Page 62 of Mother Parker
“You know I was kidding, right?” he said, staring at me after a few moments.
I had become so engrossed by the cooking that it took me a moment to register what he meant, and then I turned to Hwan with knotted brows.
“Huh?”
“About the bukkake stuff. It was just…a joke.” His face turned serious for a moment, and I didn’t like it.
It looked pained. Anguished. Yeah, I didn’t like it one bit.
“I tend to go overboard sometimes. Didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he said.
“You-you didn’t. It-it’s okay,” I rushed to tell him, hoping it would bring his smile back.
He shrugged and stuck his chin to one shoulder with pursed lips.
“It’s just…I know I’m a lot sometimes, so if…if I get a bit much, just let me know.”
I wanted to tell him he wasn’t too much. That I enjoyed his rambunctious personality. That his smile brightened my day—anyone’s day, really. That whoever had told him he was a lot was a massive boil in the ass—ugly and unnecessary.
But instead, I just nodded.
“Okay,” I added, and he turned his attention back to the stove.
He removed the pot from the heat and turned the beef on the skillet. Five minutes later, I helped carry the food to the table. I couldn’t wait to start eating because everything looked delicious.
The bulgogi was served with rice, a cucumber salad, the soybean soup, potato pancakes and kimchi.
“I tried to avoid overloading the dishes with spice but I’m afraid some might still be too much so if you don’t do spice I can point out—”
“I’m good with spice,” I told him and picked up the chopsticks he’d already laid on the table and took a big bite of the beef. I almost had a heart attack because it wasn’t just good. It was…it was…
“How is it?” he asked.
“Um…ambrosial,” I said.
He choked and spat out his food laughing out loud, and my heart felt at ease once again.
“So you do know other words,” he said once he recomposed and cleaned up his mess.
I rolled my eyes and tried the cucumber salad that had a nice heat to it before trying a scoop of the soup.
Hwan served a red wine from a suspicious bottle.
It was a deep crimson color like blood and tasted gorgeously sweet. Just how I liked it.
“Bokbunja ju. Raspberry wine. It’s more of a dessert wine, but considering your sweet tooth, I thought I’d let you try some, but if you don’t like—”
“I love it,” I said with unintended hoarseness that scared Hwan frozen.
I took another sip, mentally punched myself, and looked back at him.
“So…boba boy, what’s your story? Why are you gay for bubble tea?”
Oh my God, Parker, shut up! What’s wrong with you? Why would you say that?
Hwan lifted his chopsticks to his mouth and gave me a strange look. He was probably trying to figure out the quickest way to get rid of me. And who could blame him? I was an idiot who couldn’t do anything right.
“My omma—my mom—had a bubble tea shop. She came to this country when she was just a kid, and she and my grandparents struggled to make ends meet. They slaved away in a factory that took advantage of them because they couldn’t speak perfect English, and they were, you know, immigrants.
