Page 20

JULIE

Today is the day we’re going to tell our grandmothers about our relationship. It’s a sunny Saturday farmers market. The normal buzz of the day with people waiting for orders keeps me from thinking about what will happen next.

I keep glancing over at Randall, and I have to hide my stupid smile.

“What is with you today?” asks Tyler as he fills a ticket order.

Apparently, I am not hiding it well enough.

“Is your secret crush here?”

Technically, Tyler is right, so I just smile.

“Oooh. I love it when I’m right. Where?”

He scans the crowd to see if he can spot my mysterious crush. I play along. He points to a tall Black guy who holds several tote bags, stuffed to the brim with greens and fresh herbs.

I shake my head. “He’s cute, but no.”

Tyler keeps trying to guess and each one is wrong. I spot Randall walking straight toward our booth with several of the Garden of Eating kids in tow.

“Ugh, kids,” groans Tyler. He heads to the back of the booth to get as far away from them as possible.

“I’ll handle it. It’s the kids from my school project,” I say.

I rush to the front of our booth. Randall is carrying several veggie seedlings, and each kid has one pot. I reach forward to take the tray of radish seedlings. My hand brushes against Randall’s forearm. I blush, and I hate my cheeks for betraying me.

“I thought we could set up the veggies here,” I say as I help place the seedlings in their spot.

Ahma looks over at us.

“The kids are here to sell the plants,” I say.

Ahma nods. Her eyes wander to Randall. She doesn’t smile. I try to quell the nerves in my stomach by focusing on the plants.

“Do you have the food orders with the special farmed veggies?” asks Randall.

He is looking right at me, and I swear I am blushing all the way down to my toes. We are just talking about vegetables.

“Yup, right there.”

I point to the chalkboard, where I added the lo bak go with a drawing of daikon radishes.

“Great. All set, Sam?”

Sammy holds up a tan cashier’s box. “We got it from here.”

“Thanks, Sam,” says Randall. “Talk to you later?”

I nod. I take one more look at Randall’s face before I rush back into the booth. We both agreed that we would talk to our grandmas after the market closes for the day at two P.M. As things wind down, it will be just the vendors that are left. We plan on speaking to them, and then right after bringing our families together.

Simple enough, right?

The day feels like it moves at a glacial pace. In my head, I rehearse what I want to say to Ahma. It will go something like this:

“Ahma, I have been seeing someone special who makes me very happy. I want to introduce you to my boyfriend, Randall.”

At first, she’ll be pissed and probably grumble about how Randall’s family has wronged ours.

But I’ll convince her by saying: “Randall and I want to date. We’ll continue to see each other whether you and Halmeoni like it or not. We hope our families can accept our relationship.”

She’ll be so deeply moved by my words that she’ll hug me. I’ll wave Randall over to the booth. He’ll bring Halmeoni over. Our grandmothers will crack on each other, but then hug and say something like, “We are so happy to reunite our families again.” Halmeoni and Ahma will hug. The five-year-long grudge will end. Randall and I can date happily without any more lies.

It will be amazing.

When it’s finally time to break down the booth for the day, I help the kids count the money they’ve earned from their seedling sales. Tyler packs up the few remaining items that we didn’t sell to give to our fellow vendors in exchange for their leftover goods. After the kids leave, it’s just Ahma, my mom, and me.

It’s now or never.

I approach Ahma with my heart in my throat. I cough nervously.

“Julie, did you give the kids some snacks?” asks my mom.

I nod. “Ahma?”

My grandmother turns to face me. I feel the dread of her disappointment flood through me, threatening to make me shut my mouth and forget this whole idea.

But then, I see Randall talking to his Halmeoni. I take in a shaky breath and say everything as fast as I can.

“I’m dating someone. Someone who is special to me. I want you to meet him. It might surprise you, but he makes me happy,” I say quickly.

Ahma places her hand on my shoulder. She pinches my cheek with her other hand.

“Bring this person to dinner. I’d like to meet him,” says Ahma.

“I’d love to meet this special someone,” says my mom.

I squeak out. “You already know him.”

They both looked confused. By now, Tyler has joined the group. He rubs his hands together.

“You are finally going to tell us who this wonderful person is,” says Tyler.

All three of them are staring at me. My bravery shrinks under their gaze. Tyler bumps his arm against me. I consider just saying it’s a joke.

“Spill.”

This was my idea to tell our families. I can’t abandon it now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Halmeoni approaching our booth. Randall is right behind her. I inwardly sigh with relief. Randall told his grandmother and now this whole awful charade will end.

Except Halmeoni shoves forward a crinkled white index card. It’s written with black ink and entirely in Korean.

Halmeoni points her finger at Ahma.

“You stole my recipe. This mandu is mine!” she says with a shout.

Ahma picks up the piece of paper and tosses it back at Halmeoni. “I don’t need to steal anything. Everything is up here anyway.” My grandmother points to her head.

Halmeoni picks up a container and shows it to Ahma. “You are selling mandu. You got the recipe from me.”

Ahma waves her hand as if swatting a fly. “The recipe was part of the school project. Our grandkids passed them out to everyone.”

“But you are selling mandu to make money.” Halmeoni stabs the mandu container with her finger.

I step in. “Halmeoni—” I pause because she gives me such a glare that I swear my blood turns to ice.

“I am not your halmeoni,” she says with fire in her breath.

It hurts worse than any actual cut. I continue on in a shaky voice. “Enrique asked us to sell the vegetables from the school project at the market. We thought we could use the vegetables in a dish to show people how to use it and how it tastes.”

My grandmother wraps her arm around me. “See. It’s all part of the school project. What are you getting so angry about?”

Halmeoni’s voice raises in tone. “Your mandu taste terrible.”

Tyler loudly whistles. Even my mom’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm. Those are fighting words. Randall’s grandmother can be mean to me, but I draw the line at calling my ahma’s cooking terrible.

I step in front of my ahma. I pick up the now beaten-up package and flip open the lid. I grab a pair of chopsticks and grab at a mandu.

“My grandmother would never cook something horrible,” I say.

I eat the mandu and something is off. It tastes like the kimchi is moldy. I refuse to let my face betray how it really tastes so I swallow it.

“Absolutely delicious,” I say, even though I want to scrape the rotten flavor off my tongue.

Why does it taste like this? My ahma’s dumplings are renowned for their juiciness. People stand in a line and wait for them. But this isn’t it.

Randall steps forward, brandishing a pair of silver chopsticks with his name on it. He reaches forward to take a mandu.

I can’t let Randall eat the mandu. He will tell the truth and humiliate my grandmother. I bump into the table to jostle against Randall. He drops the mandu and it lands on the ground with a splat.

The hope I had in reuniting our families and coming out about our relationship is destroyed with the broken mandu on the black pavement.

“We didn’t steal anything,” says Tyler.

Randall gets closer to Tyler. Their faces are inches from each other.

I place my hand on Tyler’s bicep. “Stop,” I whisper to him.

Randall tightens his jaw. He leans toward Tyler. Alarm bells ring in my head. I wedge myself between Tyler and Randall’s bodies, trying unsuccessfully to create distance between these two hotheads.

“Take a breath and cool off,” I say to Tyler, but I look Randall right in the eyes to deliver the same message to him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Enrique watching us. Randall and I promised to keep the peace. Too bad he’s just about to destroy it.

Randall peels away from Tyler’s face and I breathe a sigh of relief. But a second later, Randall grabs another mandu and drops it in his mouth.

The realization hits me that the truth is coming fast. Randall’s face squinches up like he’s eaten a fresh lemon slice.

Randall spits the mandu out. It’s a mass of white dough, greens, and ground pork.

“That mandu is an insult to all mandu,” says Randall, wiping the side of his mouth.

“See!” shouts Halmeoni.

Randall sticks out his tongue. “Ugh. It tastes like something went bad.”

Tyler grabs a pair of chopsticks and snags the last remaining mandu.

“You’re lying,” says Tyler. Then, he eats it, and it’s clear from the way that he coughs and tries to keep it in his mouth that it tastes awful.

He swallows, but then immediately barfs it back up.

“See,” repeats Halmeoni. “Even your own grandchildren can’t eat it. These mandu are bad. People will think all mandu taste bad and no one will buy them from me.”

I look over at Ahma, who has been uncharacteristically quiet. Her face is solemn. There is no greater shame to her than food that is inedible.

Tyler immediately attempts to comfort her. “It was probably just one bad batch.”

I stick by Ahma’s side, glaring at Randall and Halmeoni, who both have the smuggest smiles on their faces. It twists my heart to see Ahma crushed.

“Are you happy now? You’ve upset my ahma. You’re being cruel and unkind,” I loudly whisper.

I direct my comment toward Randall, who registers my words. Randall never intended to tell his grandmother about us. I thought he was coming over to our booth for the big reveal, but no, instead he’s squashing our chances for a real relationship.

Enrique is slowly making his way over to us. Randall clocks his movements.

He puts his arm around Halmeoni. “Come on. Let’s go. We’ll fix this. I promise.”

Randall leads Halmeoni away. I glare at Randall, hoping he can feel my absolute wrath. I can’t believe I ever had feelings for him. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth.

Tyler and my mom are whispering kind words to Ahma, who genuinely looks crushed. I join them and offer Ahma a silent hug. She winds her fingers through my hair.

“Was it really that bad, my Julie?” asks Ahma. There are tears welling in her eyes.

I can’t lie to her, even though it kills me to say, “It didn’t taste great, Ahma.”

Her shoulders sag. I hug her tightly, wishing that I could make it all go away.

Even though it sucks to tell her the truth, I am so damn glad that I never told Ahma about my stupid crush on Randall. I can’t hurt her with that confession. I decide then and there to keep that secret hidden forever.

My new philosophy is Randall who?