The Tyrant Boss and His Son
Sunday morning dawned.
Ordinarily I would have spent a leisurely day alone with Luca, but today I was booked solid from dawn to dusk.
“All right, Luca. Breakfast’s done—want to go to work with Daddy?”
“Yeah.”
As always, the little one answered first and thought later, full of pluck. I kissed his forehead, then settled him into the baby carrier on my back.
“Come to think of it, this is the first time you’ve ridden on Daddy’s back, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
Whatever he found so amusing, he flapped his arms and legs against my back; even without seeing his face, he was adorable.
…Though Luca had gotten pretty heavy lately.
I gave my hips a light side-to-side rock and was rewarded with a peal of delighted laughter.
“Okay then—time to start the move.”
The living room was jammed with everything I had hauled out the moment we got home from last night’s performance. Most of it was production gear. Today I planned to transfer every last piece that had been hogging space in our house up to the second-floor office.
The pottery wheel and ceramic tools, the work table that had been shoved into a corner of the kids’ playroom, the sewing machine, fabric, notions…
I had packed everything so meticulously over the months that the stuff just kept coming. Simply moving the bulkier items would free up a huge amount of space at home and make the work environment far more comfortable; the thought alone set me humming.
I had wanted to do this ever since Evan handed over the office keys, but the past two weeks had been swallowed by the guardian hearing, baking practice, and the shoot. Finding time had been nearly impossible.
I propped the front door open and fixed it in place just as the elevator doors slid apart.
The clear elevator chime announced the stop, and Greg stepped out.
“Hey, you make a guy quit and then don’t even give him a single day off before dragging him back to work? On a Sunday, no less—when everybody else is resting.”
“What are you talking about? We’re in the same boat now. If we stop rowing, we sink. Who has time for weekends or holidays?”
“Auda! Ah!”
From my back came Luca’s bold little babble of agreement.
“Unbelievable. How did I end up working under a tyrant boss like this?”
Greg grinned and poked Luca’s cheek. Even without seeing him, I could picture the baby’s scrunched-up face perfectly.
“And as your senior in the art of quitting, let me tell you: nonstop work is the way to go. After you leave a job, sitting around doing nothing just invites random thoughts. Better to jump straight into the next thing.”
“Yes, yes, Boss. Whatever you say.”
We started hauling the lighter pieces up to the second-floor office one by one.
Five or six hours later.
“Aigoo, my back. I’m dying.”
Greg sprawled flat on the living-room floor that would soon become the main conference-and-work room.
“Get up. Even if we cleaned, this is still a place people walk through in shoes.”
“Don’t care. There isn’t even a decent chair yet.”
“Tomorrow the lumber I ordered last week arrives. First thing I’ll build is a dining-table bench.”
Once everything was in and the office looked like an office, I decided, I would do a final deep clean and then stock company slippers for the staff. It was a residential layout, after all, and there would be kids around; slippers just made sense. Being the boss meant I could decide those things however I liked.
Greg, who had been nodding while lying on his side, suddenly froze.
“…Wait a second. Looking at this place now… it’s the perfect setup for locking employees in for all-nighters, isn’t it?”
“You’re right.”
Two bathrooms with showers, plus the fridge and dishwasher Evan had left behind—we could literally live, eat, and sleep at the office if we wanted.
“Let’s work day and night and make it big, Greg.”
Greg gave a hollow laugh and flopped back into a full star-fish sprawl.
“Wow, that’s actually too much.”
“Just between us—I still have scattered memories of living in Korea when I was little. Over there…”
The taste of seaweed soup on a freezing winter morning, the memory of leaning against a sofa on a toasty floor-heated floor while the boiler hummed and the TV played…
The faces of the people around me had been erased as if by an eraser, but those fragmentary moments remained.
“One of those memories is the saying, ‘If you feel wronged, make it big.’ Just the other day you were acting like the whole world had done you dirty, weren’t you?”
“Yeah… I was.”
“So from now on, work like you plan to eat and sleep right here. We’re going to succeed, okay?”
Greg laughed out loud like a man who had lost his mind. Then he sat bolt upright and stretched.
“Right. I’m about to be a dad myself—I can’t just sit around whining. I’ve already been watching editing-software tutorials since last night.”
“Still better than working at the old company, right?”
“No comparison! At least here, everything I put in builds my own skill, and it’s actually fun.”
Greg’s eyes sparkled. He really should have jumped into this field from the start.
“Tomorrow I’m building the tables, so starting then bring your laptop and study here. Internet’s already running. You’ll concentrate better than at home.”
“You really are a tyrant boss! But Boss, aren’t you going to buy us new computers?”
“Computers, software, audio gear—I’m waiting until Rachel comes on board so we can set everything up at once.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Come to think of it, my honey’s been busy searching for that stuff too.”
Rachel was every bit the workaholic Evan was. Even without checking, I was sure she was already grinding away on her own.
Greg thought for a moment, then muttered to himself.
“Maybe I should actually bring a sleeping bag…”
“Don’t even joke. Of course you sleep at home. Your mother’s staying with you, remember?”
“That’s exactly why…”
Damn this guy.
“Oh, and before we start furniture tomorrow I’m painting those two rooms and swapping the lights.”
“Okay.”
“No—I’ll do that. You watch the kids. We still have to set up their rooms too. Man, we’re busy.”
“Hey… still, this is really good. I’m going to work my ass off.”
“Of course you are. You’ll be back under Rachel soon enough—there’ll be no slacking.”
Greg laughed cheerfully.
We ordered pizza for a quick lunch, and once Luca had fallen into his afternoon nap, Greg and I teamed up to finish organizing the remaining fixtures and called it a day.
And then the next morning.
Greg knocked on the front door looking rumpled.
“Seeing each other four days straight really does feel like we’re coworkers again…”
I hadn’t called him in for company work this morning. I needed to go pick up Reni and wanted help driving the new car.
I felt zero guilt about dragging him out on a Monday morning for something that wasn’t strictly business.
“This is what friends are for.”
“You’re right, so why does it piss me off?”
“Uwah! Ah!”
“You can look at our cute Luca and still say that? Come in and eat breakfast.”
“I already ate. Mom’s at the house.”
“Eat more. The car won’t be here for another thirty minutes.”
“Sometimes you really sound like my mom.”
We spent a leisurely half-hour over coffee, then packed cleaning supplies and the kids’ bags, settled Luca into the stroller, and headed outside.
Soon a bright-yellow SUV rounded the intersection with overwhelming presence.
The truck glided to a stop in front of us. A staffer climbed down, checked our IDs, collected signatures, and then unloaded the car. Greg’s assessment was brief.
“…It’s cheerful.”
“…It is cheerful. Same color as the star in my son’s heart.”
“Unya?”
“No. It’s actually nicer than I expected?”
“Yeah.”
“For real. Every time I look at it I think of Reni, so it really works.”
“You’re a true dad.”
The staffer handed over the keys and strolled away. Greg stared at the car for a long moment, rubbing his chin.
“Weird. The longer I look, the better it seems.”
“That’s what I said.”
Once the initial shock faded, the brand-new-car sparkle set my heart racing.
“Luca, what do you think? Is the vroom-vroom pretty?”
“Yeah.”
He bounced his feet with a little smile, as if he truly meant it.
I opened every door, the sunroof, and the trunk, stripped every scrap of plastic film from the interior, then pressed a bottle of interior cleaner and a rag into Greg’s hands.
“Scrub it thoroughly.”
“It’s brand new—do we have to?”
“Ever heard of new-car syndrome? Kids are going to ride in this. I’ll take the front; you handle the back seats.”
We were scrubbing away when James appeared to watch.
“Oh-ho, what a splendid car! Is this yours, Jun?”
“It’s a lease.”
“While I’m driving it, it’s mine!”
James circled the vehicle with pure childlike excitement, and once the cleaning was finished and we were ready to leave, he returned with two iced coffees and an armful of bread.
“Oh, you really didn’t have to—”
Before I could refuse, Greg cheerfully accepted the bag and cups with shameless gratitude.
“You’re picking up the children, yes? Now that you have a family car, the little ones will be much more comfortable.”
James wished us a good drive and disappeared back into the café.
“He’s such a good guy.”
“Right? The neighbors on the second floor are wonderful people too. I must have neighbor luck.”
I took a cool sip of coffee and set the cup in the front holder.
…
Why did something this small make me feel so proud?
I reined in the smile that kept trying to climb my face, installed two car seats in the back, and buckled Luca in. The boy beamed with satisfaction and bounced his feet, as if he already understood this was our car.
“Luca, do you like our car?”
“Yeah.”
I kissed his forehead and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“…Okay. Here we go.”
I dredged up long-dormant memories, checked the rearview and side mirrors, and fastened my seat belt.
“Hoo…”
“Hey, why so tense? You said you know how to drive.”
“It’s been a while.”
“When did you get your license?”
“Five years ago.”
“…And you haven’t touched a steering wheel since?”
“Things just worked out that way.”
“Uh… isn’t driving like swimming? Once you know how, you never really forget, right?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“You haven’t blinked in a while. You’re going to make a mistake you wouldn’t normally make. Relax.”
“No. I will not make a single mistake.”
Greg let out a disbelieving little laugh.
But I wasn’t just talking big. I had paid the lease down payment with every point I had carefully saved; the Manito App would let me handle this car with skilled hands. Still, trusting the app and feeling nervous were two separate things.
I wiped my slightly damp palms on my pants and gripped the wheel.
“All right—going?”
“Saying it so solemnly only makes me more nervous…”
Fortunately the car pulled away smoothly.
We drove in silence for a good ten minutes without a single hitch. When I stopped at a light, Greg exhaled in quiet relief and tapped my shoulder.
“Well, look at that—you drive fine. But your face is pale. You okay?”
“…I think something’s wrong with me.”
“W-what? Feeling sick?”
“No. My eyes keep flying to the side mirrors and the rearview and then back again. It’s exhausting.”
“…That’s because you’re supposed to check the sides and behind you.”
“Right? That must be it.”
“No, what the hell are you even—”
Greg’s incredulous words were cut short by the changing light. The car rolled forward again, just as smoothly as before.