“I don’t—”
“For me. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine, but I need to see for myself that you’re okay.”
His heart clenched at the helpless worry in his mom’s voice. “I’ll be there in about four hours.”
Landon changed routes and headed toward his childhood home. He’d flown his mom out to Europe or had her stay at hisplace in Santa Monica, but he’d avoided going home for several years.
Landon arrived at the house and sat in the driveway as the sun set behind it, and he understood why he’d avoided it for so long. The house reminded him of how wonderful life had been when he’d cared, and how much it had hurt to lose the things he cared most about.
As soon as he stepped out of his car, the porch door swung open, and his mom bounded toward him. He met her halfway and lifted her off the driveway in a bear hug. She laughed and cried and laughed, and warmth thawed his frozen heart.
“Come on.” After a long while—but not long enough for Landon—his mom pulled back and tugged on his hand. “I made your favorite.”
His stomach growled vociferously. Everything his mom made tasted incredible, but her spicy fish soup had no equal. He couldn’t wait to fill himself up with it. But when they walked into the kitchen, he saw a precarious tower of sandwiches on white bread without the crusts.
“Peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches,” said his mom, doing a decent Vanna White impression. “Your favorite snack.”
He grinned as happy memories flooded him. He’d been about ten or eleven when their neighborhood had a long blackout that lasted a good fifteen hours. He and Seth had been arguing over what to watch for their family movie night when everything went dark. They stopped arguing—both happy the other hadn’t gotten to watch the movie he’d wanted—and shared an unforgettable meal, watching the fire dance in their toastyfamily room. Peanut butter, banana, and mini-marshmallow sandwiches. It tasted like the food of the gods, which they consumed faster than their mom could make them. Even their father had seemed content that night, although he’d refused to eat a single sugar-loaded sandwich.
“Mom,” he said, reaching for a sandwich. “You’re awesome.”
Landon finished the entire plate while he and his mom chatted about his mischievous childhood.
“You were such a curious child,” she said. “There wasn’t a science project you couldn’t blow up. You would tinker with the ingredients until you got a bigger, better reaction. Then you pushed for more.”
“Yeah. Always wanting more is a Kim family trait.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” His mom gave him a long, sideways glance. “Always wanting more is different from never having enough.”
He let his mom’s words sink in. They’d said so much without bringing up the real topic. Landon was terrified of becoming his father. As a kid, he already had his dad’s callous confidence, endless ideas, and drive for more. He even looked like him. If he didn’t keep himself in check, he would chase aftermoreuntil he let everyone down.
But his recent dreams to open his own restaurant, to find a home, and to share his life with Aubrey now felt like the beginning of something lasting rather than the end of everything he’d built up. Not a rash gamble but a choice he would cherish forever.
Landon glanced away from his mom to hide the panic reaching out to suffocate him. He walked into the kitchen with her close behind. “When you said my favorite, I thought you meantmeh-oon-tang.”
“The sandwiches were your favorite snack. The fish soup isfor dinner.” Her smile held a trace of sadness, but she let him change the subject. “How many hot peppers do you want in the soup? I have serrano and jalapeño.”
“Serrano. At least three. I want the steam-sauna effect.” He rolled up his sleeves. “Where’s the fish? Would you like me to clean it up for the broth?”
“Landon, we haven’t cooked together in so long.” His mom cleared her throat, her eyes wide. “It’s in the garage fridge. Red rock cod. Make sure you don’t nick the roe and the liver.”
“Give me some credit, Mom. I did graduate with honors from the CIA and am still a respected food critic. They’re the best part of the soup. I’ll make sure to extract them in pristine condition.”
The kitchen was small but well appointed, and he worked on the fish at the big sink, while his mom drew water for the broth from the island sink. When the base broth of kelp, onion, ginger, and garlic was ready, she added the chunks of fish Landon had cleaned. While that boiled, he sliced and then added some white Korean radish, green onions, and tofu to the soup. His mom had the fresh perilla leaves and crown daisy ready to add at the end.
Saliva was pooling in his mouth when the soup was finished. His mom laid out thebanchan,small dishes of kimchee, seasoned bean sprouts, steamed spinach, and pan-fried zucchini. When she placed a bowl of rice, filled past the rim, in front of him, Landon dug in. The fish soup was boiling hot, and the spice level was volcanic. He wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip and ate seconds and thirds. He only came up for air once he’d finished.
“Mom.” He slouched back in his chair, feeling like he’d purged all the toxins from his mind and body. “That was the best.”
“Just a reminder of what you’re missing, son.”
Landon spent the night in his old room and actually managed to sleep a few hours. As expected, the pain had rolled in with the dark.Aubrey.Her name moved through his bloodstream, scorching and gutting him, but he didn’t try to hide from it.
Something had shifted with his homecoming. Letting himself be taken care of—allowing himself to become vulnerable—freed a part of him that he’d chained and thrown into the dungeon. Even the pain was better than the empty numbness Aubrey’s absence had left.
The next morning, he stood by the front door, knowing he was done running.
“Mom.” She had a death grip around his waist. “I’ll come visit soon. I promise.”
