Hello, I Love You (19 page)

My brain recovers enough for me to slap his arm with the back of my hand. “You should have told her the truth.”

“Maybe, but then you wouldn’t have gotten the free fabric. She was adamant about us using it somewhere in the wedding—we’re getting married in June, by the way.”

My cheeks flame at this unexpected banter, and I turn away from him. Sophie’s talking to a vendor farther down, and I make a beeline toward her, praying my face will resume its normal hue by the time I reach her.

“Ready to move on?” She glances down at the silk. “Wow! That’s gorgeous. Did you buy it?”

I hear Jason chuckle behind me, but all I say is, “Umm … sort of.”

The passage opens up to a long hall filled with more vendors, selling all kinds of food. The smells mix in the air to form a scent I’ve never experienced before. I recognize fish, garlic, onions, and mushrooms, but they mingle with spices and other ingredients I can’t name. My mouth starts watering.

In the middle of the hall is a long line of picnic-style tables with benches that are almost all full. Naked bulbs hang above the tables, heavy with food, and the fires from the stalls make this part of the market warmer. Steam rises up from the sizzling pots, and a bustle of voices surrounds us.

We meander along the rows of cooks, who are mostly women. Some have long lines in front of their booths, while others call out to potential customers, holding up their products. I peer down at a table laden with different kinds of fish, lobster, and still-writhing octopus. The next stall has different kinds of spices, the next, a selection of vegetables.

Sophie motions toward a nearby vendor who has a long line in front of her cart. The woman fries up thick yellow pancakes with meat and something that looks suspiciously like kimchi inside it.

“You have to try this,” Sophie says as we step into the line. “It’s called
bindaetteok
.”

Sophie orders three servings, and we take our plates to one of the tables in the middle of the room. Jason sits across from us and pulls his scarf down from his face just long enough to pop a piece of the pancake into his mouth.

I pull the
bindaetteok
apart and hold a piece in front of my mouth, but after the kimchi incident when I thought my mouth would burst into flames, I decide to take a small bite first.

“What’s in this?”

“It’s made from mung beans, with onions and kimchi,” Sophie says. “And I ordered pork to go inside. It’s good. Dip it in the soy sauce.”

It’s chewy like a pancake, and the spicy kimchi ignites my mouth but not as bad as last night. The pork gives it a savory flavor, and the onions balance with some sweetness.

“This is good.” I take another bite. “Seriously.”

Sophie brightens. “You like it? Do you want to try something else?”

“Uhh…”

But she bolts up from the table and scurries over to another vendor, leaving half of her
bindaetteok
on her plate. I get a feeling I’m about to try everything this market has to offer that Sophie can shove down my throat.

“She likes showing you around the city,” Jason says, his voice muffled behind the scarf. “It’s nice of you to let her play tour guide.”

I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t mind. I like having somebody show me the ropes.”

We take a few moments to enjoy our
bindaetteok,
but we’re interrupted by two girls tapping Jason on the shoulder. They giggle, each trying to hide behind the other.

He waves them away, tilting his head down. They frown but don’t move. He tells them something, and they back away, looks of disappointment and confusion on their faces.

“You’re terrible with your fans,” I say. “You probably just broke their hearts.”

“I told them I’m not who they think I am.” He keeps his gaze focused on his pancake, which he rips into tiny pieces. “You’ve seen how crazy they get when they recognize me.”

“Maybe you should learn how to interact with them. It could help those rumors about you being surly and hard to work with.”

His head jerks up. “What rumors?”

“That’s what they said on that gossip show. Sophie told me all about it earlier—that Eden is supposedly breaking up because you are a prima donna and can’t get along with Tae Hwa and Yoon Jae.”

He snorts. “They don’t know anything.”

“Maybe. But it
does
seem like you and Yoon Jae aren’t very close.”

His eyes tighten. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I’m about to cite all the times I’ve suspected there’s something brewing between them when Sophie claps a myriad of bowls and plates down onto the table. I gape at all the food.

“Are you trying to make me fat?” I ask.

She plops down onto the bench. “I just thought you’d want to try a little bit of everything.” She points to each dish in turn. “That’s
sundae,
and that’s
mandu
—they’re my favorites—and then
jokbal
.”

I pick up one of the
mandu,
which looks like a dumpling, and find it’s even better than the
bindaetteok
. Spurred by the positive experience, I take a bite of the
jokbal,
some kind of meat served with a sauce that smells fishy.

“What kind of meat is this?” I ask between chews.

Jason watches me eat, his eyes lit with amusement. “Pig’s feet.”

I cough on the last bit of
jokbal
lingering in my mouth.

Sophie takes in my shocked expression. “What’s wrong?
Jokbal
is good.”

Jason unsuccessfully attempts to hide his laughter behind that obnoxious scarf, but I hear it and shoot him a glare. He only snickers louder.

“You’re right, it’s good. I’m just not sure I’m ready to eat pig’s feet, knowing what it is, you know? I don’t even like pork rinds in America.”

But Sophie’s face falls like I’ve disappointed her, so I stuff myself with more dumplings to placate her.

Jason stands. “I’ll be right back.”

He returns a moment later with a bottle of clear liquid and two shallow metal bowls. When he unscrews the top off the bottle, the distinct, sharp smell of alcohol wafts toward me. I wrinkle my nose, glancing over at Sophie. She frowns at the bottle, her chopsticks hovering over some
jokbal
.

“Is that vodka?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice emotionless as Jason fills the two bowls.

“No, it’s
soju
.” He hands Sophie one of the bowls and keeps one for himself. “I assumed you didn’t want any since you didn’t drink at the bar that night.”

I don’t say anything but watch him put the bowl to his mouth and drain it, like you would drink the leftover milk from your cereal bowl. But milk can’t make you forget where you are or decide to drunk-call your ex-girlfriend.

Or think it’s okay to take more pills than the bottle directs.

Sophie doesn’t touch her bowl, just stares at her brother. Tension settles around us, but Jason doesn’t seem to notice it. Or else he’s ignoring it.

She abruptly gets to her feet, bumping the table and rattling the plates. Failing at hiding both her hurt and irritation, she says, “I’m—I’ll be right back.”

I watch her flee until she disappears into the crowd. Jason still doesn’t address the awkwardness, so I take it upon myself to investigate.

“What’s wrong with Sophie?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“I think it has something to do with the
soju
.”

With my view of his face limited to his eyes, I search them for any recognition but find confusion instead.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“She got upset when she saw you drinking.” I hesitate, then venture to add, “Like the night of your birthday party when you were drunk.”

“You’re just being overly sensitive.”

Irritation bubbles inside my chest, but I ignore it. “Am I? Ironic that the only times she’s upset with you are when you drink.”

He shoves the scarf down, and I get a better view of his face and see him blanch. He shoves the bottle farther away from him so roughly that it nearly topples over.

This is probably another one of those times when I should keep my mouth shut and let Jason open up when he wants to. But judging by how much I already know about him—namely, that you have to yank out any personal info like he’s holding on to it with a death grip—I take the plunge. I’ll worry about him getting annoyed later.

“Is there something I should know?” I ask.

I expect a sharp response, like I’ve gotten from my brother when I “annoy” him about his personal life. But Jason just sighs. He rubs a hand across his eyes, his shoulders slumping.

“She thinks I’m going to become an alcoholic,” he says.

Shock rockets through me, but I keep my face composed. Of all the things he could have said, this isn’t what I expected. Maybe she had a bad experience with a boyfriend who drank? She’s opposed to it in general? But I never pegged Jason as an alcoholic, even if he did get drunk that one time—I’ve never seen him drink since, till tonight.

“Okay,” I say, proud of myself for keeping my voice level. “Her concern can’t be completely unwarranted. Do you … have a drinking problem?”

Now his eyes sharpen, and he snaps, “
No,
I don’t.”

Should his defensiveness be a warning signal?

“Did something happen that would make her think you do?”

He hesitates a second, then sighs. “Before school started, back in the summer, the paparazzi got a shot of me coming out of a club. I was—okay, I was really drunk, but it had been a bad week. Mostly, it was just bad publicity, but Sophie freaked out.”

“I can see why she might,” I mutter.

But he must not have heard me, because he keeps talking. “She thinks that just because our father is an alcoholic, I’m going to become one, too,” he continues, frustration thick in his voice. “Like I can’t control myself. Like I’m going to be just like him.” He scowls, muttering, “I’m nothing like him. And, I mean, I’m nineteen. Only old people are alcoholics.”

I consider arguing with him about the last bit but hold back. My mind searches for the best way to respond, knowing I’m on sensitive ground. Without Sophie here, I can dig a little deeper, but I fear Jason shutting me off if I prick too many nerves. But the hurt that’s swallowed his eyes spurs me on.

“Why do you think Sophie’s worried?”

“I have no idea! She’s reading too much into it when there’s actually nothing there.”

I nod. “Maybe.”

He rolls his eyes. “Everyone drinks occasionally.”

“I don’t.”

We lapse into silence.

“You agree with Sophie,” he says, eyes hard. “You think I have a problem.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I have no idea. But I’ll be honest—I think you’re hiding something. There’s something else going on that you don’t want to talk about. But, whatever it is, you need to get over it. Because your drinking really upsets your sister, and it’s inconsiderate of you to do it when she’s around.”

Jason stares at me a long time. Until I squirm. But I hold his gaze, not willing to back down.

He looks away, and I give myself a mental high five.

“Maybe,” he murmurs so I almost don’t hear it.

We pick at the rest of the food, but most of it has gone cold. Jason throws away the rest of the bottle of
soju,
and the sound of the sloshing liquid hitting the trash can sends a shiver through me.

Sophie returns about ten minutes later, a shopping bag under her arm and her good mood returned. She clears away our leftovers, and we head back out of the market.

On our way back to the car, I slow my pace so I walk behind the twins, watching them. It’s obvious they’re close. And despite Jason’s assertions that he’s okay, I wonder if Sophie’s fears are reasonable. I know he’s reserved, but is it normal for someone to be that unemotional and detached most of the time?

I think back to Nathan before he got bad, and there are some similarities. But that could just be that creative type of brain and the moodiness which often accompanies it. Still, I determine to take more notice of his moods. I’m not going to watch another person close to me self-destruct.

As if he can feel me thinking about him, Jason slows and falls into step beside me, Sophie walking a few paces ahead of us. When we’re in sight of the car, he grabs my wrist and stops me. We stand in the middle of the sidewalk, facing each other.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” he says, peering at our shoes. “You—you were right about Sophie. It was stupid of me to think it wouldn’t bother her. She … took getting a stepmom a lot harder than I did. I think Sophie always hoped our father would go back to our mom.”

He looks at me, and I struggle for words. With him standing so close, his head bent down toward me, my articulation skills disappear, and all my attention diverts to the feel of his fingers wrapped around the skin between my glove and sleeve.

“You’ve been really good for Sophie.” He swallows hard, shifting uncomfortably. “And me.”

If my brain hadn’t already melted, it would have now. His gaze bores into mine, like he’s trying to communicate something he can’t with words. But my brain’s so fuzzy I can’t figure out what.

I part my lips to respond with something—anything—but no sound comes out. All I can do is stare back at him, the heat in my cheeks increasing and the feel of his breath on my face sending shivers down my back.

His hand slides down my wrist to my hand, and our fingers do an awkward dance before they interlock, our palms pressed together and my pulse racing.

“I guess I’m just trying to say that I’m glad we met you,” he says, voice falling to a murmur. “I’m glad
I
met you.”

He squeezes my hand, but my focus zeroes in on the left side of his mouth, which tips up in a half smile. If this were a movie or one of those dramas Sophie got me hooked on, Jason and I would kiss now.

But it’s not, and we don’t.

He lets go of my hand and steps back, waiting for me to continue toward the car.

Sophie waits for us by the passenger door, tapping her index finger against the window and shooting Jason a look of irritation. He unlocks the doors, and we all climb in. Sophie doesn’t turn on the music this time, just busies herself with her phone.