The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,46
Hermione was no longer in her Hogwarts robe. She was wearing a ball gown from Lucy’s Shimmer and Shine genie collection. “I wanted her to look pretty. With sparkles. But the dress is stuck.”
It took a few seconds before it hit me. “Lucy. That was worth five hundred dollars. FIVE! HUNDRED! DOLLARS!” I took her naked Shimmer doll and threw it across the room, so hard that it hit the wall and left a flesh-colored scuff mark on the off-white paint. Irresponsible Lucy, who flushed dolls down toilets, who ate paintbrush tips at parties, who threw away five hundred dollars. It made me so…ARRRRGGGHHHH!
My mom came into the kitchen with bags of Subway sandwiches. Lucy ran to her and hid behind her legs.
Mom swung open the back door and called out to my dad. “Jagiya! Time to eat dinner! I buy your favorite! Cold-cut combo foot long!”
“Can you please tell Lucy to stay away from my stuff? She ruined something I was saving!”
“Lucy, don’t bother Nate thing. You want him to bother all your toy?”
“Nooooo! I said I was sorry, Umma!”
“Don’t you ever go into my room and mess with my stuff,” I growled at her. “Mom, I’m gonna go out for dinner. Can you put my sandwich in the fridge? I’ll eat it for lunch tomorrow.” I opened the freezer and pulled out a bag of peas to ice my ankle.
Mom unpacked the subs and chips and glanced at me. “Why you go out in your zombie clothes?”
I glanced down. “Huh? These are my normal clothes.”
She shrugged but didn’t apologize. While putting groceries away, she also restacked and pulled out Tupperwares of banchan to make room. She used the Korean mom sniff test to measure edibility before putting it on the kitchen table. Her marinated soybean sprouts, radish kimchi, and sesame leaves made the cut. The spicy pickled cucumbers and spicy squid went straight into the swing-top trash can.
Subway sandwiches and banchan. Two cultures colliding to make culinary magic: this was the Korean American dream right here. KFC with kimchi was my all-time second-favorite combo.
Dad sat down at the kitchen table first, unwrapped his foot long, and crunched his chips. He refused to look at me. Neither of us brought up my painful fall because it brought shame on both of us. I was his “soft” son, unable to climb up and down a ladder.
Lucy still couldn’t use chopsticks, so she pulled out pieces of soybean sprouts with her fork. She grabbed a few pieces of spinach with her fingers when my parents weren’t looking.
Mom said, “Jae-Woo, your birthday is coming. We can get pizza from Papa John. Maybe I make you brownie cake?”
Lucy lifted a sprout from her plate and dangled it next to her mouth. “Why can’t we go have pizza and games at Chunky Cheese?”
Dad grumbled, “Don’t play with your food!”
Lucy ate the sprout and picked up her fork to stab at the rest of the vegetables on her plate.
Mom snorted. “Nate is too old for Chunky Cheese. That is little kid place.”
Frustrated, I sighed, “It’s Chuck E. Cheese’s, not Chunky Cheese—”
Mom cut me off. “That’s what I say!”
“Me too,” Lucy added.
Mom muttered, “What is Chucky mean? Chunky Cheese make more sense.”
There was no point in arguing about this. I gave up. “Why can’t I have a Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream cake?” For the last five years, I’d had Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough plus Fudge Brownie with M&M’s and Oreo crumbles on top. It was a custom order, and a yearly tradition.
“Those cake are expensive, Jae-Woo.” Dad shook his head, pinching between his brow.
Mom and Dad were back into thrift mode, a cyclical event every few years. Last time it happened was when Lucy was born. My parents returned some onesies and bibs they’d gotten from neighbors and friends just to buy me new running shoes because I’d had a growth spurt, as many middle school boys did. Our groceries went from name-brand to generic. Home repairs went on hold and were never resumed. Though I became aware of our circumstances