Chapter 8

The boys stamped their feet as they returned to the back porch, the snow cascading off their parkas and boots, leaving wet clumps on the floor. They shook off all their winter gear and shuffled into the kitchen in their socks, where the aroma of roasting turkey and dressing hitting them like a wave.

Ellen glanced up from the stove, a wooden spoon in her hand. “You two look half-frozen,” she said. “The storm’s closed the roads, so it’ll just be us tonight—with a mountain of leftovers.”

“No complaints here,” Matthew replied, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

Ellen continued, stirring as she spoke.

“Might lose power if this keeps up, but at least we’ve got the fireplace and plenty of wood by the garage. Your dad’s out plowing the driveway now. We’ll be stuck all weekend if he doesn’t keep on top of it. You two go on and get out of those wet clothes now. And Matthew—maybe run a comb through that mess?” she said, gesturing toward Matthew’s tousled mop of hair.

He shot her a guilty look as they climbed the stairs to his room. He rummaged through his closet, pulling out a Hawkeyes sweatshirt and faded jeans, while Alex unzipped his duffel bag and fished out a long-sleeved knit shirt and black denim.

As they finished dressing, Matthew slipped on a pair of beat-up tennis shoes. Alex looked over at him, a bit surprised.

“Shoes? In the house?” he asked.

Matthew blinked. “Yeah? So?”

Alex laughed. “I guess it’s an Asian thing—no outdoor shoes inside. Socks or slippers only. Keeps the house clean.”

“Huh,” Matthew said, intrigued. “Here, nobody cares unless you’re tracking mud or snow. But if you’d rather go socks, no one’ll notice.”

Alex shrugged and continued, “How about a little Call of Duty while your mom finishes dinner?”

Matthew’s expression brightened. “Sounds like a plan!”

*

By early afternoon, the Hargrove dining room was a sanctuary of warmth against the blizzard’s howl. Ellen’s voice rose above the clatter of the kitchen.

“Come and get it, gang!”

The long oak table groaned under the weight of the Thanksgiving spread. A golden turkey sat center stage, its skin crisp and glistening, surrounded by an array of traditional side dishes. Cooling on the kitchen counter were homemade pumpkin and pecan pies.

Matthew and Alex piled their plates high, digging in with the gusto of boys who’d never say no to seconds—or thirds. Snow tapped at the bay windows, a soft percussion beneath the scrape of forks on china. Halfway through, the lights flickered once, a brief stutter that made Tom look up from his turkey leg.

“Oh boy, here we go,” he muttered, shaking his head.

But the power held, and they kept eating until their belts begged for mercy.

Stuffed and sluggish, they all pitched in to clear the table—plates stacked, leftovers scraped into bowls. Ellen then shooed Tom and the boys out of the kitchen.

“Go on now. The girls and I will handle the kitchen. Watch the game or whatever.”

Tom settled into his leather easy chair in the living room, the fireplace crackling as ESPN blared from the flatscreen—some college football recap he watched with hawk-like focus. Matthew and Alex claimed opposite ends of the couch, sinking into the cushions. Tom’s eyes stayed glued to the screen, but the boys only half-watched, pulling out their phones instead, thumbs scrolling incessantly.

Alex sat up suddenly, snapping his finger. “Man, I wasn’t thinking—I should’ve taken pics of the food.”

Matthew laughed, rolling his eyes. “What, so everyone can see your mashed potatoes? Same plate, different year.”

“Not us,” Alex said. “Korean banquets are a whole different ballgame.”

Matthew leaned forward, intrigued. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Depends on the occasion, but we’ve got stuff like bulgogi—marinated beef, grilled thin, super tender. Then there’s kimchi jjigae, this spicy stew with fermented cabbage—it’s amazing. My favorite’s japchae, glass noodles with veggies and soy sauce, kinda sweet. And for big holidays like Chuseok, we make songpyeon—those rice cakes I told you about before.”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “That sounds wild.”

“You’d love it, I guarantee,” Alex said. “If you ever come to Chicago sometime, I’ll get my mom to cook you a real Korean meal.”

“Okay, deal,” Matthew replied with a smile. “I’m in.”

Tom glanced over, one eyebrow arched. “I’d pay to see that. When this one was little—” he jerked a thumb at Matthew “—he’d turn his nose up at anything that wasn’t mac and cheese or hot dogs. Picky as hell.”

“Dad!” Matthew protested, but the laughter at his expense was contagious, rippling through all three of them.

Matthew asked, “What’s the name of that noodle dish again?”

“Jahp-chay,” Alex enunciated, slow and clear.

Matthew gave it a shot, and Alex chuckled. “Close enough. You’ll get there.”

Tom grunted, eyes back on the TV, but a faint smile lingered. Snow kept falling, the lights held steady, and the room settled into a lazy hum—football commentary, fire popping, and the boys’ chatter.

“So,” Matthew continued, shifting gears, “How much Korean can you speak?”

“Quite a bit, actually. I grew up speaking at home with my parents, but I spoke English everywhere else. When I was really little, I went through this phase of mixing up Korean and English because I couldn’t tell the difference. I’d start a sentence in Korean and end it in English. Drove my mom nuts. I don’t remember when, but at some point I figured out that they were two separate languages and when to switch between them.”

Matthew’s jaw dropped a little. “That’s so cool. I took two years of Spanish in high school and barely remember anything. So, how do you say ‘hello’ in Korean?”

“Annyeonghaseyo,” Alex said, breaking it down. “Ahn-yeong-ha-se-yo. Try it.”

Matthew tried his best to mimic Alex, the words feeling strange in his mouth.

“Not bad.” Alex said. “Now try ‘how are you?’—jal jinaeseyo.” He slowed it: “Jal jee-nay-se-yo.”

“Jal . . . jee-nay-se-yo,” Matthew echoed, brow knitted with concentration.

“Good! And ‘I’m fine’ is gwaenchanhayo—gwen-chan-ha-yo.”

“Gwen-chan-ha-yo,” Matthew repeated, getting closer. He practiced each phrase once more, and Alex nodded approvingly.

“See? It’s not so hard. You’re picking it up fast,” Alex said.

Matthew shrugged, looking bemused. “Thanks, but it’d take forever to learn for real—especially reading it. I’d have to learn a whole new alphabet and everything.”

“Yeah, but it’s really not that hard once you get the hang of it,” Alex said.

“Easy for you to say,” Matthew said doubtfully. “You’ve had a lifetime of practice.”

“Fair enough,” Alex replied. “But you’ve got me to practice with anytime you want.”

“Okay,” Matthew shot back with a wink. “I’ll work on it between biochemistry quizzes.”

*

By 5 p.m., it was dark outside, snow swirling beyond the glass in the blizzard’s relentless howl. Inside, the living room glowed with the fire’s warmth, casting shadows across the hardwood.

As the evening wore on, Matthew and Alex sprawled on the couch, game controllers in hand, the living room filled with the sounds of digital carnage. Tom had retreated to the den off the living room, tapping away at farm business on his laptop, while Ellen sat in her oversized rocking chair—knitting needles flashing as she worked on sweaters for two of her nephews. The girls meanwhile had vanished upstairs, engrossed in their iPads.

Suddenly, the lights flickered—once, twice—then died. Darkness swallowed the room, save for the fireplace’s glow.

Tom poked his head from the den. “Heavy snow must’ve finally knocked a line down.”

Ellen rose, brushing yarn from her lap. “Well, at least we’ve got the fire.” She fetched flashlights from the closet by the back porch, handing one to the boys and one to Tom. “Might as well head to bed till the power’s back. Hope it’s on by morning, or we’ll be taking sponge baths with water heated in front of the fireplace.”

Matthew took the flashlight, flicking it on and off a couple of times to check the battery. “Thanks, Mom. We’ll hang out here a bit longer.”

Tom nodded. “Keep that fire going as long as you’re up, or this place will be colder than a well-digger’s fanny by dawn.”

Alex burst out laughing, the phrase catching him off guard. “That’s a new one.”

Tom gave him a wink, and he and Ellen headed off to their room for the night, leaving the boys alone.

*

Alex watched them go, then turned to Matthew. “I really like your mom and dad.”

Matthew smiled. “Yeah, I give ‘em a hard time sometimes, but they’re the best.” His face darkened, voice dropping. “Only thing I worry about sometimes is . . .  disappointing them.”

Alex frowned, surprised. “Disappoint them? You’re gonna be a doctor. How could that disappoint them?”

“It’s not that,” Matthew said, eyes drifting to the fire. “It’s . . . I don’t know. Just something I worry about sometimes, I guess.” He trailed off, staring into the flames.

Alex sighed, long and heavy, then reached over to pat Matthew on the back. “I know what you mean.”

Matthew turned to Alex with a look of surprise. “You do? Really?”

Alex met his stare, then nodded slowly.

“Uh-huh. I do,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. They both turned back to the fire, lost in their thoughts.

After a moment, Matthew’s eyes drifted to Alex’s legs, his jeans loose, his feet small and neat in gray socks. He felt a fluttery sensation in his stomach. Trying to distract himself, he razzed Alex.

“Man, what size are your feet anyway? I think Jessie’s might be bigger.”

“Hey,” Alex said, with an indignant little laugh, “Sometimes big things come in small packages.”

Matthew rested his chin on a fist turned his gaze back to the fire. “Yeah,” he said, slow and deliberate, “I guess they do.”

Alex froze, color rising in his cheeks, bright even in the firelight. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, tracing every detail as he stared into the fire: the unruly hair, fair skin, dimples that deepened when he smiled. Before he could stop himself, he reached out, place a hand over Matthew’s.

To his surprise, Matthew shifted his hand, palm up, and clasped his fingers, closing gently.

For one long breath, the world was only this—then Alex pulled his hand back, a flush creeping up his neck.

“Sorry . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” he muttered, fumbling for words.

Matthew left his hand resting palm-up on the couch, open and still. “It’s okay,” he whispered, barely audible over the crackling logs.

They sat wordlessly for a moment, the fire’s heat soaking into them, until Alex finally broke the silence with a nervous little laugh.

“Maybe we should head to bed,” he muttered. “It’s getting late . . . and the fire is making me sleepy anyway.”

Matthew nodded and stood, following Alex as they crept silently upstairs to the bedroom. The door clicked shut behind them, and before he could say another word, Alex slipped into the nest of blankets on the air mattress, still tangled from the night before.

Matthew opened his mouth to say something—then thought better of it and quietly climbed into his bed, pulling the covers up.

“Good night, Alex,” he murmured.

“’Night, Matthew.” Alex replied, rolling onto his side, facing away.

Matthew lay back, hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

The snow continued to fall as the wind whispered in the eaves—and the silence held them both until sleep finally came.