Page 63 of Angel of Thursdays

“Who put their feet on you?”

Cassiel looked at him this time. May knocked his forehead against his arm, grinning as an answer.

The fidget ring clicked once above the rumble. Cassiel was thinking.

* * *

A kumquat plant sat on the porch, heavy with fruit, bright orange against the grey stucco. For some reason it made him think about persimmons and a playschool mural.

Miss Mary opened the door before they knocked, which meant she’d been watching from the window, also meaning her short-ribs had reached the stage where they could be left unsupervised and she’d started on the staring out windows. Mom behavior. She was wearing an apron over a deep blue hanbok top, and she pulled May inside by the arm before Cassiel had finished removing his shoes.

“May-ya, come in—taste this. Something is wrong with jeon and Appa says no problem⁠—”

“Umma, we just got here⁠—”

But May was already in the kitchen, already tasting, already nodding with authority he absolutely did not possess. The jeon batter was perfect. He told her it needed more salt because she wanted to be told it needed something. And it could use salt.

“Salt,” she said emphatically. Her husband shook his head.

The whole house smelled good. The kitchen had been running since, if Cassiel was right, and he usually was, around five in the morning. Pairs of shoes lined up at the door: Sunny Lim’s orthopedics, Miss Mary’s purple Crocs with flower Jibbitz, Minju’s flats, David’s loafers, Jaewon’s red FNAF shoes May had presented him with over Christmas, getting more wear than May had even hoped. And now May’s blue canvas shoes, placed carefully at the end of the row.

Cassiel’s shoes were next to his. They touched at the heel.

Jaewon zoomed straight at them, feet thudding along the hardwood with zero regard for the nice things in his grandparents’ house. The boy was wearing his blue hanbok and a pair of socks that were slightly too big and definitely going to be dirty by mid-day.

“MAY-HYUNG!”

“JAEWON!”

May scooped him. This was apparently a dangerous thing in the Five Nights at Freddy’s franchise, based on a video he and Cassiel had watched together where a manic lady explained the lore in front of a whiteboard. Jaewon, unaware of any danger, grabbed May’s ears, which was his way of saying hello, and May let him because ears were handles and Jaewon was a future rock climber. He set him back down before his lower back filed a complaint.

“I wore my shoes but no shoes in the house,” Jaewon explained. He looked at Cassiel. “’Cause of rules.”

Cassiel, still in the doorway, still removing his jacket. “Because of dirt.”

“How come I get to be ‘hyung’ and your uncle gets to be ‘uncle’?” May asked. Cassiel straightened the back of May’s oxford with a tug, quite unnecessarily.

“Because he doesn’t like saying ‘samchon.’ Because if he calls you ‘aunt’—” Cassiel stopped. Half a joke.

“I become Aunt May?” May’s eyes widened. There were layers to the implications. The one he wanted to go into at that moment, though—“Wait, wait, wait, keep going. Marisa To-May⁠—”

“No.”

Hayoung was across the room in Minju’s arms, pink hanbok, bow already crooked, cheeks chubby, a baby who had recently learned to walk and was cruelly not being allowed to demonstrate. Minju looked like she hadn’t slept, which was her default state of being. She lifted her eyebrows.

“Can I⁠—”

Minju handed Hayoung over before he finished asking. Hayoung grabbed the collar of the blue oxford with one hand and went for his ear with the other.

“Hi,” May said. “Happy New Year. This is my only nice shirt, please be gentle.”

Sebae at ten thirty. Jaewon had been coached, had practiced, and performed the deep bow with the intensity of a theater adult—forehead to the floor, hands placed correctly, held for a count that was either respectful or competitive, it was hard to tell with Jaewon. He stood up and announced, “I DID IT,” and Cassiel’s dad’s face softened like a persimmon. Love made persimmons of us all, he thought.

Hayoung’s bow was assisted—Minju holding her, guiding the small body through the motion while Hayoung chewed her own fist and stared at the ceiling fan. David filmed it.

The sebaetdon envelopes came out. Grandpa’s for Jaewon first—proper, white, pretty. Then May produced his—the red ones from the dollar store on Clement, three gold pandas on the front, Jaewon’s name written in May’s best handwriting, and included a star next to the name.

Jaewon inspected the envelope. Turned it over. Checked the seal. Looked up.