"I'll drive you to the office."
“Mom” Dennis rolls his eyes but falls into step with her as they exit the front door. "I feel like a middle schooler again."
"Oh shush!” She links her arm with his. “Let me be a concerned mother for once.”
The drive shouldn't take more than twenty minutes, but his mother misses every possible exit. The GPS keeps recalculating as she cruises past turn after turn.
"Mom, that's the fourth exit you didn't take."
"Whoops. I'll take the next one, then."
Dennis should protest—he has work to do, papers to sort through. But after everything, just being in his mother's presence makes the world feel a fraction steadier. He lets her drive, watching the city slide past, not really registering any of the streets, until she breaks their comfortable silence.
"How's Chris, in all of this?"
Dennis's fingers curl against his thighs. "Don’t know, don’t care."
"I got his number from Jason, messaged him when you fainted,” she continues conversationally, sunglasses on the road. “He didn't show up."
Dennis props his chin in his palm, staring out the window. Of course not. Chris was probably celebrating his successful sabotage.
"He called me though. Asked a hundred questions, sounded like he'd been crying. Made me promise to send updates, kept messaging to check on you..."
"Whatever," Dennis mutters into his hand.
"Are you two fighting?"
Dennis turns to find her watching him in quick glances between traffic. That knowing look tells him she's waiting for confirmation of what she's already pieced together. His mother's always had a sixth sense about these things.
"You already know,” he says, a little sulky because he’s with his mom, so he’s allowed. “So why ask?"
"I only know what your father told me. And you know he's a man of few words. I want to hear your version."
Dennis exhales hard, searching for where to even begin. That's when she takes the next exit—one he recognizes. His stomach drops as she turns left, pulling up across from Chris's building.
She puts the car in park and lowers the radio’s volume. Turns to face Dennis completely.
“Just as I don’t knowyourversion of the story, you don’t know Chris’s.”
“But he—”
She raises her hand, cutting him off. "You aresuchan architect..." she sighs in Japanese. "There has to be more than what you see on the outside, Dennis Kim. I saw how you looked at him. How he looked at you. And I don't know everything that’s happened between you two, darling, but—all I know is you need to talk to him.Reallytalk to him,” she stresses, “not the way you boys do it, but with listening and understanding—before jumping to conclusions."
Dennis picks at his thumbnail until it bleeds. "I don't think he'll talk to me. He's been avoiding me for weeks."
His mother clicks her tongue, pulling his hands apart. "If he doesn't, then that burden stays on him and you'll know your answer."
"Easy for you to say." A sound escapes him that might have been a laugh in another life.
"I know, Deni-chan." Her fingers brush his cheek, soft and sure. "But it's what you need to do."
Dennis stares through the window at Chris's building. His breath catches in his chest, making everything too real. His mother's smile steadies him. He kisses her cheek, her palm warm against his face, before he steps out.
He pauses at her window. "How did you even know he lives here? It's not in his employment records."
"You don't really think your father's the only one with connections, do you?" She slides her sunglasses back on with a wink. "I have a meeting, but call if you need me to pick you up, okay?"
"’Kay."
