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Jess locks eyes with me over her mother’s head, mouthing an apology or maybe, “help me” or “shoot me.” I can’t tell for certain, but the horror in her expression is so over-the-top I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Lifting a hand in farewell and promising to see them soon, I start up the sidewalk toward the transformed downtown. I grab another tea at a new English tea shop, relishing the smoky flavor as I hunt for a place that sells conservative, Mrs. Cho-approved clothing.
But Jess was right, the stuffy, stuck-in-the-1950s downtown of our childhood is gone. The drugstore is now a CBD shop, the fabric place is a microbrewery, and the suit shop is a wood-fired pizza place. I pass several trendy clothing stores with loud music blaring from inside, but a glance in the display windows is all it takes to assure me I won’t find what I’m looking for inside. All the jeans are torn, the t-shirts are clingy in a way I’m sure Jess’s mom won’t approve of, and there isn’t a nicely folded collar in sight.
I’m beginning to think I might have to grab a car to the mall on the other side of town and take my chances there, when I turn a corner and see Frank’s Fine Family Clothing still in the same place it was when I was a kid. The display window reveals Frank’s has made an effort to keep up with the times—there are graphic t-shirts mixed in with the polo and dress shirts on the mannequins, and jeans on offer as well as neatly pressed slacks—but they’ll absolutely have what I’m looking for.
Inside, I quickly locate a lightweight black button-down shirt and khakis and change into them in the dressing room. I take the tags from the items, as well as a package of boxer briefs, a pair of pajama pants, a spare button-down in blue, socks, and a pair of khaki shorts to the counter and settle up with the clerk, who looks vaguely familiar. I suspect we went to high school together on the “bad” side of town, but we’ve both changed enough to be strangers to each other now.
Outside, I wander toward the edge of downtown, thinking about how much things have changed since Jess and I were kids, but how many things are also still exactly the same—like Mrs. Cho, and her rabid disapproval of wrinkles, surprises, and men over five foot ten.
On impulse, I duck into a gourmet cheese shop, where a friendly guy in a “Have You Accepted Cheeses Into Your Life?” t-shirt sets me up with a gourmet cheese board, a freshly baked baguette, and several packages of spiced pecans, one of Jess’s favorite guilty pleasures. Armed with appropriate clothing and edible offerings that will hopefully offset any worries about having enough food to go around, I call a car and head toward Jess’s neighborhood.
Here, things have changed, too. Giant new houses have sprung up on what once were empty lots and most of the 1960s bungalows on Jess’s block have gotten fresh paint, new roofs, and swanky landscaping. But when the driver pulls into Jess’s driveway, I can see the Cho place is exactly the same, which isn’t really surprising. The Chos both work hard, but there’s no way they’re keeping up with the Joneses when all their new neighbors are probably refugees from Manhattan making six or seven figures a year.
Silently wondering how Mrs. Cho would react if a team of roofers showed up to replace her old roof with a new one—courtesy of a mysterious benefactor—I thank the driver and emerge with my bags and still chilled cheese plate. I’m halfway to the door, feeling fairly optimistic about my odds of winning the Chos over with my wardrobe change and peace offering, when I see Vicky and a nervous-looking Korean man in a pink polo and jeans, who I’m guessing is her husband, Steve, sitting on the shadowed front porch.
They’re perched on the edge of the porch swing, clinging to each other’s hands. As I approach, they shake their heads in unison, and Vicky whispers, “I’d give them a minute, if I were you. They’re…talking.”
“Or murdering each other,” Steve adds in an equally hushed voice. “Hi, I’m Steve. You must be Samuel.”
“Sam is fine,” I say, lifting the cheese plate and clothing bags into the air with a tight smile. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m pretty loaded up. I thought cheese might help make up for being the unexpected guest, but…maybe not?” I frown at the curtain-shrouded window beside the swing, able to make out the drone of raised voices on the other side of the brick wall.
Vicky shakes her head. “Oh, don’t worry about that. They’ve moved on to bigger things.” She drops her voice to an even softer whisper. “Apparently, Jess quit her job.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “But she has an interview lined up with a great company in just a couple days. She’ll probably be gainfully employed again by the end of the week.” I nod toward the house. “I’m assuming Jess is explaining that to her mom now? And pretty soon we’ll all be welcome indoors again?”
Vicky bares her teeth. “Oh, wow.”
My brows pinch closer together. “Wow, what? Am I missing something?”
“You’re just so…innocent,” she says, patting her husband’s thigh. “Steve was the same way before he married into the family. He had no idea women could be so fierce. My mother almost ate him alive the first time he came over to the house for dinner.”
“She wanted Vicky to marry a surgeon, not a lowly anesthesiologist,” Steve says with a shudder. “If I hadn’t already been crazy about this woman, it might have been a dealbreaker. I’ve never felt shittier about my life choices than I did at that dinner, trying to explain why I only had a three point seven grade point average compared to Victoria’s four point three.”
“I did a lot of extra credit,” Vicky explains. “It was compulsive. I’m better now.”
“You’re the best,” Steve says, taking her hand. “I can’t wait to whisk you away to our hotel after dinner and rub your feet in the peace and quiet of a room with no rampaging Chos or killer ferrets in it. I’m so glad they put Isabelle in her kennel. I’m positive she wanted to chomp my nose right off my face.”
“I don’t know,” Vicky says, with a playful grin. “Imight decide to chomp your nose off later, if your giant baby keeps kicking the crap out of my spleen.”
“Mygiant baby?” Steve snorts. “Your dad is the one who’s nearly six feet tall, woman. We keep it dainty on my side of the family.”
“Dainty?” she echoes, with a laugh. “Yes, that’s the perfect word for you, babe. My dainty little hubs with his magic, swollen-ankle-soothing hands.”
Steve kisses her forehead before glancing my way once more. “I would offer to let you and Jess come with us, but I’m pretty sure Auntie Lisa would disown me, and I can’t live without her bulgogi and mandu dumplings.”
Vicky’s eyes go wide. “Dude, no. She’s such a good cook. If I knew I’d never get to raid her stash of homemade pickles again, I would cry for a very,verylong time. I mean, before I—”
She breaks off with a wince, her shoulders shooting up to her ears as a voice that sounds like Jess’s shouts from inside, “Give me a fucking break!”
“I’m going in,” I say. “I can’t leave her in there without backup.”
Vicky’s on her feet a beat later. “I’ll come with you. I’ll pretend I have to pee.”
“You just peed before we came out,” Steve says, still not looking on board with returning to the lion’s den.
“Yes, but pregnant ladies have to pee all the time,” she says, taking a peek at my tray as she passes by. “Oh, that looks lovely, but Auntie is lactose intolerant.”
