Page 8 of The Broken Hearts Club

I followed him into the adjoining gray and white bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it was blank and pristine.

He opened a cabinet and placed a white towel and a wash cloth on the empty vanity. Then he grabbed a multipack of toothbrushes, popped one out of its plastic shell, and handed it to me as he asked, “Need anything else?”

“I’m all set.”

“Okay. Join me in the kitchen when you’re done.” With that, he left the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

I sat down on the closed toilet lid and let my shoulders slump as I shut my eyes. The last two days had been beyond exhausting, and I needed to catch my breath.

But after a minute, I made myself get up and turn on the shower. I didn’t want to take so long in here that he started to wonder what I was doing in his bathroom.

Once I was clean and dressed, I joined him in the kitchen, where six takeout boxes were neatly arranged on the island. Beside them were several serving utensils, two white, shallow bowls, two sets of chopsticks, and a single fork.

As he started to fill one of the bowls with rice, I said, “The fork’s for me, isn’t it?”

“You also have the option of chopsticks.”

“But you assumed I wouldn’t know how to use them.”

“I never said that.”

“It was implied with the fork.” I picked up the chopsticks and used them to pluck a single grain of rice from the bowl. “While it’s true that I’d never set foot outside of Idaho before yesterday, I always dreamed of a bigger world than my tiny hick town. That’s why I’m fluent in French and Spanish, read travel books for fun, and taught myself to use chopsticks when I was eight.”

“That’s impressive. I didn’t learn to use chopsticks until I was in college, and I only speak one and a half languages.”

“What’s the half?”

“Korean. I’ve been trying to learn it for years, but I’m nowhere near fluent.”

“You’re Korean-American, right?” He nodded, and I asked, “Do you have any relatives that can help you with the language?”

“None of my relatives speak Korean. I was adopted from South Korea when I was four months old and raised by a white family.”

We both took a seat on the barstools at the kitchen island, and I asked, “Were you an only child?”

“I have three sisters, but they’re a lot older than me, so it kind of felt like I was. My dad really wanted a boy, so he and my mom ended up adopting me when their daughters were in their late teens.”

“Are you and your parents close?”

“No. They’re super religious, and conservative…”

“And you’re gay.”

“Exactly.” Miller was ready to change the subject. “I forgot about drinks,” he said, as he got up and went to the refrigerator. “What would you like?”

“A soda, if you have it.”

He brought us two bottles of something fancy that I’d never heard of. I clinked my bottle to his and said, “Here’s to new friends.”

Miller started to reply, but just then, a black cat jumped onto the kitchen island. It startled me so much that I let out a scream worthy of a victim in a horror movie. The cat shot off the island and darted away.

Once I finally stopped screaming, I blurted, “What the hell!”

“I thought you liked cats.” Miller definitely looked amused.

“I love them. I just didn’t know you had one, so that scared the shit out of me.”

“She came with the house, more or less. When I moved in, she stood outside the back door and cried until I let her in. Then she refused to go back outside.”