Chapter 9
Sierra and Nick set the table when Gavin and I entered the kitchen. He still held on to my hand, and I blushed when Nick’s eyes scanned what should have been a benign gesture. I quickly released his hand, though I silently grieved the loss.
I helped in the preparations for dinner, making sure water glasses were filled. Nick, Sierra, and Gavin all snagged a beer from the fridge, too, because nothing said Thai food like New Belgium Brewery.
“So, Gavin, were you an athlete or do you work out a ton?” Sierra, not shy at all around guys, could get a job with the police department or the FBI if photography didn’t work out.
Part of me wondered the same thing. It wasn’t possible someone naturally had his physique without working on it.
“I rowed crew all four years during my undergrad at Berkeley.”
Made sense. Funny, I typically didn’t think of music majors as jocks. Jocks were popular and wanted nothing to do with us band geeks. I mentally slapped myself for letting stereotypes guide my prejudice. Especially not cool given the fact I spent years dispelling stereotypes slung my way.
Yes, I can eat with chopsticks because my white Scandinavian American parents made me practice on Chinese food. No, I’m not good at math. In fact, I suck. Yes, I speak English. Learned how to speak probably the same way every other native English speaker did. No, I wasn’t a mail-order bride, though my parents did pay for me. When I stopped to ruminate, my whole body tensed. It still made me a commodity. Disturbing, really.
“Do any of you play sports?” Gavin asked.
“Louie here runs a bit, three miles a day seems to be the current distance.”
I frowned at Nick, hoping he wouldn’t delve deeper into my OCD mileage limit. My roommates recognized my three-mile limit after I ran with them. I’m no longer allowed to use exercise to purge. It’s a fine line between maintaining a healthy lifestyle and taking it too far.
According to Dr. Liz, asking for help and letting my friends know how they could support me incorporated rebuilding my new toolkit for health and recovery.
I’m sure I over-analyzed because Nick wouldn’t betray my trust. At least not in front of me. Gavin asking me questions about my stupid three mile a day restriction? Not on my to-do list. Still not thrilled with Nick for mentioning it, especially when I thought I fared well since I returned. My freak outs about food were nearly non-existent, and I practically devoured all my Pad Thai.
While I did have urges to run and could tell you how many calories I consumed, I had absolutely zero urges for taking laxatives. In fact, I hadn’t taken a laxative in five months. Again, not things I wanted to have to explain to Gavin.
Being an odd duck was bizarrely a step in the right direction. Recovering bullied anorexic/bulimic? Completely wrong direction.
I used my mad diversion skills. “Did you know Nick’s almost a black belt in Jujitsu?” Success. Gavin took the bait.
“No kidding. He hasn’t mentioned it. How long have you been training?”
Nick swallowed his bit of curry. “I moved to the States at fifteen, still scrawny as shit and got my ass kicked. My mom signed me up for Jujitsu. I’ve been doing it for almost eight years now and can’t live without it. Saved my life. Martial arts and the guitar. How’d you get into crew?” I guess the guys spent most of their time together composing music, since they didn’t know too much about each other’s personal lives.
“Pretty random, actually. My eye caught a sign on my homeroom door freshman year of high school and heading home after school wasn’t an option. It seemed as good of a sport as any of the others. Plus, living on the coast, you pretty much had to take up a water sport.” Gavin shrugged, and reached for his beer.
Huh, maybe Gavin didn’t have such a sunny home life either. I wonder if Sierra and Nick noticed. It’s possible he alluded to the typical fighting between every teenager and their parents. Apparently, Sierra didn’t notice because she grilled Gavin about his time rowing.
“You rowed all four years in college? Must have been pretty good. Probably helped you’re tall.” Sierra did her eye batting thing again. I’m certain it had to be unconscious since she lingered in flirt mode, and most of the time didn’t even realize it. It might explain why guys were pissed off when they found they starred in the friend zone.
“I was decent. Though actually one of the shorter guys on the team,” Gavin mentioned.
“Are you kidding? And how tall are you exactly?” I asked. Gavin already seemed to tower over me.
“Eh, six two and change.”
My eyes bulged, and I snorted. “The rest of the guys must have been ginormous.”
“Most of the guys were between six four and six seven. They used to tease me about giving the coxswain position a go. I still had over half a foot on our coxswain, so he wasn’t too worried.” A smile crept to one side of his mouth.
“Were you decent as in full-ride decent?” Sierra spared no one the examination, including partial responses. She typed in her phone UC Berkeley and rowing.
Gavin shrugged. “My ticket to college.” He fidgeted with his fork and lowered it to his plate after noticing Sierra googling his alma mater.
“National champs, eh?”
He didn’t say much. “It was a good run.” His modesty made him even yummier because if anyone had a right to brag, it would be him. Shit. He was beyond good. Not surprising given the size of his biceps, pecs, and the wingspan of his monkey arms.
Gavin lost the spotlight and turned the cross-examination on Sierra. “Did you play any sports in high school?”
“Please, no. Team sports and I do not jive. Though you are looking at the president of the photography club. I guess I did individual outdoor sports like skiing, hiking, rock climbing, and mountain biking. Growing up west of Denver, it was sacrilegious not to do at least one of those activities. But no, I didn’t do an organized team.”
“Where did you ski? I’ve only been to Breckenridge a few times.”
“Mostly Winter Park or Vail. My parents had a home up in the mountains, and we went pretty much every weekend.”
“You guys ski, too?” Gavin turned toward me and Nick.
“Water ski, yeah. But not the snow. More than once, Sierra’s threatened to drag me out to Colorado and torture me,” Nick answered.
Gavin shifted his aim to me. “And you, Louie?”
“I skied a few times in Massachusetts and Vermont. But I’m nothing to write home about. I’d love to try Colorado sometime. Sierra keeps telling me how amazing the snow is out there.”
“It’s true, it’s amazing. Better than the crusty ice out east,” Sierra interjected. “And you know you can come visit me anytime. We can go over winter break.”
Sierra invited me back to Colorado every winter since we met as roomies our freshman year. Our first winter break, we ended up at my house, and our sophomore year we opted to stay at the rental house.
Maybe before I graduate I’d make it out there. Matt grew up skiing near Lake Placid, and it would be awesome if we all flew out and stayed at her parents’ place. But Matt worked all the time, and Nick dragged his heels on transferring his skills to snow.
“Hey, Gavin.” Here we go again. Sierra’s intro to yet another grilling. “Don’t take this the wrong way ‘cause I’m being totally un-PC here, but what are you?”
Gavin waited for more direction, but I understood what she asked. And truth be told, I wanted to know, too.
“For example, I’m plain boring Western European. Swiss, French, and some English. But I can’t figure out what you are, besides eye candy.” Sierra’s eyes ping ponged between me and Gavin. “Totally platonic, of course.”
Gavin put his fork down and rubbed his face once over and exhaled louder than normal. “Well, you have my parents to thank for my looks.”
He dipped his head once to the side. “My mom’s family came over from Korea to San Diego a year before she was born and my dad’s half-Brazilian and half-British but grew up in Spain. Long story how they met.”
Sierra whacked my arm with the back of her hand. “No kidding. Louie’s adopted from Korea. But we did her DNA and technically she’s only sixty percent Korean, with a bunch of other shit. Louie?”
“Some Chinese, Japanese, Native American, and Nepalese.” I literally jumped for joy when they came out with a ninety-nine-dollar saliva test. But a bit shocked to learn I wasn’t mostly Korean. Made me more curious about my biological family. Where did they come from? How long had they lived in Korea or were they passing through? Why was I given up? Because I wasn’t full Korean?
As a freshman, I took an interest in my Asian roots, and pulled a few books from the library on Korean intercountry adoption. Apparently, the Koreans were adamant about having a “pure race” back in the day. Something about national pride in having one blood, one race. Being half Korean couldn’t have boded well in my favor. Or my mother’s, especially if she spawned me with an outsider.
Gavin stilled. “Explains some things. I was going to guess some Korean, but your mannerisms didn’t match my mom’s side of the family.”
I didn’t know if I should be offended or not. Yeah, I was American, I still identified as Korean, too. After all, Korea’s my place of birth. I folded my arms in defense.
“No hard feelings, Lou. There’s this air about the Korean women in my family. How they hold themselves, how they talk, assert their noses in everyone’s business. You’re much more reserved and timid. Not in a bad way. More like you’re taking in everything before you decide.
“My mom and halmoni, grandma in Korean, they are like ready, fire, aim.” I watched as his eyes crinkled at the sides and could tell he held them in high regard even with this mild censure. “My mom’s not as intense as halmoni, but I still wouldn’t cross either of them. They’re strong women.”
He cleared his throat, took another swig of beer. “I reckon you’ve got strength, too.” And I didn’t know how to respond, again. A common theme when Gavin addressed me.
“She might seem timid, but Louie’s tougher than nails.” Sierra seemed to be wholly unaffected by him.
“Thanks, Sierra.” I pointed my thumb to the side at her. “She’s my biggest cheerleader.”
Not wanting to be the center of attention, I released a slight sigh when Matt yelled from the front door. “You guys better have gotten me some Pad Kee Mao.”
We all turned to see Matt drop his backpack on the kitchen counter before he joined us at the table. And I could have kissed him, well, not tongue or anything, but a chaste peck on the cheek. Because all our attention directed at Matt and his Pad Kee Mao.
~ ~ ~
After clearing off the table, Gavin and Nick moseyed to the living room, and collaborated on a new song. “Lou, you don’t mind if Gavin uses your keyboard?” Nick asked.
“Nope, it’s all yours.”
I retreated into my room and pondered all the ways I could procrastinate finishing my theory homework. I could ask Gavin to help when he finished with Nick. But I did not want the others thinking I used homework as an excuse to hit on Gavin.
A part of me hoped he might someday want to hit on me. Like, after I got to know him better, and had more therapy sessions with Dr. Liz to work on my freak outs. But he was technically the theory tutor, and conveniently in my living room.
Fuck it.
I poked my head around the corner of the hallway.
“Hey, Gavin?”
Both guys stopped playing.
“What’s up?” Gavin reclined in the chair, removing his hands from the keyboard.
“Any chance you have a little time to help me with some theory homework? If you’re not too busy?” Shit, too transparent? Well, theory homework truly loomed over my head. I was almost one hundred percent certain Haven would give us a pop quiz. One couldn’t study too much for transcription quizzes. At least I couldn’t.
“Sure, I’ll come by when we’re done?”
“Awesome, thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
He resumed jamming with Nick, and I retreated to my room. My assertiveness provided a small source of pride. Another point to share with Dr. Liz next week.
I pulled out the piece I started for composition and included a part for the standing bass. My secret crush. Thrilled didn’t begin to describe my emotions ever since Dr. Mickelson assigned bass lines to our main melody. Deep in musical meditation, I startled when a knock on the door jolted me back to the reality of my bedroom.
“Hey.” Gavin poked his head through the crack of the door.
“Hey. You guys done already?” I sat up, and gathered the staff sheets scattered on my comforter, stoked I pounded out a few more measures of my composition piece.
“Yeah, we hashed out some of the main verse and chorus tonight. Is now a good time to help with theory?” He remained outside of my room, awaiting my response.
I stuffed the piece into my composition folder and opened my theory notebook. “Now would be awesome.” I noticed the time on the clock: 7:53 pm. Not so late I’d feel bad about holding him hostage in tutor mode.
We sat on the floor, and I spread out the sheets. Gavin already realized, from prior tutoring sessions, hearing the distance between the notes in chords evaded me.
“Actually, let’s grab my keyboard because I suck at hearing and identifying chords, chord progressions, and practicing transcription,” I said.
Gavin went back into the living room to retrieve the instrument.
He entered my room again and began his pep talk. “Think of this as an overlap with sight-singing. A lot of it is practice, drilling the notes to memory.” Gavin assessed me for a second, before continuing. “We know you have relative pitch.”
“Unfortunately. Let me guess, you have perfect pitch?”
“I got lucky. But I still have lots of pointers. And don’t knock relative pitch. It’s helpful and much better than no pitch.” Naturally both Gavin and Nick would have perfect pitch. Again, where was I when they passed out various music genes? At least musical creativity blessed me. I attribute my scholarship to it.
“Thanks. Rather, thanks for also staying. I recognize it isn’t office hours for you, but I appreciate it.”
“Happy to do it.”
No joke, we sat there for almost an hour and a half. Gavin played chords repeatedly, while I struggled to write down all the correct notes. The ear training increased in difficulty when he inserted diminished seventh chords versus minor chords. Though I loved how they sounded, diminished seventh chords were my weakness.
Time and again, I missed the notes by half a key. When he moved to playing both treble and bass clef music for transcription, I collapsed to the ground, removed my pillow I used to support my emotional stomach, and replaced it over my head to smother the chaos in my brain.
Tonight’s impromptu tutoring session proved even harder than yesterday’s scheduled one.
Gavin laid down beside me and tried to remove the pillow.
“Louie?”
“I can’t do it. I suck. I don’t know why but I can’t hear all the notes. For frick’s sake, I didn’t even get the correct key and time signature. I could have sworn you were in G major, 6/8 time. But noooo. E major and 3/4 time. I’m going to fail, and then I’m going to be forced to drop out. I’ll end up on the streets, living under a bench with thirteen cats and a rash.”
“I think we should probably take a break. You’re not going to fail and you’re not going to get kicked out. And I certainly hope you don’t get a rash.” He paused. “What kind of rash are we talking about?”
“Flesh eating nasty puss inducing rash.” My voice muffled under the pillow.
“Sounds yummy.”
“For real, I can’t hear the notes.” After a while, all the notes sounded the same.
“You do hear them, just not always in the right key. Remember what we talked about yesterday?”
“Not boosting my confidence.” I rolled my back toward him, pillow still hiding my head.
“Louie?” Gavin lifted the edge of my pillow.
“What?”
“Take the pillow away.” He peeled more of the comforter off my face until I moved it down past my eyes and glared.
“All the way.”
“Fine.” I pouted and chucked the pillow across the room.
Gavin leaned on his elbow, propping his head up. “So, let’s take a break where we don’t talk about anything music related, deal?”
“Fine.” I made my way into a seated position, legs crossed over one another. “Let’s talk more about you.”
“I think we talked about me plenty during dinner,” he answered.
“I disagree.” Gavin and I seemed to engage in many a stare-down in the short time we’d known each other. I lost the last one we had, and this one followed the same trajectory. I shouldn’t have been surprised, seeing as how I never beat my brother during childhood.
I eventually broke. “Why don’t we do twenty questions? We each get ten?”
“All right. Any passes?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, one pass, scaredy-cat.”
His lips curled up at the ends, a look I adored, because it lit up his face, and gave me warm fuzzies.
“Okay, I’ll start. Why were you wanting to escape your house during high school?”
“You caught that?” Gavin eased onto his back and eyed the ceiling.
“I did.”
“It was complicated.” His hands folded on his chest.
I grunted. “Terrible response, use a pass, my friend.”
“No pass, I speak the truth, and it was complicated. My turn.” He mimicked my sitting position. “What happened to make you skittish of men?”
“I had a bad experience.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. Your turn.”
“Why was it complicated?” Not letting let him evade that question.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
I shook my head.
He shrugged. “Teenage angst, miscommunication, chaos, loss.”
“Okay, cryptic boy.”
“Hey, you can ask for more clarification with your next question. You do have eight left. What was your bad experience?” He leaned closer, and I could smell the remnants of Thai food and beer mixed with his musky scent.
I slumped my shoulders. I’d have to tell him eventually, right? Dr. Liz would squeal with delight if she heard I opened-up to a guy about my past. I didn’t want to scare him away.
A couple hours ago his description of me elevated from odd duck to interesting. I feared wrecking this positive trend.
“You truly want to know?”
“I do. Details aren’t necessary, but if we’re getting to know each other better, understanding how major events have shaped your life is important in my book. It’s clear to me there’s something traumatic based on how you respond to me. I have my shallow moments, trust me. But this is an area I’ve learned not to skim past.”
I picked at the hem of my shorts, aiding the fraying. One of my bad habits to kick, if not for the welfare of my bank account. I paused for a moment, weighing his explanation against my fear he’d run away from me at Mach speed.
“Some of the neighborhood boys picked on me. Almost to the point of stalking and harassment. Okay, maybe it was stalking and harassment.” My breath held, and I considered Gavin. His eyes were shut, and fists clenched by his side. His chest expanded as he breathed deep, before his hands relaxed.
No way I’d add in my crazy abandonment issues and eating disorder.
Petrified of his response, I blurted out my next question. “Why do you say you’re shallow?”
He paused and shot me a look I couldn’t quite identify. Anger? Pain? Disgust? Exasperation?
Instead of following up on my response, he opted to answer my next question. “I wasn’t known to have deep meaningful relationships, if you know what I mean.”
“So, you’re a player.”
“That’ll cost you another question. My turn. How often did it happen?”
My face fought the frown, as the proverbial nail hit my coffin. “It started at five and ended in high school?” I didn’t bother telling him it was my senior year when the bullying shifted from physical to stalking and taunting, but it hurt the same. Making me run as fast as I could away from Lenox, MA. Also, why I never wanted to go back. Being a different race than everyone else did wonders for my social networking. Not.
“Fucking A, Louie.” Gavin released a very audible exhalation. And there it was, the look I dreaded, and why I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. Pity. I didn’t want to be pigeon-holed. Because I survived.
I plastered on my best fake smile. “So last question?” Because I couldn’t handle any more of this game. I wanted to learn more about Gavin, not paint myself as some vulnerable loser girl without protection. I wasn’t her anymore. I worked too hard to gain my own sense of self, strength, and perseverance.
Despite Gavin not having a chance to explain his complication at home, I couldn’t take anymore. Sitting up as straight as I could, I posed my final inquiry. “According to the world of Gavin, what does it mean to,” using air quotes, “not have deep meaningful relationships.”
“I’m pretty certain I still get one more question after yours.” Gavin relaxed the muscles in his jaw.
“Answer the question, lover boy.”
He tilted his head a moment. “Pretty much like it sounds. A lot of hook-ups and one-night stands.”
“A lot as in ten or fifty?”
Gavin tsked at me. “Your questions are up, unless you want to go another round.”
My eyes narrowed. “You suck.”
“Yes, but at least I have the final question. How many guys have you dated?” he asked.
“Pass.” I averted my gaze. I didn’t want him to see I clearly had never dated a guy.
“Who’s the scaredy-cat now?”
I rebounded. “How many one-night stands?
“We’re doing one more round?” Gavin stretched his legs out to the side and leaned on his hands propped behind his back. “Ballpark? Forty? But I always used protection and got tested after each one. I was a lucky bastard, but I’m clean.”
“Shit, you’re like a male gigolo. You’re what, twenty-two, twenty-three?”
Gavin nodded. “Twenty-three.”
Fuuuuuck. Way out of my league. “Does your number include any relationships you may have had?”
Gavin goaded me. “Another round?”
“Gavin.”
“I dated a couple, lasted, I don’t know, four or five months each.” Another shrug, no big deal to him. Probably wasn’t. But for someone like me who had zero experience, my hands would clam up, and I’d perspire in unattractive places. Okay, it was my pits, but still.
I attempted the math, arbitrarily making him eighteen when he lost his virginity. If I were being conservative, he’d had on average, eight women a year. I’m not one to judge, hell, Dave Spence could give him a run for his money. But holy crap, his experience made him well-versed in women.
Maybe I didn’t want to be with him after all. I’d be delusional to entertain the possibility I could be his special someone to make him commit. No way in hell I did one-night stands. Though a lizard with half a brain could have figured it out.
And did I want a boyfriend at this point? I still had ways to go to heal. What was his angle?
Gavin nudged my knee to grab my attention. “A lot happened and it’s not an excuse but an explanation. If it’s any consolation, I haven’t been with anyone in almost a year,” he whispered.
“Wow. Um.” I inspected pretty much every object, nook, and cranny except Gavin. Nerves flushed my skin, while his hand remained on my leg. I squirmed into another seated position until he withdrew it. But his last comment gave me pause. I wonder what had changed for him.
“Not quite as many for you?” he asked.
I huffed. “An understatement.” Discomfort consumed me. Not because I thought he might be inappropriate, but because I still liked the idea of him. Insecurity over my non-existent sexual prowess invaded my rumination. What would he think if he knew my first and only kiss was in seventh grade? I shuddered in mortification. Sure, I had a good reason. Still didn’t take away the embarrassment.
“You want to talk about it?”
“How about we practice some more transcription? I know Haven will have some of these on the quiz tomorrow.” I pointed with my eraser at my notebook.
Gavin forced a close-lipped smile, rubbed the back of his neck, and acquiesced. “It’s probably been ten minutes. Theory it is.”