It’s the first Friday since I started, and when I came into the apartment in the morning to make Henry breakfast, he said he was going to stay at home today.
“I try to take Fridays off,” he says, picking out books from the shelf that occupies one full wall in the living room. “And I was planning to take Lucien to the library in the afternoon. You’re welcome to join us. Let me know.”
“That sounds like fun! We’d love to!” Ji-ae shrieks.
Oh, yeah. My sister-in-law is here, too. She invited herself. After I told her about bleaching the curtains, she’s worried that I might mess up again and lose the job, so she’s here to show me the ropes of being a good housekeeper. As she reminds me again and again, she’s been managing the house for the last five years and nothing’s ever been out of order.
“We can’t go to the library,” I whisper loudly in her ear. “We have to buy a new vase to replace the one I broke yesterday.”
I’m lucky Henry hasn’t noticed it’s gone yet.
Ji-ae clicks her tongue disapprovingly once Henry’s plucked a book from his library and gone into his room. “You’re something. Four disasters in as many days.”
I pout. “I’m an actress. This housekeeping stuff’s not my area of expertise.”
“You manage well enough in my house.” Digging into the fridge, she starts assembling vegetables for lunch.
“We don’t have antique silk curtains and porcelain vases in the house, do we?” I counter, then get out the knife and start slicing onions.
Observing me, she rolls her eyes, then moves me over and seizes another knife. Her hand moves like lightning and by the time I blink, the onions have been diced into perfect little cubes. Also, there are minimal tears in her eyes, nothing like the rivulets that run down my cheeks and nose by the time I’m usually done.
“This is how you hold the knife.” She demonstrates, flailing her wrist. “Your wrist must be flexible.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ji-ae’s a pro, so how could I compete? Eating her cooking is one of the highlights of living with my brother. In LA, I subsisted on frozen food and bread.
“Henry, do you like Korean food?” she hollers. “I was thinking of making something special for you.”
“I like everything,” he hollers back. “I’d love to eat whatever you make.”
“He’s so nice.” Swooning, she leans against the counter. “I wish all my clients were easygoing like him.”
“He said he’s subscribed to your delivery service.”
“He did!” Ji-ae brings her lips to my ear. “Do you know a secret? I pack him a little extra dessert to keep him happy.”
I snort. “Stop it, or he’ll have a paunch to rival Coop’s in no time.”
“Coop doesn’t have a paunch!” she screams, affronted.
“There’s no point in denial. You know he does.”
She mumbles under her breath, something about beauty being in the eye of the beholder. “Be careful around the house. If you break something today, there’ll be no hiding it from him.”
“Don’t worry. I’m getting a grip on things around here. You know what they say—the first week’s the hardest.”
“You’re still not done with the first week,” she reminds me.
Why does she always have to rain on my parade?
I give the onions one more try, and then give up. Leaving the cooking to her (since she nitpicks everything I do anyway) I move onto vacuuming. Vacuuming is pretty much the only chore I haven’t messed up yet, so I’m kinda proud. Plus, a week into the job, I have a good idea of the layout of this apartment. I take my time going over every area, extra-careful today because I don’t want Henry to notice any dust.
When I reach his bedroom, I notice that he’s sitting on the bed with an open book on his lap.
“What’re you reading?” I ask, curious.
I mean, I know it’s probably something I can’t understand, but I want to find out anyway. More than that, though, I just want to talk to him. Over the course of a week, my attraction to him has become apparent to me, although he’s still blissfully unaware. But I’m not shallow enough to fall for someone based on their looks, so I am going to try talking to him more. Maybe that way, I’ll finally realize that we’re not compatible.
“It’s a book on imaginary numbers,” Henry replies, turning a page.
“Imaginary numbers? What are those?”
“They’re like…” He stops to find the right word. “Imaginary Oscars.”
I can’t believe he took a stab at me. I guess I deserve it, though, after the way I treated him in university.
“I see,” I say morosely.
“Sorry, that was in bad taste.”
“I should have minded my own business,” I say, bending to clean under his bed.
But he snaps the book shut. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spit on your dream. That was insensitive.”
“It’s not my dream anymore,” I shout over the whir of the vacuum cleaner.
“Why not?”
I turn off the vacuum cleaner for a moment, so he can hear me clearly. “Because it’s useless to have such grandiose dreams. Meaningless.”
“That’s what mathematicians originally thought about imaginary numbers, too.” Henry turns a page. “They were regarded as useless and insignificant. After all, what good could come from numbers that were not even real? But it turned out they were useful, after all. Do you know why?”
Despite the technical nature of this conversation, I pop my head up from under the bed. “Because they realized they could use them to torture unsuspecting students?”
A laugh gurgles out of his throat. “That’s not why. You see, imaginary numbers have a real part in them—a part that is a real number. So they can be added to real numbers and multiplied with real numbers. In other words, although they are imaginary, they can be connected to the real world and have significance in the real world.”
“Ah.” Most of that went over my head, but what I understood sounded intelligent.
He continues. “So even though you can’t see your dream, it is connected to reality in some way. And so, in the future, it might prove to be not as useless as you thought. Your imaginary Oscars might become real.”
With this, he sits back down on the bed and turns another page.
Rooted to my spot, I blink, absorbing his words over the machine noise of the cleaner, stunned by how elegantly he tied it to my dream. I may have been wrong about Henry on many counts, but I was right about him being a nerd. Who else could compare imaginary numbers and dreams?
But as I move onto the next room, my mind stays on what he said.
Imaginary numbers…I feel like I want to read up on them. Figure out more of their secrets. Understand what makes them tick.
I have a feeling I’ll realize something profound.
*
Morning bleeds into afternoon rather quickly, and it is time to pick up Lucien from school. Lunch is done, and Ji-ae is curious to meet Lucien, so she tags along instead of going back home.
“Who is she?” Lucien asks, eyeing Ji-ae with suspicion, hugging his cello case.
In her patterned red pants and white tank top that says ‘Queen’, she probably looks like an oddball to him. Emilia Stone is a classy dresser. Every photo of her I’ve seen so far proves that. I doubt Lucien’s ever seen anybody so wacky.
“Hello. I’m Max’s sister-in-law. Ji-ae.” She kneads Lucien’s cheeks, exclaiming, “He’s so cute!”
“So are you,” he remarks, red spots patching his cheeks. “Unlike Max.”
“Just move it along, kiddo,” I grind out from between my clenched teeth, giving him a shove. “The F train waits for no one.”
Throughout the train ride, he drones on about photosynthesis (he learnt that in class today) and I stifle yawn after yawn. As long as he isn’t nitpicking the other passengers, I’m going to let him say whatever he wants. You know, I’ve just realized that there are way too many nitpickers around me.
“He’s so smart. I want to have a kid like him,” Ji-ae remarks from my left, watching him longingly.
The underlying message is clear: Hint, hint, get outta my house so my husband and I can make babies.
“You’ll be a great mother,” I say to keep her happy.
People underestimate the importance of a good relationship with your sister-in-law, but in hard times, it’s what shelters you (quite literally, in my case).
“I hope you won’t be the aunt who spoils my kids.” Putting an arm around Lucien, she cuddles him.
“Not at all,” I assure her. “I’ll be the best aunt ever.”
“I’ll try next year then.” I glimpse excitement on her face, which makes me feel guilty. Maybe I’m really in the way of her happiness. I need to move out soon. “The business is my focus this year.”
“Of course.”
I spend the remainder of the ride working out how much it’ll cost me to rent an apartment. Although I only work part-time, if I share an apartment with someone, I should be able to afford to live away from Coop. I’ll try looking for some places when we go to the library this evening. I don’t want to ruin Ji-ae’s chance of motherhood any longer. When I moved in, I didn’t know she and Coop were planning to have kids. They’ve been married for five years without any, so I kinda assumed they’d wait some more.
But if I have to become an aunt soon, I guess I’ll have to make sacrifices.
*
The public library is not very busy when we get there around five. The furnace-like heat outside might have a part to play in that. As the smell of books assails me, I appreciate the fact that this is the second time this week I’m at the library. For someone who never reads, I sure frequent the library like a regular.
Henry’s changed out of his pajamas into smart-casual attire, consisting of light-wash jeans and a white linen shirt with loafers. Also, he’s wearing his thick-framed glasses. What nettles me is that even with them on, he still makes me stare at him in awe. This guy is aggravating—he should go back to looking like he used to.
But it’s not just skin deep. His personality’s changed, too. He talks a lot more and he’s funnier. Even Ji-ae was laughing at his jokes today.
A slightly plump, bespectacled woman wearing a skirt and blouse from the previous century steps in our path and immediately reaches for Henry.
“Oh, hello, Henry. How nice to see you again! You haven’t been here in ages.”
Goodness gracious. Her voice is so high-pitched and squeaky…exactly like Minnie Mouse’s. It’s incongruous with her appearance.
Lucien scoffs. Henry motions us to go ahead, stopping to chat with the woman. Ji-ae’s already made her way to the restroom, so I guide Lucien towards the children’s books section.
“That’s Glenda, the librarian,” Lucien whispers into my ear, pointing at the woman in the ancient ensemble. “She’s had a crush on Uncle Henry for years.”
“How do you know?” I ask, suddenly annoyed by how picture-perfect she and Henry look together. That notion makes my stomach turn.
“I have eyes.” Lucien sneers at me. “And a brain that’s not just for show.”
I’m about to retaliate when I stop myself, vowing to be patient. Lucien is a child, after all. And all things considered he isn’t such a bad child. I mean, I was watching The Nanny Diaries on Netflix yesterday and that kid? He’s a monster. Compared to him Lucien’s really well-adjusted and well-behaved. He even helped me buy new curtains that matched the ones I bleached. Without him, I wouldn’t have known where to go.
So I’ve decided to count my blessings from today.
Caressing his hair, I coo, “Yeah, you’re really smart. A genius.”
Suspicion lifts one eyebrow of his. “Max, don’t be like this. You’re scaring me.”
Scaring him? But I’m only being nice.
“What do you mean?” I protest, trying to get close to him while he seems intent on dodging my attempts.
“Don’t lie to make me happy!” he shouts, inviting attention from the patrons around.
Please don’t make a scene, I pray. Henry’s here. He’s going to fire me.
“Calm down, sweetie. I’m not lying. You are smart. You helped with the curtains, remember? You’re such a smart boy—”
Before I can pat his head, he swats away my hand. Bringing his eyebrows together, he casts an angry look at me. “I like you more when you treat me like an equal, not like a kid. And don’t call me sweetie. It’s creepy.”
“Fine, then, behave like an adult. Get your books and let’s go.” Giving him a nudge, I scrunch my lips to one side, letting him know how annoyed I am.
“Now that’s more like you,” he says, with a wolfish grin, then busies himself checking out the writing on the spines, going down row by row, until he’s found something to capture his interest. He scans the back covers quickly.
That’s when I notice Henry dashing towards us. There’s a cast of red on his face, which vexes me, because it could only be due to Glenda. What does he see in that woman? Does he like women like that?
“They didn’t talk too long,” I remark to the wooden shelves.
“They never do,” Lucien utters, with a pitying look at Henry. “This has been going on two years.”
I derive some measure of comfort from the fact that Henry’s relationship with the librarian hasn’t progressed in two years. Fate is apparently not on their side.
I kneel down near the children’s shelves, watching Lucien closely. “So, I’ve been curious about this…who takes care of you on weekends?”
“Mom or Dad. Mom avoids surgeries on Saturdays and Dad avoids surgeries on Sundays.”
“They only get one day off a week? That’s brutal.”
No wonder I’ve never seen Emilia smiling in any photo. I’d be too tired to smile, too, if I only had a day off a week and I had to manage my precocious son on that day.
“They’re surgeons.” Lucien rolls his eyes. “Mom’s a cardiologist and Dad’s a pediatric neurosurgeon.”
“Dad’s a what?” I ask.
Shrugging, he grimaces. “Forget it. I should’ve known it was beyond your IQ level.”
Now this ticks me off. I’m sick of him looking down on me. He might be a child prodigy and all, but I went to Harvard, too.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I glance down at him. “I’m smart in my own way, kiddo. I bet you don’t even know the difference between ‘box set’ and ‘box office.’”
“Yeah, if you’re so smart, then why didn’t you go to college?”
“Who said I didn’t?”
His hand freezes against the shelf. He stops picking out books to stare at me.
“Whoa. That’s a revelation.”
“You mean Henry didn’t tell you? We went to the same university. We were both in the theatre society together. That’s where I first met him.”
“You went to Harvard?” His jaw hangs open. “No way!”
“Duh,” I announce, flipping back my hair. “I was a drama major.”
His jaw takes a while to go back to resting position. Riffling through the pages of the book in his hand, he mutters to himself. “Dad has a point when he says that standards at the Ivy League schools are dropping.”
I edge my face until it’s a whisker from Lucien’s. “What did you say, you punk?”
“I said having an educated nanny was better than having a stupid one,” he amends quickly.
“I told you I’m not a nanny. I’m a child-care expert.”
Snorting, he puts the book he was browsing back on the shelf. “You’re not very expert, though, since you can’t even help me with homework.”
There he goes, nitpicking me again. When I was young, kids weren’t like this. I don’t remember Coop or me carping about our parents’ intellectual deficiencies.
“How’s it going, Lucien?” Henry asks, rounding the corner shelves and coming to a stop in front of us. “What were you two arguing about?”
He’s gotten rid of the books he was holding on to earlier. Maybe Glenda took them, I think sourly.
“Uncle Henry, is it true she went to Harvard with you?” Lucien tugs my yoga pants, like he’s hoping Henry dismisses that as a bad joke.
Too bad for him, Henry tells the truth. “She did.”
Now, Lucien’s eyes roll back to me, and there’s an infinitesimally small glint of admiration contained within.
“Ha, see, kiddo? I’m smart too.”
“College education doesn’t buy brains, I see…” he mumbles to himself and finds another book to read.
I’m in no mood for more jibes from him, so I tell Henry that I need to look up something on the computer and leave Lucien to him. The main reason I came here was to start looking for apartments and I should get to it.
Hijacking one of the vacant computers, I enter my library card number and PIN, then Google ‘cheap apartments in New York’, narrowing my search to Queens. Coop lives in Queens, so it’d be better if I could live somewhere close. I’d like to be a hands-on aunt and help Ji-ae with the kid, since she’s having a hard time with the business already.
A dozen search results pop up on the first page and I click on the first link, which takes me to apartments.com. Most of the apartments on the first page are way out of my budget . Three thousand dollars a month? No way can I pay that much money.
“I didn’t know you were planning to move out.” A feminine voice drifts over my shoulder.
I turn back and see Ji-ae reading the listings displayed on my screen. A red rose-shaped hairpin has been added to her hair. It’s really cute, but it would suit a girl of twelve more than a woman of thirty-one.
“I figured I’ve overstayed my welcome at your place,” I reply, complimenting how cute Ji-ae looks with the hairpin (lies keep relationships alive, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise).
Cocking her head, she pats my back. “Not really.”
“It’s okay; don’t be nice. You’ve already been tolerant. I don’t think anybody else would put up with her unemployed sister-in-law for nearly a year.”
“I understand you’re having a hard time.” There’s an undertone of sincerity in her voice which I try not to cling to. I really need to stop being the third wheel. “It would be worse for you to live alone when you’re going through all this.”
“But it’s a hard time for you, too,” I say. “You just started a new business.”
“That’s why I know how much it sucks to be alone when you’re struggling.” A sad expression hardens her face.
I’m surprised at this—I thought she was really happy that she got those three extra orders last week. But I suppose everybody is struggling in their own way.
“You have Coop, though. He totally supports you,” I remind her.
“Yeah, I’m know. I’m lucky.” Wrapping an arm around me, she gives me a pat. “So I feel obliged to help the less fortunate ones. You can stay with me a little longer.”
My throat burns. Chiding myself for being so overemotional, I slurp in a breath. Ji-ae’s right; life sucks less when you’re with someone who supports you.
“You should follow your dreams, Max. Somewhere deep inside you, I know you want to be an actress.”
Despite the fact that we’re in a public place, I close Ji-ae into an embrace. “You’re not saying that because you want me to go to LA and give you back your freedom, right?”
“Of course not.”
There’s no point ruining the moment, so I lie to keep her happy. “Maybe I will.”
