“My mother said we can live together. Yeah,” Good Man nods.
I whip my head around to look at him. “What?”
“She didn’t say it alone. She said that rent is very expensive. Maybe I should get student housing, maybe I should live with other people, maybe you. She didn’t say just to live with you, but many other things.”
“She. Said. We should live together?” We were going to live together and lie about it. It is, after all the Korean way. But this is shocking.
“Not ‘should.’ Just…OK.”
“What did you eat today?”
“Cereal,” he says.
“Yes. Will you cook me ramyeon? I think the salt will be different because it’s American,” Good Man uses his puppy-dog voice.
I go to the pantry, and sure enough, the Korean ramyeon is made in America. As I’m cooking it, we continue to chat.
“I only ate cereal all day…I am hungry.”
“There’s food in this house,” I laugh. I look at him. “You really don’t know how to cook, huh?” He shakes his head. “You really would starve if you didn’t have me to cook for you.”
He nods. “But the new apartment has a dishwasher. So problem solved.”
I know this face. I’ve seen it, elsewhere. I show the photos to Good Man. “You look just like your mother.”
“I know. I am not orphan.”