18 | cooking disaster

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"GOOD MORNING!" ANDREW burst into our house

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"GOOD MORNING!" ANDREW burst into our house. I jumped in my seat, eyes widening and spoon clattering on the counter. Thinking I had a robe on, my arms crossed over my chest before touching the fabric of Lina's hoodie. At that moment, I thanked the fact that she didn't invest in robes.

"If you're not finding a career path as an amateur burglar, don't barge into people's houses," I snapped, a blush creeping up my cheeks.

"This isn't the first time I've done it," Andrew argued. "I don't even know why you're so surprised."

Yeah, cause I practically lived alone, and nobody intruded because some houses had effective security. That, and people in New York had the decency to ask when to meet rather than meeting without warning.

"What if I was wearing a robe?" I shot back. Stunned, Andrew flushed. That was unexpected. I thought he'd laugh and brush off what I said. Like how he used to do the same whenever Lina mentioned something along the lines of "I'm a girl too."

My eyebrows creased together. "I'm joking."

"Oh," he released an awkward chuckle. Rocked on the heels of his feet. If I told anyone that we—by some miracle—got along yesterday and actually had a smooth, easygoing conversation, they would've concluded that we were delusional. That, or drunk.

"Why are you here?"

"Uh, you do know what day it is, right?" Still awkward, but loosening up, Andrew arched his eyebrows. No. He had to be joking. He barged into my house, at what, nine in the morning, for this?

"Sunday?"

"Woah! Park Lina remembering what day it is?" Andrew teased in Korean. "This has to be a first. How does it feel?"

I rolled my eyes. "I do remember things, thank you very much." Like his birthday, since Lina set it as her phone password, but I wasn't going to inflate his ego by telling him.

Spreading his arms out wide, he grinned. "So you're ready?"

Of course not. And my pursed lips agreed with me. But it'd be off character if I vocalized my disagreement. Lina loved days like this, where she had Andrew to herself the whole day as the two of them baked for hours. Except there was a little problem.

I couldn't bake. At all. Not even scrambled eggs—somehow I managed to burn them for waiting too long. The meringues, one of the simplest things to make because they required like two ingredients, according to Lina's memory, would probably end up burnt exactly like my previous cooking escapades.

"How about you make the meringues and I taste them for you?" The thought of eating a ball of sugar didn't sound that appealing either, but I'd choose his baking skills over mine.

"How about no?" Andrew retorted. "Now clear your—what are you eating? Cereal?"

The disbelieving tone in his words grew, and I got the hint that Lina didn't have it for breakfast often. The aftertaste of the milk in my mouth turned sour, and I pressed my lips together.

"I'm just trying America's staple food," I joked, making light of the situation. Andrew, on the other hand, looked confused. As if he entered a completely different house. It wouldn't kill him to compose himself more often.

"What happened to good old hansik? Traditional food?"

So that's what Lina ate. On cue, at that same moment, various memories of Lina cooking japchae and doenjangjigae appeared in my mind, her mixing the noodles with her hand as she scolded Andrew with the exact words he relayed to me. A hand went up to rub my temples. This whole situation could have been avoided if Lina's memories decided to pop up before Andrew came.

"I wanted to try something new, okay?" My tone turned defensive. "Is there something wrong with that?"

Andrew shook his head, gauging my reaction as he inched towards the kitchen. He regarded me with caution, as if I would burst any moment. "I'll get everything ready."

Yeah, this is why I needed privacy. My mind wandered back to the apartment I bought, and paused. Right. The current Sohee Young probably turned it into some stationary store, or a charity organization.

"Lina ya," he called. "Where'd you put the sugar?"

I snorted. Like I'd know. My mind currently resembled the white room I stood in seconds after my death—vast and empty.

"Don't you know where the sugar is, Andrew?" I hadn't said his name often, either addressing with heys or admonishments, and the word lingered in my mouth. Unfamiliar and awkward. Must've been for him too, because he gazed down at me, eyes wide.

"Did you just call me by my name?" He asked, ears turning a shade darker from their usual pink.

"It's what friends do," I muttered, glancing over at the different cabinets. The first one contained plates and dishes, since Lina's mom opened and shut it once grabbing me a cup. "You don't need to take everything I say so personally."

"I don't!" Now his voice sounded defensive.

It's right here," I declared, reaching up to open the second cabinet above him. I recalled her opening it yesterday to grab another tea bag, and hoped that she cluttered everything together.

"Where did you get that?" Andrew grabbed ahold of my wrist, placing my revived birth mark at eye level. "Is this a scar?" His thumb brushed over it, and I snatched it back on reflex. My elbow banged the countertop, and as the clattering pain echoed throughout the kitchen, so did my groan.

"It's nothing!" I managed, cradling it against my chest. "Just me being clumsy."

"What do you mean it's nothing? It clearly left a scar!"

"Let it go, Andrew," I snarked. "I've always tripped here and there. This is like a paper cut. Besides, you've never cared before."

"I—" He opened his mouth and closed it. The conflicting expression on his face clearly spelled out I don't know. Exactly. She never had gotten a scar from being clumsy before, but Andrew had never freaked out over Lina's two left feet, either. And, Andrew was always a worrywart, so he did express concern over Lina. When he wasn't teasing her, of course.

For some reason, though I should have been relieved that he treated me exactly as he did Lina, I wasn't.

"The sugar's right there," I pointed out in the short time that he zoned out.

"Um, yeah. Thanks." Outstretching his arm, he fumbled with the container where we kept our sugar in. 

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