Parking lot\u2019s full when we arrive at the restaurant and mom\u2019s freaking out.<\/p>\n
Three weeks to secure a reservation and we\u2019re gonna lose it in the next ten minutes if we don\u2019t check in.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a valet,\u201d mom says after we\u2019ve circled the block for the umpteenth time. She points to an A-frame sign on the sidewalk that I swear wasn\u2019t there five minutes ago.<\/p>\n
As we near it, Rick lets off the gas. \u201cTwelve dollars?\u201d he says. \u201cFuck that shit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFak dat sheet,\u201d my sister Kelsey chirps from her car seat.<\/p>\n
Mom whips her head back at us, then shoots Rick a see-what-you-started glare, to which he replies, \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know what mom sees in him. Sure, his place is big enough that I get my own room, and his lawn isn\u2019t gifted with like a hundred-million dog turds. But he always acts like he\u2019s hot shit just cos he owns a used auto lot (pre-loved vehicle dealership, he calls it), which is really a bunch of beat-up Oldsmobiles and Saturns for people with Bad credit? No credit? No problem!<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a line of traffic when we come around to the restaurant again. My brother Eddie gophers his head out the window and tells us that some guy\u2019s trying to parallel park.<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus Christ,\u201d Rick moans, and lays on the horn as I melt into the vinyl.<\/p>\n
Had he not dropped mom\u2019s kintsugi bowl last month, we\u2019d probably be ordering a double-double right now from In-N-Out like we do every Saturday.<\/p>\n
Rick doesn\u2019t normally get guilt-tripped after breaking stuff. But the kintsugi bowl was special. It helped mom through her divorce, though I never understood her obsession with it. Why spend all that time fixing something when you can buy a new one? She tried to explain it to me once. Something about wabi-sabi. But then she started crying and I couldn\u2019t take it cos it reminded me of how much she cried after dad left and we had to live in a motel for a little bit and eat dry cereal for dinner so I told her to please stop crying cos then I\u2019ll start crying too and that I totally got it even though I didn\u2019t get it and then she stopped crying and I never asked her about it again.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s three minutes before our reservation and mom\u2019s sniffling like she\u2019s about to cry so I give Eddie the do-something look cos he\u2019s the one with a driver\u2019s license and he flips up his palms like what-do-you-want-me-to-do and I shrug my shoulders like I-dunno-think-of-something then all of a sudden he goes, \u201cI know a place to park.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you\u2019re only telling me this now?\u201d Rick says in his douchebag voice while Eddie blurts, \u201cGo check in I\u2019ll meet you guys inside order something for me I don\u2019t care waters just fine thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before Rick can respond, mom hops out of the car and huffs a loud, \u201cLet\u2019s go\u201d.<\/p>\n
So with the engine still running, Rick hustles to the sidewalk while I grab Kelsey as Eddie jumps into the driver\u2019s seat and performs the world\u2019s fastest eighteen-point turn before speeding off.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Salmon is the restaurant\u2019s iconic dish, so Rick orders it for all of us\u2014cos \u2018he knows what\u2019s best\u2019\u2014except for Kelsey, since he refuses to pay twenty-five bucks for someone who\u2019ll eat dried glue if given the chance.<\/p>\n
The fish arrives with limp parsley and a slop of lumpy mashed potatoes that reminds me of the sandcastles Eddie and I used to build when mom took us to the beach, back before she met Rick, who convinced her that sand was full of microbes and bacteria and other stuff with really pretentious names.<\/p>\n
Rick scoops salmon from mom\u2019s plate then makes annoying fluttering noises as he maneuvers his spoon in figure eights towards Kelsey.<\/p>\n
I dig in cos I\u2019m starving. After a few bites though, bits of fish begin sticking to my cheeks. I\u2019ve never had salmon before, but I\u2019m pretty sure it\u2019s not supposed to taste like damp cotton balls. So when Rick looks away to talk with mom, I begin air-planing salmon toward Kelsey\u2019s mouth, but as I near, she grabs the spoon and, in my attempt to snatch it back, light pink flakes go flying onto Rick\u2019s sleeve. He turns around and gives me a look that could shrivel potato eyes, which makes me want to dump root beer on his face.<\/p>\n
A few minutes go by when our waiter checks in.<\/p>\n
Rick moves his tongue slowly over his teeth\u2014paying no mind to the poor guy, who\u2019s patiently waiting even though there\u2019s like a billion other tables\u2014then digs his pinky nail in between his incisors to work loose a sprig of parsley before smearing it onto a napkin and examining it as if it were a dead bug.<\/p>\n
\u201cSalmon\u2019s crap,\u201d he finally says, pushing away his half-eaten plate. \u201cCan\u2019t eat it.\u201d<\/p>\n
On the one hand, I\u2019m relieved, since there\u2019s no way Rick will make me finish my meal now, not without looking like a total hypocrite. On the other hand, I feel for the poor waiter\u2014a string bean of a dude\u2014who\u2019s fidgeting with his apron and muttering something about the cooks.<\/p>\n
After he leaves, I envision the scene in the kitchen. \u201cSomeone complained about the salmon,\u201d the waiter says to the chef. \u201cCalled it crap.\u201d The chef goes postal. Snags a humongous butcher knife then stalks into the dining room and gets up in Rick\u2019s face, knife tip pressed to nose. \u201cYou think the salmon\u2019s crap?\u201d he says, and the entire restaurant goes quiet as a wet spot forms on Rick\u2019s pants.<\/p>\n
A buzz-cut man in a blue suit approaches our table, apologizes for the salmon, offers a thirty percent discount for our meal tonight, thanks us for our patronage, then swiftly excuses himself, leaving Rick with his mouth hung open.<\/p>\n
Ha.<\/p>\n
From my wallet, I remove seven dollar bills and slip them under my plate after everyone leaves. If Rick got fussy over the valet, there\u2019s little chance he\u2019ll leave much tip, if any.<\/p>\n
Outside, Eddie tells us to wait while he retrieves the car.<\/p>\n
Rick wants to go with him. I can see it in his eyes, his need for control. As if Eddie is a little kid that needs to be controlled. As if he\u2014we\u2014haven\u2019t grown up perfectly fine without him. But then mom heads back into the restaurant because she forgot her sweater and Kelsey gets all dramatic, flailing her arms and crying like the world\u2019s gonna end.<\/p>\n
Eddie uses the distraction to leave, and I hurry off with him.<\/p>\n
Ten minutes later, we arrive at a hotel. \u201cWhat are we doing here?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s usually weddings on the weekends,\u201d Eddie says.<\/p>\n
He used to low-key DJ here during his senior year of high school, back when flossing was more than a hygiene routine, so I believe him, though I\u2019m still not sure what\u2019s going on.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre we crashing a wedding?\u201d<\/p>\n
He marches through the hotel\u2019s lobby, past the front desk, then down the hall, not pausing to admire the cool turquoise and magenta stars plastered onto the checkered black interior.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re going to the bar,\u201d he says when we arrive at the elevators.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I\u2019m not old enough to drink.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re not gonna drink, weirdo.\u201d<\/p>\n
After we enter the elevator, he presses for the ballroom. \u201cWe\u2019re just getting a parking validation.\u201d<\/p>\n
Oh. Right.<\/p>\n
\u201cBest-case scenario,\u201d Eddie says as the elevator doors close, \u201ceveryone\u2019s sitting down to eat. Then we can sneak to the bartender, get the parking sticker, and sneak out. Bada-bing, Bada-boom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd worst-case scenario?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCocktail hour.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It\u2019s cocktail hour when we arrive at the ballroom. Swarms of suits and brightly colored gowns crowd the bar. Hands move about wildly as heads roll back in fits of laughter over the hum of piano music.<\/p>\n
\u201cRemember,\u201d Eddie says in his best Rick voice, puffing out his chest, \u201cconfidence builds character. Blah-blah-blah-blah. Blah-blah-blah-blah.\u201d<\/p>\n
I know he\u2019s trying to lighten the mood, but it\u2019s hard to feel confident when we\u2019re dressed in ratty button-down shirts and faded jeans. We look like pity invites, the third cousins half removed with bad acne.<\/p>\n
As we get in line at the bar, Eddie\u2019s phone rings full blast: BI-DO-BI-DO, BI-DO-BI-DO, BANANA PHONE, BANANA PHONE.<\/p>\n
He quickly lowers the volume, then scans the room as I try to teleport myself outside.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s mom,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t answer it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRick\u2019s probably pissed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know. We should hurry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDuh.\u201d I motion to the line while mentally willing the bartender to move faster. \u201cIsn\u2019t there anywhere else\u2014”<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you know the groom?\u201d asks a voice from behind.<\/p>\n
We turn to face a black vest. I have to tilt my head back to meet the man\u2019s eyes. They\u2019re deep set and brown and he smells like Rick on his dates with mom, a mixture of leather and mint.<\/p>\n
Without thinking, I say, \u201cActually, we\u2019re friends with the bride.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eddie pinches my arm.<\/p>\n
\u201cOw.\u201d I slap his stomach with the back of my hand.<\/p>\n
The man gives us a once over, then cocks his head. \u201cYou,\u201d he says, \u201cknow the bride?\u201d<\/p>\n
Nervous energy creeps through my neck. That wasn\u2019t what I\u2019d planned to say. Not that I\u2019d planned to say anything at all. But once the words left my mouth, I embraced it tighter than a leech on skin.<\/p>\n
Straightening up, I hum out a confident \u201cmm-hmm,\u201d hoping he\u2019s not a stickler for details.<\/p>\n
Eddie pinches me again, this time harder.<\/p>\n
\u201cQuit it,\u201d I whisper through clenched teeth, then slap him again.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d he whispers back.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re the one who\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, but\u2014”<\/p>\n
\u201cShh.\u201d<\/p>\n
I study the man\u2019s sleek silver tux and curly black hair that’s combed over loosely, as if blown by a strong breeze.<\/p>\n
After what seems like forever, the man smiles. \u201cHoney boy,\u201d he says, wagging a finger, \u201cyou\u2019re at the wrong party.\u201d<\/p>\n
It isn\u2019t until another tall man, also in a silver tux, arrives with a wine glass and wraps an arm around his waist that I grasp the situation.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was his idea to come here,\u201d I hear myself say, pointing at Eddie, who reigns his chin to his chest.<\/p>\n
Then we\u2019re five again:<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTell him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTell him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShut up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shut up.\u201d<\/p>\n
Next thing I know, Tall Man number one starts laughing. Then Tall Man number two joins in.<\/p>\n
I stare at my Reeboks, feeling my face get hot. Before I know it I\u2019m spilling out everything: Rick, the parking, the salmon, the manager, and mom\u2019s kintsugi bowl, at which point they stop me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe love kintsugi,\u201d they say.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor real?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor real,\u201d they say.<\/p>\n
\u201cKintsugi is about embracing imperfection,\u201d Tall Man number one says. \u201cAbout giving things a second life.\u201d He goes on to describe his upbringing, his first marriage, his divorce, then his relationship with Tall Man number two. It\u2019s like one of those lifetime movies mom and Rick watch after they put Kelsey down for a nap and when they think I\u2019m doing my homework.<\/p>\n
They stop talking when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.<\/p>\n
I let it go for a bit until Tall Man number two clears his throat loudly. \u201cYour butt is vibrating,\u201d he says, then brings his drink to his mouth.<\/p>\n
Eddie laughs.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe should probably go,\u201d I say, even though I don\u2019t want to leave.<\/p>\n
The beat of the Macarena is coming to life, and I want to join in. Maybe form a conga line. Have a beer. Whatever they do at weddings. Anything but sit in the car and listen to Rick go off on some tangent about radio commercials. But mom\u2019s probably freaking out.<\/p>\n
My phone stops buzzing. After a few seconds, it starts again.<\/p>\n
Tall Man number one grabs the glass from his partner. \u201cBefore you leave.\u201d He takes a sip. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you make a plate? There\u2019s salmon.\u201d<\/p>\n
I think about our meal from earlier and my cheeks reflexively suck inward. \u201cOh, I dunno.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGive it another shot,\u201d he says. \u201cMight not be as bad as you think.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
She tried to explain it once, but then she started crying and I couldn\u2019t take it cos it reminded me of how much she cried after dad left so I told her to please stop crying cos then I\u2019ll start crying too and that I totally got it even though I didn\u2019t get it and then she stopped crying and I never asked her about it again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":19231,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18499","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-jennifer-lai"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18499","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18499"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18499\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19233,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18499\/revisions\/19233"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19231"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18499"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18499"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18499"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}