A Prose With No Direction

kbbq and paintings

A song starts blasting out of nowhere, startling me. Both Hugh and I awaken from our trance, and he starts answering the call from his phone as I sit on my lawn chair, staring at my artwork in front of me. 

I try to see my work from Hugh's perspective. I guess it's really just a child's finger-painted artwork compared to his.

"Yes, I'm with her," I hear Hugh say in the phone, his broad back facing me. He sighs. "Yes, Mom."

I glance at him, watching as the summer breeze blow through his wavy hair.

"Okay, I'll ask her," he adds, pressing a button on his phone and turning to me. "Would you like to come over for dinner?"

I blink. "What? Dinner?"

Hughs nods, gesturing to his phone. "My mom's asking," he says. "I know it's out of the blue. I really don't know what she's up to, but she's just wondering. We're having KBBQ."

"Korean barbecue?" I exclaim, shocked. Hugh and his family really don't seem like the type to eat those kinds of things, much less know how to cook it. Or know what kind of meat to get. "You guys eat that?"

He chuckles. "Why wouldn't we? It's good."

It's been a while since I had Korean barbecue.

"What meat do you have?" I ask.

Hugh presses the unmute button on his phone and holds it up to his ear. "She's asking what meat you have," he says. After a moment, he presses the button again. "My mom says she bought Bulgogi, Galbi, pork belly—"

"Deal." I hold my thumb out. "I'm going. Let's go."

It's been a while since I had pork belly.

He laughs, raising the phone to his ear again, unmuting it. "She says, 'okay,'" he tells.

After a while of talking, Hugh hangs up and looks at me. "I'm sorry this was really sudden," he says. "I hope we didn't make you uncomfortable."

I shake my head. "No, it's fine," I answer. "It's been a while since I had pork belly anyway."

Just thinking about it makes me drool.

"Well, you seem eager," he says, smiling. But his pretty-boy smile soon turns into an expression of confusion. "Hold on, I thought you don't eat bacon. Aren't pork belly and bacon the sa—"

"No, no, no." I shake my head. "No, Hugh, no. They are not. They're not the same."

Hugh laughs again. "I've never seen you this excited, Clara," he says. "You should've told me before the quarantine you liked Korean barbecue, so we could've gone to a grill."

But we weren't that close before.

Hugh grabs his coat from the lawn chair, wrapping himself around it. "Is your painting dry?" He asks me, pointing at it.

"Yeah," I respond.

"Do you mind if I keep it?" He inquires, still pointing at my painting. "I've never had a portrait of me done before. So, Id like to keep it. Plus, it was made by you."

"But you said you didn't like it."

"Well, I never said that, did I?" He replies.

I shrug. "I guess you can keep it," I say, glancing at it. "I don't really know where to put it in my house if I kept it anyway."

He smiles. "Great!" He walks towards my easel to take the painting, his arm slightly brushing against mine. "In return, you can keep mine if you want."

What am I going to do with a painting?

But in the end, I decided to keep his. 

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