For a Friend
“Greg, do you have any savings put away?”
Greg shook his head weakly.
“Yeah.”
Honestly, I understood. Even I, who never particularly indulged in luxuries, had never managed to save a thing. Prices climbed while paychecks failed to keep pace, and simply breathing seemed to cost money. On top of that, Greg was far more active than I was. He loved meeting friends and he owned a car. Asking whether he had savings was probably the wrong question entirely—asking if he was free of debt would have been more reasonable.
Still, I wasn’t Sister Eloise. Firing off questions like that felt a little much.
“······.”
In the end, after a brief hesitation, I just asked outright.
“Then what about debt? You don’t have a mountain of it, do you?”
Greg nodded.
“I’ve got about six hundred bucks I owe some friends, from paying off last month’s credit card bill···.”
Okay. Six hundred wasn’t bad. If that were someone’s entire net worth it would be pitch-black despair, but as debt it was oddly reassuring. I set that ironic feeling aside for later.
“So where are you living right now? Is there any way you can cut down on fixed expenses?”
Greg shook his head again. He had been rooming in the same apartment with three friends since he was twenty.
Listening to him, I realized Greg’s lifestyle was still···
“You’re still living like a twenty-year-old.”
“···It’s not like we turned twenty that long ago.”
“In the same amount of time from now, both of us will be thirty. And just so we’re clear—you do understand that living with Rachel and the baby is nothing like living with your roommates, right?”
“···Yeah.”
So he really hadn’t thought that far. Well, I only knew because of my life with Luca, and most guys in their mid-twenties didn’t exactly plan for this kind of thing. Still—what was I going to do with this guy?
I wasn’t usually the type to insert myself into other people’s lives, mostly because I rarely cared enough to. But Greg was different. I genuinely wanted to help him if I could. We’d worked together a good while, and he’d helped me a lot with Luca. He could be scatterbrained and thoughtless, but his heart was kind.
For the first time in my life I found myself wrestling with someone else’s breakthrough—when Greg suddenly sat up straight and blurted,
“I guess I need to find another job that pays better, right? Staying at a company like this forever··· Look at Cassandra. Seventeen years of service and this is what she gets. Granted, she kind of brought this particular mess on herself by overdoing it.”
···Out of nowhere?
For one thing, Greg still had no idea that Cassandra and I had started a YouTube channel. The day we went to her place he’d been watching the kids in the living room and completely missed what happened in the garage. On top of that, after talking it over with Cassandra, I’d already told Maria not to mention our channel to anyone at the office. Cassandra quitting in three months was still only a hopeful plan; we wanted to head off any gossip before it started. So it wasn’t strange that Greg still pictured her as thoroughly miserable.
But quitting the company out of the blue?
“If you leave, do you have any idea what you’d do next?”
“No, not really.”
“······.”
“Hey, you wanna open a restaurant with me?”
“···Come again?”
“It’s not sudden—I’ve told you before how good your cooking is! Wouldn’t running a business be better than grinding for peanuts at a place like this?”
“······.”
“You cook, I’ll handle sales. I’ve got a ton of friends··· If I round up every acquaintance and relative I know, we could hang on until we get established.”
This time I didn’t even try to hide how pathetic I found the idea.
“Dude··· do you know anything about the restaurant business? Is anyone in your family a restaurant owner?”
“Not exactly, but what’s simpler than a restaurant? Find a good location, sell delicious food—done, right?”
I couldn’t even begin to figure out where to start explaining. Franchise or independent, suppliers for ingredients and everything else, the thousands of details that needed attention—I decided to cut to the core instead.
“A salaryman still gets paid even if he just sits there and does nothing. In self-employment, if you’re not good enough, you simply die. Nobody starts a business thinking they’ll go under, but most of them do.”
After rattling that off machine-gun style, I delivered the real killer.
“And before you dig seriously into any of that—you said you have no money.”
No seed money, and he wanted to do what exactly···
Greg’s financial sense was clearly zero. I’d always thought I lived without much thought, but apparently there were people who truly lived with none at all. Or maybe he was just excessively optimistic.
“You··· you’re serious about making things work with Rachel, right? Then you need to get a little more serious.”
Greg’s head drooped again.
“···I love her. For real. I want to make it work. And I want our kid to like me, too.”
I could see that. I believed him without a doubt. But sincerity alone wasn’t enough. Sadly, sincerity was worthless in the face of reality. And when the hard days stretched on, even your own sincerity could change. And···
Watching your own unshakable sincerity shift hurt worse than watching someone else’s. Another person’s change of heart could disappoint you, but you could still understand it. Your own became self-reproach and self-loathing.
“Okay. I believe you. So let’s figure out something that can actually back up that sincerity of yours.”
Greg nodded limply.
“Don’t try to force some sudden, drastic change into your life. For now, just focus on not screwing up at work. Show Rachel the diligent, reliable side of you so she can start trusting you.”
“···At this point?”
“Even now. You need to show her that you can change, even in the small things.”
“···Yeah. Thanks for caring.”
Watching my friend leave with the same slumped shoulders he’d walked into the break room with left a bad taste in my mouth. I really wanted to help. But how?
Greg was a good friend, but in any other field···
···No. At least I should believe in my friend.
I caught him as he trudged away.
“Greg, forget the restaurant thing for a second··· Is there anything else you’re good at? Something you’ve always kept in the back of your mind?”
“···I don’t know. I’ve always just been pretty content with my life the way it is···.”
That was a fine attitude, in theory.
“Maybe you’re an amazing housekeeper? You’ve been living on your own for a while.”
If he could support Rachel from home while she earned the money outside, the division of labor would be clear and Greg could become a warm, affectionate dad. That was only my wishful thinking. Greg clutched his head and drooped even lower.
“No way. I’m terrible at housework··· All I remember is getting smacked by my mom for who-knows-what reason.”
···That “who-knows-what” was almost certainly the exact reason your mother was furious.
“Anyway··· don’t just grab at whatever looks like it might make money. Think about whether there’s something you genuinely want to try.”
If you don’t have money, you at least need passion.
I meant the advice sincerely.
And only a few days later, I came to regret it.
On a peaceful Saturday morning, Greg knocked on our door—wearing an unexpectedly bright expression.
“What’s this about? No call or anything?”
“Eung···! Kyaa···!”
Luca wriggled in my arms and greeted Greg with pure enthusiasm. I made Greg wash his hands first, then handed the baby over.
Greg spun around the living room with Luca filling his arms, then looked at me with sudden resolve.
“Jun, do you know how to play guitar?”
“Guitar? Uh, the basics, yeah···.”
Back in school I’d played acoustic guitar for a few years as a required extracurricular. It was the only instrument you could borrow at the cathedral.
“What about singing? You can sing a little, right? You’ve got a nice voice.”
“···I can manage about as well as anyone else.”
Like it or not, I’d spent every weekend of my childhood and teens singing hymns at church, so I wasn’t tone-deaf. But why was he asking? I narrowed my eyes at Greg. He glanced away for a second, looked at smiling Luca, then back at me.
Don’t you dare draw courage from someone else’s baby.
“Okay, Jun, just hear me out first. You can’t say no right away.”
“······.”
I crossed my arms.
“Jun, let’s go busking together.”
“No.”
“I told you not to answer instantly!”
Apparently Greg had always wanted to sing. In high school he’d been in a rock band with friends, and at twenty he’d auditioned for bands all over the place, gotten rejected, and then the whole thing had just fizzled out.
I swallowed a sigh. I didn’t want to crush the spark that had finally returned to my friend’s eyes. Still···
“Greg, I hate to say it, but··· if it didn’t work then, it’s not going to work now. I told you to think about self-realization, but you still have to compromise with reality to some degree.”
“You’re right. So I’m going to compromise with reality. Back then I thought it had to be rock or nothing, but the truth is I can sing pop just fine.”
“···Huh?”
“I still love rock more than anything. But I’m throwing away the useless pride. I’m going to pick only songs the public likes, practice them, work on my image, and put in real effort.”
“Even so···.”
“You might not believe me, but I’m actually pretty good. There’s this older guy I know who said the second I’m ready he’ll put me on stage at his live music pub.”
No matter what Greg added, I remained deeply skeptical. But the excitement in his voice slowly dissolved my objections.
“I used to think I didn’t want to sing just any song. Now the idea of singing again at all already feels fun. If some life comes back into my days, maybe I’ll become a slightly better person too, right?”
He added that maybe he’d spent years running from the defeat of his twenty-year-old self, unable to accept it.
I let out a breath and the tension left my shoulders. He wasn’t going to listen if I tried to stop him, and I wasn’t even sure I should. If we only ever thought “realistically,” how many things could any of us actually do?
“···Okay. Fair enough. Whatever you decide, I’ll root for you. I mean that.”
“Really? Then starting today—!”
“But I don’t think I can help. Sorry. Wait—actually··· what were you going to do if I couldn’t play guitar at all? You just showed up.”
Greg beamed.
“You’re good at everything, so I was sure you’d be good at this too. Besides, most friends with any romance in their souls play the guitar, right?”
What kind of nonsense···
“···You hopeless idiot. Fine. Whatever.”
I was genuinely busy. Two mornings a week I had to wake before dawn to bake bread, and after work I had clay to knead. Feeding, bathing, playing with, and putting Luca to bed was the baseline; on top of that I had to gradually furnish the house, exercise, clean, cook, and do laundry. And I hated standing in front of people.
“Jun, please. Right now you’re the only person around me who can help.”
“······.”
“Eeeh···.”
Luca, why are you looking at me like that, you soft little fluffball who understands nothing? Do you want Daddy to stand in front of strangers singing and playing guitar?
“Eung···.”
“······.”
I was going to have to re-teach him babbling.
“Jun, can’t you just think about it once? We’ll practice online, and even if I can’t, you only have to get on stage on weekends. Getting a slot at that pub is actually a really rare chance.”
Greg and Luca both stared at me with pleading eyes. Luca, seriously—why you too?
“···I can’t play without sheet music. Or at the very least I need performance videos of every single song you want.”
“Okay!”
“Abuh!”
After Greg left in high spirits, I sighed and ordered a guitar with my points.