Weeks later.
The Han family backyard smelled like grilled meat and crushed grass by the time the sun dipped low enough to turn the sky the color of ripe peaches, smoke curling lazy from the little charcoal grill Jae-min's father had been fussing over since early afternoon, insisting with great seriousness that nobody else was permitted to touch the tongs.
"You're going to burn it," Jae-min said, leaning over his father's shoulder for the third time.
"I have been grilling meat since before you could walk."
"And yet every single time, something ends up slightly tragic."
"One time. One time, twenty years ago, and you still bring it up." His father waved the tongs at him with mock offense, and Jae-min laughed, ducking back toward the long table where everyone else had gathered, chairs scraping over the uneven stone patio, voices overlapping in easy, overlapping warmth.
