My parents’ place.

Honestly, it wouldn’t be hard to answer.

I could just say, “It kind of ended up that way because I got kicked out of the house.” Easy.

But when I pictured the look on Park Juu’s face—the same kid who once assumed I couldn’t afford college—that felt off.

When things get awkward, nothing beats changing the subject.

I cut one of the little tofu meat patties in half and set it on Park Juu’s side plate.

“You, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you go home?”

If it were Lee Cheonghyeon, he would have griped, “I asked first!” and picked a fight, but that’s not how Park Juu is wired.

Sure enough, he kept picking up and putting down the half patty with his chopsticks before he finally spoke.

“...I don’t know. Holidays feel like a day you should spend with family.”

Which contradicted the fact that he hadn’t gone home and stayed at the dorm.

Maybe he caught my confusion, because he went on.

“I, um, lived at my aunt’s. For about ten years, I think...”

First I’d heard of it.

Come to think of it, among all the SPARK TMIs, there hadn’t been anything about Park Juu’s family.

If he avoids mentioning his parents, there must be a reason. So I didn’t ask about that part.

Instead, I acted casual and asked something useless.

“How many people at your aunt’s?”

“Four. My aunt and uncle, and one older cousin brother and one older cousin sister...”

“Then you were the youngest there. Must be tiring looking after two younger kids here, huh?”

“No. I like the noise.”

He smiled when he said it. Life at his aunt’s didn’t sound bad.

If he wasn’t avoiding them out of discomfort, it felt more like he was staying away for his aunt’s family.

Just as that thought hit me, he said:

“After living there so long, I kind of feel like... on days like this, I should sit it out.”

“...Yeah, I can see that.”

In the quiet kitchen, the sound of fritters sizzling lay over everything like BGM.

I was thrown. Didn’t expect something this heavy to show up out of nowhere.

I know exactly what it feels like to live on someone else’s dime.

In my case, I’m literally living in a place my sister fronted the deposit for.

Still, not having anyone to see on a holiday—that’s a little sad. When I didn’t have overtime, at least I saw my sister.

I sighed inside.

After a beat, I flipped the skewered fritters and said,

“I didn’t go because I’m not on great terms with my family.”

Great. He gets to ask and I don’t get to dodge.

“It’s not like it’s terrible, we’re just kind of distant. So I didn’t go.”

Park Juu, who had been laying fresh paper towels on a plate, looked at me with wide eyes.

I’d deliberately kept it vague so he wouldn’t wildly misunderstand, but he still seemed pretty surprised.

“...Did you have a fight?”

“Not that far. I just moved out when I became an adult—two birds with one stone.”

Call a spade a spade: I didn’t fight with my family; I got hit by them. One-hundred percent their fault, that’s what I’m saying.

“So that’s why you’ve never made a phone call...?”

“How did you know?”

“When we each get our phones once a month... you’re the only one who never calls anyone.”

At UA, once a month they’d pass around our personal phones for about thirty minutes and tell us to check in with family.

The others would use that time to call home.

A guy like Jeong Seongbin, who has a lot of friends, had to squeeze every second out of those thirty minutes.

So what did I do during that time...?

“What else, I zoned out.”

I sometimes borrow a phone from the manager when I want anyway, and I don’t have anyone to call, so of course I had nothing to do.

I’ve basically buried my stocks for the long term, too. No reason to check anything even if I had a phone.

“I didn’t know you were watching.”

“It just happened to be in front of me... If that bothered you, I’m sorry.”

“No. I was just a little surprised.”

Honestly, a lot surprised.

I figured everyone would be so dazzled by this taste of civilization after thirty days that no one would notice me.

I got complacent. I don’t want to stand out, so next time I’ll at least pick up some random opinion poll call.

“Who do you usually call?”

“My aunt. Or... my cousin brother or cousin sister?”

“What’s that. Why are you leaving your uncle out?”

He gave a small laugh. Yeah—sounds like he really does get along with his aunt’s family.

“I’ll call my uncle next time, too.”

“Good. Make sure you tell him you ate tofu meat patties.”

With that warm little exchange, our fritter-making wrapped up as well.

After sacrificing the whole afternoon, the kitchen had a basket full of fritters, three plastic containers of neat side dishes, and...

“Juu.”

“...Yeah.”

“The dishes... you can finish them today, right?”

...a mountain of dirty dishes.

I looked at the frying pan soaked in oil, grabbed a wad of paper towels with grim resolve, and got to work.

“Haa...”

After a two-hour marathon of dishwashing, Park Juu and I were finally free.

The second we finished cleaning up, we shut all the windows we’d opened to air out the place and fled to a café near the dorm.

I thought hardly anywhere would be open on a holiday, but nope. I’d never known because I always just rested at home once the memorial rite was done.

We each ordered a yogurt smoothie and took seats on the terrace.

While I chugged mine to put out the fire in my throat from hours of kitchen labor, Park Juu asked,

“Is that... also to prevent tooth discoloration?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow...”

He made a noise I couldn’t interpret.

I wondered if he was being snide, but his face said, “I am sincerely impressed.” Fine, I’ll let it slide this time.

“Good work today. Setting up the memorial table is no joke.”

“It’s fine. You must be really tired though... Let’s just buy food next Lunar New Year.”

“My head likes that, but my heart can’t.”

If it were someone else, I’d say, “It’s too much work—why fuss over every little thing? Just buy it ready-made.”

But when it’s my job, it’s different.

“Though, it might end up out of my hands.”

“Why...?”

“Prices have gone way up...”

I nearly fainted just from buying green onions.

Cheaper than nine years from now, sure, but that price for a single bunch?

I was reminded again how time polishes memories.

In the moment I thought, maybe I’ll grab some meat too—poof, the idea disintegrated.

“Good thing we only bought apples and pears. If we’d added chestnuts and persimmons, we wouldn’t be drinking these smoothies.”

“...It’s worse because it’s the holiday, right?”

“Yeah. But prices don’t drop just because the holiday ends.”

“My aunt always says that, too.”

He laughed silently, like he was picturing a holiday scene.

He’d been tiptoeing around it, but, like I expected, the vibe at his aunt’s sounded warm overall.

Thinking that far, I felt a little bad that he hadn’t gotten to eat much holiday food.

“Maybe I should’ve made some glass noodles, too.”

The regret slipped out of my mouth. He caught it immediately.

“You can make glass noodles?”

“I can. I just can’t promise it’s amazing. I skipped it this time because of the calories...”

“Ah...”

Maybe I should’ve made a small batch for the kids at least.

We were chatting about how much radish cost this time and how the fritters tasted a bit plain without extra seasoning, when the side of my face started to feel hot.

I turned my head and saw a group of ladies at the next table looking our way.

I quickly looked down and asked, lowering my voice,

“...Was I too loud?”

Even if there aren’t many people here, it’s still a shared space. Being loud would be rude.

Thankfully, he shook his head.

If he—who prefers quiet—says no, I probably wasn’t being a nuisance.

Maybe because they sensed me getting self-conscious, the ladies soon looked away.

Their conversation, which had paused, floated back over.

“Where did you buy songpyeon this year?”

“You know the rice-cake shop under the apartment /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ complex? There.”

“You buy there every year.”

Ah.

Two guys sitting like blanched spinach and talking about the exact same topic as those ladies—no wonder they were listening.

If I saw two grade-schoolers sipping a grain drink next to me and saying...

Will recruitment go well this year?

Who knows. Not sure they can fill the quota.

...I’d look, too.

“...Should we buy some rice cakes on the way back?”

“I’m in.”

Feeling a little mortified, we quietly cleaned up and slipped out of the café.

The early birds had already done their shopping, so there weren’t many rice cakes left, but we managed to snag some.

After enjoying the fritters and rice cakes, we set out for the Han River at ten p.m. to atone for the five-rice-cakes-equals-one-bowl-of-rice calorie debt.

If you eat, you run.

With the gym closed for the holiday, our only option was a river run.

We were warming up, ready to jog for about two hours, when a ringtone went off. Park Juu pulled the personal phone he’d received for the holiday out of his pocket.

“Uh...”

He froze when he saw the screen.

“What? Opinion poll number?”

“No. It’s my aunt... Can I take this...?”

“Why are you asking me for permission? Pick up!”

Making an adult wait? If it were Manager Nam, I’d rain fire the moment I answered.

“Assistant Manager Kim! Is your phone a pot for boiling soup? Why don’t you pick up immediately?!”

“Assistant Manager Kim, why didn’t you answer? What if I called about something really important?”

...You think I only heard that once or twice?

And none of those calls were even for work. A thousand petty reasons. I don’t care to recall them all.

I hurried him along—what are you doing not answering?—until he gave in and picked up, wearing a reluctant face.