Frankly in Love (Frankly in Love, #1)(64)

When we get up there, we of course don’t shut the door—so not quite like the movies, but close—and find a spot out of sight to attack each other with kisses.

“Get in as many as you can,” Joy breathes into my ear.

“Stolen moments,” I breathe back.

Joy has a tiny brown mole on the back of her perfect neck, and I love it to death.

“Melon,” says Mom.

When Mom enters, all she sees is me and Joy sitting quiet and neat as can be on separate chairs, like we were waiting this whole time.

She sets the tray of melon wedges before us, first apologizing that they’re not that sweet, melons weren’t on sale, etc. That’s just host humility talking. But I see she’s used the nice cocktail forks, the ones with the tiny peach birthing two microscopic doves and the word JUST. I hold one up to let Mom know I appreciate her enthusiasm and approval.

Joy bunches her shoulders and says, “Jal meokgesseumnida,” which translates dorkily to I’m gonna eat well but really just means thank you as a form of mealtime grace. Anyway, Mom eats it up. I want to jab Joy in the ribs and tell her, We don’t have to pretend anymore.

But then I realize Joy’s not pretending. She’s just being nice.

She’s just being.

Mom leaves us again. She’ll of course be back soon to pick up the tray. But until then, Joy and I are alone. I eat melon. Joy eats melon. We stare at each other.

“Do you think Brit’s doing okay?” says Joy.

I hang my head a centimeter. “Probably not.”

“Are you doing okay?”

“Better,” I say, “now that everything’s out in the open. You think Wu’s okay?”

“Ask your face,” says Joy.

We stare at each other some more.

“Life is funny,” I say.

Joy scoots an inch closer. “What is?”

“I think I probably liked you for longer than I realize,” I say. “But I unconsciously nixed you as a possibility from the start, because I was paranoid about our parents trying to micro-manage us. Because that’s what old-skool Korean parents do when families, you know, merge.”

“You think we would’ve started dating sooner, if it wasn’t for them?”

“Maybe,” I say, and scoot closer. “But whatever. We’re here now.”

Joy smiles. “I feel like we made it through some weird test.”

“We did,” I say. And indeed, I can feel it: a relief, a lightness slowly dawning among the dark clouds of guilt.

I run my hand through her hair and examine the green hiding there. I’ve always wanted to do this. And now I can.

“You know,” says Joy, “I’ve always thought you were cute from when we were little.”

This blows my mind. “I think you’re hot,” I say.

“Shut up,” says Joy. She scoots in close. She pins my arm down with one hand and feels my biceps with the other. “Make a muscle,” she says.

So I do. Joy’s hand dives into my shirt and begins roaming around my chest, my back. Her hand is cold and thrilling. It reaches up to cool the back of my neck.

“Keep making a muscle,” says Joy, and kisses me with her melon-sweet tongue.

No way can I keep making a muscle. I dive into her shirt as well. My hand is hot and stutters along her skin. This sweatshirt is much too big for her. I discover the clasp of her bra.

But then I hear the front door scrape open downstairs. We both freeze.

“Frankie-ya!” calls Mom. “Daddy home!”

Dad’s home? It’s only seven. Dad doesn’t get home for another two hours.

Joy and I creep to the top of the stairs, where we greet Dad with a loud “Hi.”

“Oh,” says Dad, bewildered. He looks tired. He looks like he just survived a long hike. “Joy here? Hi, Joy.”

“Hi, Mr. Li,” says Joy.

“You’re home early,” I say.

“Few customer today,” says Dad. “Fire making whole of sky smoky. Everybody staying home.”

I’m puzzled. Mom-n-Dad work at The Store every day, from morning to evening, on weekends, holidays, New Year’s Day, 365 days out of every year without a single vacation for as long as me and Hanna have been alive, even on slow days.

Dad manages a smile. “Nice see you, Joy.”

“Nice to see you too,” says Joy. She’s quietly bursting. Am I, too?

Because here we are.

It wasn’t pretty along the way, but here we are.

“You eating melon,” says Dad, and laughs brightly through his fatigue. His eyes linger on us for a moment—his son and his girlfriend, both of the tribe—just long enough to feel like pride. And say what you will, but things are already easier this way. It feels like a guilty pleasure. It feels like a cheat code.

My girlfriend of the tribe.

Mom-n-Dad walk away. If I remain still, I can manage to hear them. At first the Korean is simple enough for me to understand.

MOM: Did it take a long time?

DAD: No.

MOM: Did it hurt?

DAD: A little. I’m okay.

Then the Korean gets too advanced and is cut short with a latch of a door.

“Did what hurt?” I whisper.

“Probably his chest wound,” says Joy.