Chapter 2: The Unwanted Dinner Guest
The clink of silverware against fine porcelain was the only sound for a full ten seconds. It was a punitive sound. Jennie watched her own hand, holding a forkful of galbi, tremble slightly before she guided it to her mouth. The beef, usually succulent, tasted like damp cardboard.
“So, as I was saying,” Kai’s voice cut through the silence, smooth as the polished mahogany table. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin, a performance of manners. “Father closed the Shanghai deal last week. Nine figures. He says the real money now is in sustainable packaging. It’s a conscience market.”
“A brilliant man,” Jennie’s father, Michael, boomed. He sat at the head of the table, his posture mirroring the stern, upright chairs. The dim light from the chandelier caught the silver in his hair, casting his approving smile in a benevolent glow. “A visionary. You’re learning from the best, Kai.”
“Trying to, sir.” Kai gave a humble dip of his head that didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze slid to Jennie, a shark’s calm slide. “It’s about legacy, isn’t it? Building something substantial. Stable.”
Jennie’s mother, Min-ji, nodded eagerly, her hands folded in her lap as if in permanent prayer. “Such a responsible perspective. So rare in your generation.”
A knot, hard and hot, tightened behind Jennie’s sternum. She took a sip of water, willing it to cool the simmer in her veins.
“What about you, Jennie?” Kai turned the full force of his attention on her. His smile was a knife wrapped in silk. “Still buried in textbooks about why people do what they do? Chasing grades?”
“It’s called a degree, Kai.” Her voice came out quieter than she wanted.
“Of course, of course.” He chuckled, a dry, soundless thing. “I just wonder about the practical application. I met a friend of a friend recently—works as a bartender at that grimy place near the engineering block. The Hammered Anvil? He’s also a student. Business, I think. Funny path to an executive suite.” He took a leisurely drink of wine. “Slinging drinks to drunk frat boys. What a waste of potential. Or maybe that is his potential.”
The air left Jennie’s lungs. The courtyard. The sun on Leonid’s skin. The clean smell cutting through sweat. Her baby. Kai’s words were a soiled hand smudging the image.
“That’s no life,” Michael said, his brow furrowing with paternal concern. “A young man should be building, not… serving.”
“Some people don’t have a choice,” Jennie heard herself say. The words hung in the incense-tinged air, dangerously defiant.
Kai’s eyebrows lifted. “Choice is a matter of will, don’t you think? Priorities.” His leg shifted under the long tablecloth.
She felt it before she processed it. The pressure of his shoe, the sleek leather of his loafer, sliding against her calf, over her stocking. It wasn’t an accident. It was a slow, deliberate invasion. Her muscles seized. A full-body flinch jerked her knee, knocking the table leg. The glasses shuddered, ringing a faint, high-pitched alarm.
“Jennie,” her mother chided softly. “Compose yourself.”
Kai withdrew his foot. The smirk was there, in the curl of his lip, in the glint in his eye. He’d felt her recoil. He’d enjoyed it. “It’s okay,” he said, magnanimous. “Long day of studying, I’m sure. Nerves are frayed.”
The rest of the meal was a haze of nausea. Michael and Kai talked of market volatility and church outreach programs, a horrifying blend of the material and the spiritual. Min-ji floated in and out, refilling plates with a ghost’s grace. Jennie counted her breaths. Out. She pictured the cherry blossom tree, its roots cracking the courtyard cement. She pictured tearing the linen tablecloth, sending porcelain shattering to the floor.
Finally, blessedly, her father rose. “Kai, let’s have a brandy in the study. I want your thoughts on the parish financial committee.”
“An honor, sir.”
As Kai passed behind her chair, his hand, heavy and possessive, came to rest on her shoulder. His fingers squeezed, just for a second. A claim. A warning. The scent of his cologne, expensive and cloying, enveloped her. It smelled like a locked room.
Then he was gone, following her father out. The dining room felt cavernous, suddenly silent.
“He’s a good boy,” her mother whispered, beginning to clear the plates. Her eyes were bright with a future she was already writing. “So respectful. Your father is so pleased.”
Jennie stood, her legs unsteady. “I have to finish a paper.”
She walked out, each step on the polished hardwood echoing. In the sanctuary of her bedroom, she locked the door. The composure shattered. She stripped off her stockings, hurling them into the corner as if they were contaminated. The memory of that leather shoe on her skin was a brand. She scrubbed her calf with a towel until the skin turned an angry pink.
Breathing hard, she fell onto her bed and grabbed her phone. Her thumb moved on its own, a frantic pilgrim seeking absolution. She found the Instagram page. It was private, but she knew the profile picture by heart. Leonid, laughing, caught mid-stride on a beach somewhere, the wind in his curls. No shirt. Just sunlight and that same, easy joy that felt a million miles away from mahogany and brandy and groping under tables.
She zoomed in on the tiny, pixelated version of his smile. The heat of her rage banked, transforming into a different, more desperate fire. She thought of his bartending job, the hard work he never complained about. She thought of Kai’s sneering dismissal. A waste.
Her finger hovered over the message button. A void she had never dared to breach. The cursor blinked, a tiny, pulsating heartbeat.
Down the hall, she heard the deep murmur of male laughter from her father’s study. Kai’s laugh.
Her jaw tightened. She typed a single sentence, not to the private account, but to the number she had memorized in seventh grade and had never deleted. A number she’d never used.
The message was simple. A lifeline thrown into a dark sea for no reason other than she was drowning.
> Jennie: I heard The Hammered Anvil makes a good drink. Is it true?
She pressed send. The whoosh sound was deafening in the silent room. She threw the phone onto the bed like it had bitten her, her heart hammering a wild, terrified rhythm against her ribs. It was done.