed.

I follow. She presents me with a blue silk tie that has tiny white triangles on it. I lower my head as she puts it on me. Her small hands expertly twist the tie until she knots it perfectly.

She brings me to my floor-length mirror.

“So good-looking,” Halmeoni says as she pinches my cheek. “This tie. Your dad wore on his wedding day.”

I touch the edges of it gingerly like I might break it with my fingers.

“He wore a suit and then changed into his blue hanbok. He was the most beautiful son, only second to you.”

I feel my cheeks turn a deep red shade, like Halmeoni’s gochujang sauce.

“Do you think Dad would’ve been happy with me?” I ask slowly. A question that has lingered in my mind since I transitioned. I’ve been afraid of voicing it aloud.

My halmeoni wraps me in her arms. I see the edges of her white hair at her scalp underneath the black hair dye.

“Your appa and mama adore you. The moment you were born, they call you little angel. Oh, how we would carry you around. Each of us took turns. Sometimes, we fight over how much time we got to hold you.”

I relish any moment that I can learn about my parents. I’ve stared at their pictures long enough, but it’s these stories that I cling to when Halmeoni shares them.

When I told my grandmother I was trans, I worried that Halmeoni might be unhappy, but she understood. She got secondhand clothes and gave away my old clothes to friends with younger grandkids. She took me to get my hair cut short.

She clucks at me and calls me her “darling boy,” and she stopped using my deadname as soon as I told her.

Now, she plays with my hair, curling the edge of my dark brown hair in her hand.

“Your appa and mama would love you no matter what. You turn into a ghost, they would be proud of their ghost.”

I laugh, relief rushing through me. “Why would I be a ghost?”

Halmeoni shrugs her shoulders. “We all turn into ghosts someday.”

I pull her into a deep hug. “Don’t turn into a ghost too soon.”

“Aye! I am strong as ox. Besides, when I’m a ghost, I come back and haunt your messy bedroom. Maybe then you’ll clean it!”

“I’ll clean my room,” I say in protest.

“You say that. Tomorrow it’s still a mess.”

“Promise,” I say.

“I wait for you downstairs.”

I turn to my reflection. The tie doesn’t look like much, but I hold it in my hands like gold. I add some hair gel and mold my hair until the top edges curl into a gentle wave.

I rush downstairs. I extend my arm to Halmeoni and lead her down the stairs of our apartment building.

“Thank you, Halmeoni.”

“Silly boy, you never say thank you to family. I do anything for you.”

I kiss her cheek nonetheless to express the never-ending gratitude for raising me the way I feel inside.

JULIE

London is being annoying, like he texts me forty-five times to confirm details, which are all in the Google spreadsheet.

You’re making me late, I text back, and drop my phone in my backpack.

I haul the boxes with the printed menus. Tyler silently joins me. He picks up the rolled-up banner too.

“You look good,” I say.

Tyler is wearing a slim black suit with a black tie and gold cuff links, a gift from Ahma.

“I clean up well.”

“The suit doesn’t have anything to do with a certain boy who might also be at the showcase?”

“Jules, I’m offended by your insinuation. I dressed up to go to my dear sister’s showcase and provide her with support.”

I raise my left eyebrow. “Pinocchio, your nose is growing.”

As we carry the boxes down the steps, I let myself smile. Tyler can tell when I’m “in like,” and he can see right through me. I need to keep the feelings I have for Randall secret.

But Tyler whips around quickly, and I still have a big dumb grin on my face.

“Forgot my phone inside. What’s with the clown smile?”

“Nothing!” I shout back a little too singsongy.

Tyler disappears into the house. When he returns, he wags a finger at me.

“You like someone.”

“Shut up.”

I turn my face away, but he darts in front of me like he’s paparazzi with a camera.

“Who is it? Someone we go to school with? Dish.”

I place the boxes in my car’s trunk. “Ty, I’m really busy with this school project as you can see. I don’t have time for your badgering.”

“A secret crush, even better!”

I slam the trunk closed. “Can’t I just be excited about my school project?”

“Ew, no, nerd. Everybody knows you’ll be valedictorian. You’ve been gunning for it since kindergarten.”

I slide into the driver’s seat. Tyler drops into the seat next to me.

“Can I help it if I’m really good at school?”

“Barf. Okay, when do you keep secrets from me? You know I’m a locked vault. I still haven’t told anyone you wrote that secret admirer letter that Jason Lin read to the entire cafeteria to find out who it was.”

I pretend to glare at him. “And no one will ever find out. To the grave.”

I start to drive. Tyler pulls down the mirror to check his teeth.

“I need to make sure I don’t have a huge chunk of green veg hanging from my front teeth.”

“I would tell you.”

“And yet, you won’t tell me about your obvious crush.”

I groan. Tyler is relentless. And it’s true that we’ve shared every sordid detail of every crush we’ve had since sixth grade. I was the first one he told when he had feelings for Nick. It feels wrong to keep my make-out sessions with Randall secret, but I also know that Tyler would lose his mind and tell everyone in our family that I’m a traitor.

No, I am not at all ready for that.

“At least tell me if you’ve locked lips with this gorgeous person.”

Tyler faces me, and I can’t keep the giddiness hidden any longer. I burst out giggling. I bury my face in my hands.

“Best kisser ever,” I admit.

“Ooh,” says Tyler. “I like this person already. If he can make you lose it like this, he must be amazing.”

On the tip of my tongue are the words, “You once liked this person too. And he is amazing.”

I clamp my mouth shut. “Help me haul everything into the auditorium.”

Tyler gets out of the car and gives me a deep bow. “Anything, Cinderelly.”

I bat at him. “Shut your face and grab a box.”

We borrow a flat dolly from someone else coming out of the school. We pile the boxes on it. Tyler grunts as he pushes it forward.

“If I become a sweaty mess, I blame you,” says Tyler.

“Thank you, Ty, I love you forever and ever.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

When we enter the auditorium, I see London and Randall together, heads bent, arguing about something. Tyler pauses when he sees Randall.

“I still can’t get over how you have to work with him.”

I know he’s referencing Randall, but I play it off.

“London is annoying, but he knows his way around the finances.”

“You know who I mean.”

I get in front of Tyler in hopes of blocking his glare from reaching Randall. These two used to never shut up as kids, even after our grandmothers yelled at them to stop talking and go to bed. And now, Tyler leaves as fast as he can.

“Later, Jules,” Tyler says.

“Thanks for the help,” I say to his ghost because he’s already disappeared.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Julie. Tell Randall that we need to offer smaller samples, otherwise we’ll run out of food,” says London.

I try to keep my face neutral as Randall takes a few deep breaths.

“This isn’t some fancy party in your mansion, London,” barks Randall. “We have to give out real-sized samples.”

“Okay,” I say calmly, “Let’s compromise and add a little bit more food. If we run out, we can hand out the recipes and seed packets.”

London nods but walks away with his phone, tapping a text out furiously.

“Thanks,” whispers Randall. His lips are insanely close to my ear, and I shiver slightly.

Am I thinking about how soft and pillowy his lips are and how I want to get lost in them right now? Absolutely not.

I take a step back. “We just have to get along with him for—” I pause to look at my watch. “Three more hours. We can do it.”

He smiles at me, and I swear that I forget we’re in our high school auditorium. I am transported to the back of my car, where I saw that smile up close.

The thundering footsteps of twelve third graders break through my thoughts.

“Randall!” shouts Sammy.

Randall rushes over to lead the kids to our booth.

“Wow!” a few of them squeal.

They are all dressed in the same black Garden of Eating T-shirts and black pants. Despite my lack of love for small kids, I must admit that they look cute as hell.

They rush behind our white table, where Randall has laid out silver platters with our three samples. Thick crispy slices of lo bak go, kimchi, and a cucumber salad. He describes them to the kids, who nod enthusiastically.

“I saved you all samples to try so you know exactly what we’re giving out. And you can describe it to anyone who comes to take a sample,” says Randall.

He hands out small paper cups to the kids.

“I’ve tried them all already,” I say.

He still gives me one and our hands touch for a millisecond. I look down immediately, as if my feelings are on display for the entire auditorium. I eat mine and hide my smile as the kids devour theirs quickly.

“So good!” shouts Sammy.

“Can we have more?” asks Eric.

Randall waves his hand. “No, we have to save the rest for the crowds. Now, here are the recipe cards. We want to give every single person who comes to our booth one recipe and encourage them to come to the Saturday farmers market to buy the veggies that are listed in the ingredients.”

“Got it!” says Laura, who gives Randall a captain’s salute.

I giggle. London returns with two people trailing behind him with gray rolling carts. As he approaches, I see that he has even more samples prepared.

I bite my lip to stop from laughing. London is like every Asian grandmother who frets they don’t have enough food to feed everyone.

London sees me. “I had my family’s private chef make the recipes so we would have more than enough samples to give out.”

I swear Randall’s eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling. I place a hand on Randall’s shoulders to stop him from saying anything else.

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” I say.

London glows from the praise. I glance at my watch. “It’s showtime!”

RANDALL

I don’t know what makes me more nervous: the showcase going well or my grandmother seeing Julie’s ahma. I distract myself with prepping the booth so there’s not a speck of dust.

Julie and I can’t make eye contact. Every time I even look in her direction, I forget that we are supposed to be mortal enemies.

When Halmeoni comes to our booth, she’s followed by Mercy and several family members. My aunt and uncle wave from across the auditorium.

“Hi!” my aunt calls.

I love my family. They are taking pictures of every little thing, including the booth signs and food samples. Once they reach me, they all crowd around me to pose in a group photo.

“Ah, my brother’s tie looks so nice on you, Randall,” says my uncle.

My aunt pinches my cheek repeatedly and plants loud kisses on me, like she did when I was a baby.

I don’t have to wait long for London’s family to do the same exact thing. My halmeoni offers London’s mother a dish she has prepared just for his family.

London’s mom bows slightly and graciously takes the Tupperware. They all speak Korean at the same time.

I glance at London, who is under the same scrutiny as me. It’s cute. Even if he’s a bit of a pompous jerk, at least we have that in common: our families’ loud, adoring admiration for our schoolwork.

“Randall, come, take picture,” says Halmeoni.

I pose next to the sign with our names on it. Halmeoni wraps her arm around me. “Very proud. So proud,” she coos.

I swear I blush to the tips of my toes.

The mood changes as soon as Julie’s family makes their way to our booth. Tyler leads Julie’s ahma, with her arm tucked under his arm. Julie’s mom looks like an exact replica of Julie, but older.

Halmeoni’s smile fades into a frown. I can feel the frost between our two families thicken like we’re in the Arctic.

Julie rushes over to greet her family. Similar loud chaos ensues. They are far enough from the booth that they don’t immediately bicker with my family.

But give it time.

After all the pictures are taken, Julie catches my eye and points to her watch.

The auditorium will open to the public in ten minutes. We just have to navigate the next ten minutes with our grandmothers.

We can do this. Somehow, I don’t even believe myself.

I’m not sure who bumps into who first, but I see the tray of baek kimchi hit the ground with a clatter.

The white and green napa cabbage pieces are splattered on the ground like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Great. If losing a plate of food wasn’t bad enough, Julie’s grandmother points at Halmeoni.

“You pushed me,” she accuses.

Halmeoni puffs up her chest like a peacock. “I do nothing like that. You are clumsy.”

Julie inserts herself between her ahma and my grandmother.

“Ahma, can you help me clean off the stains on my shirt?” Julie says as she points to nonexistent stains on her pink shirt.

“You are the clumsy one. Look at what you did to Julie’s shirt. You should pay for the dry cleaning.”

Other people near our booth are starting to stare. I work on cleaning up the food on the ground.

“Ahma, it’s okay. The stain is not that big,” says Julie.

Julie tugs on her grandmother’s hand. Ahma still glares at Halmeoni, who grunts as they leave.

“Always starting problems,” mutters my grandmother.

I have to stop this before it becomes a bicker fest.

“Halmeoni, come meet some of the kids who work at the garden,” I say.

When all else fails, distract her with cute little kids. Immediately, she coos over the third graders and they ply her with samples.

For a moment, we are spared. London approaches me.

“Guess I was right about the extra food.”

I’m about to go off on him, but I take a deep breath. Our booth has enough going on without me snapping at London.

“Thanks for bringing the extra samples.”

I should get a Nobel Peace Prize for how polite I’m being to him.

“Ready?” asks London. He taps his watch.

The auditorium doors swing open, and the room is filled instantly with parents, siblings, sponsors, and teachers.

There’s no time to think about the battle between our grandmas because suddenly our booth is brimming with people. The kids do a great job of handing out samples and turning on the charm.

London is great at selling the adults on our idea with Garden of Eating. People sign our email list as I pull out more food to hand out.

Julie returns without her grandmother. We exchange a brief head nod.

“Halmeoni,” I say to my grandmother, “I need to help with the booth. Here’s a map of the different booths.”

She nods and holds my head in her hands. “I go so you can focus.”

“Thank you,” I say.

She shuffles away. I sigh. At least there is calm for now. I turn my attention to the crowd that has gathered. I answer questions about the seeds and share my best gardening tips. The kids chime in with their favorite veggies to grow.

Ms. Lawrence makes her way to our booth with a clipboard in hand. I clear my throat to get Julie and London’s attention.

London is quick to step up and lead Ms. Lawrence to the sampling stations. Julie grabs our presentation papers, which count for a third of our grade.

When our teacher reaches me, I take time to show her what we’ve grown in the short video I made. The sped-up video shows how the seeds started in the ground and grew to be produce.

“Do you think this model is sustainable beyond the school project?” asks Ms. Lawrence.

“Definitely,” I say. “We surveyed one hundred farmers market customers and found that eighty-eight percent would definitely buy new-to-them vegetables if they were educated on the product and given a simple recipe.”

Ms. Lawrence takes a bite of the lo bak go. “This is delicious!”

“I made that,” says Laura.

“Hats off to the chef,” says Ms. Lawrence.

Laura beams at her.

“Thank you all for the yummy eats. What a wonderful project.”

Ms. Lawrence pats Julie’s shoulder. “I’m so glad to see you all working together so nicely. London, can you provide me with your budget?”

London pulls out a crisp sheet of paper with detailed numbers on it.

“Great job, you three,” says Ms. Lawrence.

As she leaves, we huddle together.

“We did it!” whispers Julie.

We slap high fives, then get back to the line of people. I am giddy with excitement when it hits me. After the project is over, I won’t have a real excuse to spend time with Julie any more.

Which means I must continue lying to Halmeoni. If I don’t make it a regular habit, everything should be fine. Right?