1.23 Errands

We reach the diner, and David pushes open the door, gesturing for me to go inside first. For a moment, it reminds me of that night at the 7/11. He was thoughtful enough to open the doors for me, too, even when I was still a stranger.

"What would you like to eat?" David asks me as soon as we get inside.

"Whatever you're having," I tell him. In truth, I have no appetite tonight.

"Okay. You take a seat. I'll go get the food," David instructs me, and I nod. I choose the table nearest to the door, the only free one in the diner. Richie's not the only place to dine on this island, but it seems the most popular. It looks like half of the student population are here, owing to the closed kitchen back at the hotel.

Already, several looks point towards me and then to David, who's out at the counter getting our orders. I tap my fingers impatiently on the table, and I'm sure my relief was apparent as I spot David heading back towards me. I can't get out of here sooner.

"They're preparing it now. We just need to wait a bit." David says as he takes the seat across me, ignoring the stares around the room like he always does. Mr. Cool. I smile at my nickname for him. One that he doesn't even know I have.

"What's funny?" he asks me, curious. He puts down a vibrating pager with the number 57 on the table between us.

"Nothing." I brush him off, "Look, um... Ari said you invited me here because you were concerned about me after seeing my Dad. Thank you, I guess. Though you didn't have to worry," I try to keep my voice steady to convince him. But I know he sees through it anyway.

"Tell me about him," David says, his voice soft.

I lean back a little, surprised. "There's nothing to tell. He's just...Dad."

"My Dad wasn't a straight arrow, either. He used to gamble a lot, and my Mom would get so mad at him, they wouldn't talk for days. My Mom. She worked for the government back in South Korea, you know? She was the type to follow the rules to the ground. So, she couldn't understand him. But they loved each other. I guess opposites do attract in a way. It ends up being messy, of course, but it's a magnetic field that neither of them can get out of." David narrates, and I gape at him. I am not expecting this. I thought he constantly just skirts around from talking about his parents because it's still painful for him. Hearing him share their story now makes me both flattered and apprehensive, for obvious reasons.

"Wow. How incredibly cheesy of you." I tease him, trying to lighten up the conversation.

"There's no other way to describe it." he chuckles, and I realize I like his laugh. I don't get to appreciate it much because he rarely does it. "It's the same as my grandparents. Though in their case, no two people can ever be in synch as the both of them. It's like they're the same person. I don't think they ever fought once in their entire lives. Love comes in different forms, I guess."

I look at his face. He looks pensive, and I can tell that he never expected to be sharing this much about himself either. He begins to feel uncomfortable about it, so I lean forward to say to him, "You know, I'm happy for them and all. But are those words really coming out of your mouth? I didn't have you pegged as a hopeless romantic."

He smirks at that, grateful for my response, "Aren't we all?"

We look at each other. David's leaning forward on the table too. I see a group of friends staring over at us in my periphery, whispering amongst themselves. I shake my head slightly and straighten up on my seat. I decide to change the subject, "Well, speaking of your Grandma. Is she going to be okay?"

I meant to ask him this, even before we entered the haunted house, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I kissed him, hoping it would console him. Cringing at my actions, I resolved to just straight up ask him if he's okay the next time he seems down. I'm clearly overly sensitive about David feeling down because of my guilt, and the last thing he needs is to be involved with me.

"I hope so. Because if not, I'd feel terrible about coming on this trip instead of being with her." David answers my question. Then, he leans towards me again, "But back to my original question. You say we're friends now. I'm allowed to know a little bit about your Dad too, right?"

"Oh." I begin. I can tell he's not going to stop asking unless I give him an answer, "Yeah, well, my Dad has been trouble ever since I can remember. But he was a good father to me. Even when I was old enough to understand what he truly did for a living, it still didn't fully register, you know? I guess a part of me forgave him because people like us don't really have a choice in the matter."

"People like you?" he asks, confused.

"My parents were undocumented migrants when they first came here. It took them years to get citizenship. They weren't even sure at first if they were going to get it. They couldn't get proper jobs, so they had to scrounge for a living, build everything from the ground up." I pause. I've acknowledged this about our family, but it is still hard to talk about it. "I guess you could say that my Dad took the easy way out in providing for us. Before he knew it, he lost his mind in the process. Now, he is his job. His job is him. "

"But he's your Dad too," he tells me, and I smile. He knows exactly what I need to hear.

"He is. And Mom is my Mom too. She couldn't accept what Dad was doing." I stop again. I remember how David and Mom are getting along well, so I chose to skirt the subject. "Speaking of. We should probably tell her that we broke up or something." I tell him instead.

"What? But it's been fun," he replies, a playful disappointment in his tone.

"It's not just about my Mom. People at school are also giving me weird looks, even verbally assaulting me, because they think I'm your girlfriend." I say firmly, looking around the diner to prove my point. Some of our classmates are still staring at us.

"Please. It's not like you can't handle yourself." David dismisses me. I have to admit I feel awed at his ability to ignore the people gawking at him wherever he goes. I can't say the same. The attention makes me feel like melting into the floor.

"David," I say his name, hoping he'll get how serious I am.

"Okay, okay," he concedes, holding both of his palms up. "Who are these people that are harassing you, anyway?"

"Brittany," I tell him.

Suddenly David guffaws. I look at him in confusion. "So--sorry, I couldn't help myself." he says in between his laughter. "Nah, that's nothing. She's like a little sister to me, so she's a bit overprotective."

"What?" I ask him. "Well, don't you think you're maybe giving her the wrong idea? She clearly likes you."

David smirks, "I doubt that. She's with Olive."

I gape at him, not sure what to say.

"I know. You wouldn't guess it by just looking at Brit." David supplies, breaking my silent shock.

"She looks like a model," I utter wonderingly.

"She is, actually. That's why she's kind of secretive about her...preferences." David tells me.

"Really? I haven't seen her in anything, though."

"She models lingerie," David informs me, still straight-faced. "So unless you regularly check those out..." he adds, and I give him a dirty look.

"Order 57!" the cashier called out from the register behind David.

"Help me carry the stuff?" David asks me as he stands up. "We should hurry back. Brad is even more unbearable when he's hungry."

I take some of the packaged food from David and follow him outside. And like an idiot, I stumble as I reach the exit. David quickly reaches out towards me, covering my forehead with the palm of his hand so I don't go careening into the door.

"Dina! Are you okay?' he asks.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." I stutter. God, when did I get so clumsy?

I look up at David and swallow at his sudden proximity. He's tilting his head at me, his palm still firmly pressed on my forehead. I hold my breath.

After a while, David clears his throat and removes his hand from my face. We turn away from each other, awkward.

"You're such a klutz," he murmurs before pushing the door open. I grip my throat. Yeah, right. The both of us can be just friends.