Eleven

The sound of a piano fills my head, pulling me into a dream. Light filters through a dusty window, revealing the empty tables of Uncle Wong's Palace. I'm sitting at a booth in the corner, wondering where this music is coming from. I look around the restaurant, my vision a little blurry. Someone reaches across the table, touching my hand.

"I have to go soon."

Jasmine's voice echoes through me. I blink until her face comes into focus. She's wearing the jacket she borrowed; her long hair is tucked behind one ear. The pineapple fried rice sits on the table, untouched. It's her favorite dish. We order it every time we're here.

"Eric, did you hear me?"

I blink at her. "What was that?"

"I said I'm leaving."

My mind goes back to our last conversation. She's moving out of the country to tour with her band. But I don't want her leaving me behind this time. "Why can't you just come back home?" I ask.

Jasmine shakes her head. "I have to go."

"No, you don't."

"I'm sorry."

Sunlight fades from the window, painting a shadow along the table. The piano music keeps playing. But I still don't know where it's coming from. Jasmine glances outside, a distant look in her eyes. Then she rises from the booth.

I grab her hand. " Jaz, wait— "

"Please don't make this harder."

"Then don't go."

"I have to—"

Jasmine pulls her hand away and heads off. I get up from the booth, following after her. For some reason, I can't seem to catch up. The floor keeps stretching between us, making it impossible to reach the door. The faster I run, the farther she moves away. The piano music continues, drowning out my voice as I call after her. It's the same song I've been hearing everywhere. Why does it follow me in my dreams?

I keep calling after her, hoping she turns around. But she vanishes through the door without even saying goodbye. The moment I finally touch the door handle, the music fades as I'm swallowed by complete darkness.

I wake up in bed alone again. My eyes slowly adjust to the light as I take in the emptiness of the room. For some reason, I thought things might be different this time. That I might wake up with his head against me, our arms tangled together. But all that's left is the scent of him, along with the memory of the night before. I run my hand over the sheet, wishing he was still here. Maybe it's my fault for falling asleep. At least he promised he'll find me again. I keep his words with me as I push myself out of bed.

I grab my phone from the side table and check the time. There's a new message from Jasmine. I haven't heard from her in a while. Maybe she had a dream about me, too. We've always been somehow connected this way. I'm sure she knows I'm a little mad at her.

Haven't heard from you in a few days. Hope everything's alright

Will try to see you before I leave

I send her a quick response and stretch my arms. That's when I notice something on my desk. I get out of bed to pick it up. It's a paper rose, folded from light blue paper. I turn it in the window light. Haru left this here for me. Another reminder that we'll see each other again. I stare at it for a long moment. I hope I don't have to wait too long.

I take a shower and head to the kitchen. I usually skip breakfast in the morning. But there's this emptiness in my stomach. I decide to fill it with a bowl of cereal. As I head to the kitchen, I find Dad sitting at the dinner table, mail spread out in front of him. He usually works weekday mornings, so I'm surprised he's home.

Dad looks up at me. "Going to work?"

"In a little bit."

He nods.

I open the fridge. There's a plastic bowl, wrapped with foil.

"Your mom made mi ? n," he says, leaning back in his chair.

"I'll have some later."

"Take it with you."

Our family doesn't often make breakfast in the morning. It's usually leftovers from dinner the night before.

I grab a bowl from the dishwasher.

"Mom told me about your new job," Dad says, sipping his coffee.

I've been meaning to update him on things. We haven't spoken much these last few weeks. Especially since I've been coming home pretty late. "Yeah, it just started. But I already like it better than my last one."

"Good."

I pour some milk into my bowl and head to the table. Dad is going through some papers, his forehead furrowed. It's easy to tell when he's frustrated with something. I glance over his shoulder, wondering what he's reading.

"What are you working on?"

"Insurance," he says. He points to a section in the letter. "But I don't know what it means."

"Do you want me to read it?"

Dad looks at the table, thinking. Although he's lived in the US for more than twenty years, his English isn't perfect. He speaks mostly Vietnamese around the house, especially with our family. "If you have time," he says.

I take a seat next to him and look over the letter. The language is a bit jarring, some legal words even I don't understand. Jasmine has always been the one to translate these things. Phone bills, tax forms, etc. It's one of those moments her absence is really noticed. Sometimes I wish my parents would ask for my help more often. I have this feeling they don't want to bother me. That's probably my fault for keeping to myself these days. But I hate knowing they're struggling alone. We spend the rest of the morning reading through letters, filling out paperwork together. It's a good feeling to be able to help out once in a while.

I miss the train on my way to the theater. The paperwork took longer than I expected, but thankfully I'm only twenty minutes late. I nearly slip on the marble as I hurry through the lobby to clock in. Simon and Alex are in the main box office, sitting casually on the counter, sharing a bag of Twizzlers. They're turned toward each other, giggling about something. The moment they hear me, Simon straightens up, crossing one leg over the other. "Well, look who's fashionably late today," he says. "Another homeless guy jump on the tracks on your way here?"

Alex smacks his arm. "That's not funny, Simon."

"Who said I was making a joke?"

"Sorry," I say breathlessly, setting my things on the floor. "I was helping my dad with something and forgot—"

Simon waves it off. " Relax, nobody cares you're late."

"Oh."

"Did you lose something?" Alex asks me.

"What do you mean?"

Alex reaches behind her, sliding something into view. "The house manager found this in the theater."

"My camera!"

I must have left it on the piano last night.

"It had your name on the strap," she says, handing it to me.

"You're lucky it didn't end up on Marketplace," Simon says, taking a swig from his water bottle. "Almost traded it for concert tickets."

"Thanks for keeping it for me," I say. I'm surprised they're even talking to me today. Especially after how they treated me last night.

"It's the least we could do," Alex says, a note of guilt in her voice. "We felt bad for making you work out there all night. It was Simon's idea."

Simon shoots her a look. " Don't throw me under the bus. "

I shrug it off. "Honestly, don't worry about it."

Alex shakes her head. "But you won't have to tonight. The old man is back. And he always works the box."

"We think he's living out some childhood memory," Simon says with an unbothered shrug. "That or dementia. Either way, who's complaining?"

I glance around the box office. Music is playing from someone's cell phone. It's a K-pop song I don't recognize. I notice a white box on the counter. Inside is a green-and-blue sheet cake, two forks sticking out of it like chopsticks. "That's a really big cake," I say.

Alex smiles. "Do you want some? There's strawberries inside."

Simon leans back, grabbing a fork. "Please spare us the calories," he says.

"Yeah, I'd love some."

Alex hands me a plastic spoon. "We're out of forks. And paper plates."

Simon waves it off. "Bad for the environment anyway."

"Where did you guys get it?" I ask.

"Oh… you know, that one bakery around the block," Simon says vaguely.

I take a closer look at the cake, reading the cursive writing. "Why does it say Congratulations, cast and crew ?"

Simon and Alex exchange looks. A silence passes. Then Simon throws up his hands. "Alright, you caught us. We stole it. You solved the murder. Are you happy, Sherlock?"

"They delivered it here by mistake," Alex says, taking another bite. "It happens every once in a while."

Simon narrows his eyes. "You better not tell on us. Or we'll ruin you," he says in a low voice.

"Of course I won't." I laugh. I lean forward, taking a bite to prove myself. The frosting is a rich buttercream. "That's really good. You sure no one will know it's missing?"

Simon offers a sly smile. "Sweet, sweet Eric. You have so much to learn around here." He pulls open a drawer, revealing two bottles of champagne. "These are from opening night. What's left from it, anyway."

I pick up one of the bottles. "Veuve Clicquot? We served this at my old job. It's pretty expensive." To be honest, I always thought about sneaking home a bottle. But I chickened out at the end of the night. "What other perks does this job have?"

"First of all, I love your energy right now," Simon says, smiling proudly. "And second, there's actually something a little more interesting. " He glances at Alex. "It's what we were discussing before you came in."

Alex leans forward and whispers, "There's a cast party tonight. At some fancy apartment in River North."

"You guys got invited?"

Simon laughs. "Of course not! But we're going anyway."

"They don't invite us to those things," Alex says.

I take another bite of the cake. "How did you guys hear about it?"

"I have my ways of obtaining information," Simon says, pressing his fingers together like a movie villain.

Alex rolls her eyes. "He's hooking up with one of the chorus boys."

Simon shoots another look. "I told you, he's an understudy !"

"You should come with us," Alex suggests.

"To the party?"

Simon looks at me. "Do you have something better to do?"

I think about this. I was hoping to see Haru again tonight. I was planning on waiting outside after work in case he showed up. There's no way I can explain that to them. But I don't remember the last time I was invited to a party. Maybe I should go. "No, I don't have other plans."

"Then you have to go," Alex insists.

"As long as you have something to wear," Simon says.

I glance down at my clothes. "What's wrong with what I have on now?"

Alex's eyes widen. "Eric, no. Your work uniform?"

I shrug. "I mean, if I take off my vest, who will notice?"

" I'll notice, " Simon says, appearing sick. He shakes his head at me. "If you're coming with us, you'll need to change into something else."

"I didn't bring anything else," I say.

Simon and Alex look at each other. Something must have been communicated telepathically, because they nod in unison. Simon clasps his hands together and says, "Alright, here's the plan. We're taking you shopping after work. There's a few department stores we can hit on the way there."

Alex's eyes light up. "Yes, a makeover."

I hold up my hands. "You guys really don't have to—"

"Eric, hush …" Simon holds a finger to my lips to silence me. "We've already made the decision for you."

Before I can say something, the phone rings. Simon stares at it, groaning. Then he picks up the receiver and says, "Who is it and what do you want?"

"It's gonna be so much fun," Alex whispers to me. She grabs my arm and walks me to the counter. "I'll show you the dress I'm wearing."

We spend the next hour on Instagram, looking up different styles for me. Alex says a warm spring palette would best complement my skin tone. During our lunch break, Simon introduces me to the girls at the concession stand for free snacks. "Nothing with too much sugar or we'll get bloated," he says to me.

Our shift ends around eight thirty. The old man agrees to close up, letting us head out early. We find a department store a few blocks from the theater and go shopping. Simon and Alex lead me straight to the men's section, pulling different looks together. I try on a few jackets in different colors. There's a dark suede bomber that fits me particularly well. Alex says it accentuates my shoulders. When I check the price tag, I nearly choke. I turn to the others to let them know. "This is almost three hundred dollars. I can't afford this."

"Relax," Alex says, handing me a belt to try on. "We're not exactly buying anything."

I lower my voice. "Are we stealing it?"

Simon smacks my arm. "Don't be ridiculous. You want us to go to jail? We're simply trying things out and taking them back."

"What do you mean?"

"You see, this place has an amazing return policy," he explains. "You have sixty days to basically try anything. Just don't remove the tags."

I look at him. "Is this… legal?"

Simon rolls his eyes. "Eric, people are committing murders out there. Is the world going to end if you borrow a jacket?"

"And if you really like it, you can always keep it," Alex adds.

I glance at myself in the mirror. "I guess that's true."

A moment later, a woman rings me up at the counter. I keep the jacket on, placing the receipt in my wallet. We stop by the beauty department where Simon grabs a curling wand, giving my hair some waves like his. Alex spritzes me twice with cologne on our way out. "I feel like a fairy godmother," she says, taking my arm. "Now make a wish."

I look at her. "What kind of wish?"

"I don't know. Something you want to happen tonight."

I think about this during the train ride over.

I wish for something special to happen tonight.