Mochi

Ma leans over the table, ferociously brushing away pieces of rice cake that are stubbornly stuck in my hair as they are wont to do with my wild curls. 

“Mmhm! Momma!” I whine, dodging her hands as I attempt to finish my cake. But she’s dropped her phone, and she has that look in her eye as she scrutinizes my face, then outfit, finding the flaws only mothers can see. “I didn’t eat anything this morning, and I’m not even going to finish these now! Mom!” 

She ignores me. “I’m surprised you didn’t eat, since you obviously care more about food than your actual face. Your face is streaky, and there is grease on your chin. Delaney! Do you not care about your job?” She rootles into her handbag, hauling out a scary amount of makeup for such a small purse. They clatter loudly onto the table, and I wince. I sincerely hope we aren’t breaking any rules.  

“Come here, let me fix your face.” I pout, stuffing one last bite into my mouth. “But-” 

“Dee-lane-ey!” she trills, drawing out the syllables in my name loudly enough to draw looks from the other tables. I cringe, swallow and reluctantly step over to her side of the table, slumping next to her.  

We are making such a scene in this tiny restaurant. I wonder what they see: a fussy mother and an unkempt, grumpy 20-something daughter. Which would be true. But the reality is, despite my complaints, I know she means well. I couldn’t love my mother any more than I do, endless disputes aside.  

“You’re out here looking like you live in the forest,” Ma says as she brushes my eyebrows. I actually forgot to fix them this morning. Thank God for observant mothers. “I know your bosses want what you can offer them, not your looks. But appearance is the first stage of judging anything! I refuse to let you lose this opportunity because you can’t be bothered to take care of your face. And you never know when you’ll need to take a good picture.” I roll my eyes, but smile.  

This meeting was really important – if it went well, I’d be promoted from assistant editor to head of my department. Ma had achieved this too in her time, and she wanted me to follow her legacy as much as I wanted to. 

“I know, Momma. But, if you think about it, isn’t it your fault for naming me Delaney? It means ‘from the alder grove.’ Technically, I am from the bush.” She glares at me. As she starts on my mascara, I swear she purposely pokes me in the eye. “Ow!” 

“No child of mine is from the wild. You’re named after your grandma, and you and I both know she was the neatest lady that ever lived.” She was. I nod, stopping abruptly when she shoots me another look, eyeliner pencil in hand. “Sorry. But can we be quick here? I need to leave soon so I can be early, like you were saying, MOM. The foyer is busy at this time.”  

“As soon as I’m done. Did you even look in the mirror, Laney?” She pulls back and squints at my face, checking her work.  

“I spent all my time this morning preparing, then I didn’t have a lot of time to do my makeup. I was too anxious to eat, which is exactly why we’re here. I’m so hungry. Please, I just want one last-” 

“You need some red to finish the look. It’ll offset your shirt and your hair.” She reaches for a tube of red. I sigh but pucker my lips, looking longingly at my rice cakes, mere inches away.  

“Does Hoseok like you in red?” Her accent curls around the name. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The red curves onto my lips, and once she drops her hand, I answer. “He’s not here to see it. Do you care? You don’t have to pretend to like him.”  

“Of course I like him!” 

“Sure.” 

“I do!” she protests, flushing. “I know I was a little hostile to him in the beginning. But he’s good to you. You'd be surprised at how much I appreciate him.” She looks at her watch, avoiding my eyes. 

“Whatever you say. And you can just call him Elliot.” I glance at my own watch. “Oh, crap! I have to go now!”  

The office is about a block away from here, but I’m not particularly athletic. If I’m going to be punctual just like a senior manager would be, I’m going to have to run for it.  

I stand and grab my stuff, reaching across the table for the half-empty pack of rice cakes, but Ma’s faster and swipes them. “So you’ll ruin your hair again? I don’t think so.”  

I growl, stalking out without waiting for Ma. I cross the street, narrowly miss an oncoming car and walking as fast as my strides can take me into the shiny building across the street. 

I make it in a decent amount of time, bursting through the lobby doors, bending and panting once I come to a stop. I am extremely out of shape and extremely exhausted, and I hope against hope that I do not have sweat stains on my shirt. I take a peek. Whew, I’m all good. No one seems to notice my disheveled state anyway, as the hallway is busier than it usually is: there seem to be some sort of filming happening, with cameras and lights everywhere.  

A strong floral scent waltzes up behind me, prickling my nose. I turn and Ma's behind me, perfume bottle out. “What are you doing here? You don’t have to wait for me here.” I wave away the cloud of fragrance. “And I have seven minutes left to go! It’s like you want me to fail.” 

Ma isn’t even winded despite how fast she probably had to be to catch up to me. She brushes a hair from my face. “I just want to be here when you come down and tell me the good news.” 

I soften a little, pushing my hair back the rest of the way. “I’m sorry. I’m just, nervous, and-” 

“And you need to go!” She’s looking back at her watch now, and pushes me toward the elevator, just in front of us. “Go, go!” 

I step back, recoiling. “I don’t want to take the lift.” Ma rolls her eyes. “You want to take the stairs, then?”  

I look at them and I see the issue: it’s roped off, with lights set up in front of them. Assistants are adding decorations to the banisters. Oh, cripes, today was publicity day. I forgot, thanks to my scatterbrain. I whimper. I really hate lifts.

“No. Ma, please, can’t you scare them? Or charm them?”  

She eyes me and pushes the button. The doors slide open, empty and waiting to swallow me. “You have five minutes left. Nothing’s going to happen. Even then, what’s the worst that could happen?” I gape at her as she shoves me inside.  

“WHY would you say that?” She waves cheerily. The doors shut. 

I clutch my bag tightly and force myself to breathe, gingerly clicking the button for the seventh floor. It's a good thing I’m alone in here, so no one else has to witness me panic over a metal box. Which is all this is: a metal box. It's also what makes it even more ridiculous that I’m afraid of them – not claustrophobia, but the metal itself. It has too much danger potential. Like being stuck inside a case of knives, where one stray spark could well blow me up.  

Calm down. I hear Hoseok’s voice, so I try to. I think about him to distract myself as the lift glides upwards: my best friend of four years, and my boyfriend for the last three. I love him so much. If he were here, he’d be teasing me about my comparing a lift to a box of knives.  

Knives? Seriously? He'd laughed the first time I told him, me in my work clothes, him in his fireman’s uniform, as we walked up the stairs on an impromptu work date, me staring fixedly at the ground while he laughed all the way up to the fifth floor. That explains why your cooking’s so bad. You’re scared to cut open the good vegetables and spices. I’d scoffed and challenged him to a cook off, forgoing the cafe for a home meal. We’d cook for each other and see who was better. It’s probably the cheesiest thing I’ve ever done, but it was Hoseok. My exception. And yes, of course he beat me. Korean food is elite. 

These thoughts successfully distract me, and I’m almost feeling normal as the lift finally nears the seventh floor. I’m in my zone, prepared to walk in and bag this job and watch my mom’s eyes light up when I tell her the (hopeful) good news. 

But then, like a manifestation of my worst dreams, there’s a loud CLANG! The lift jerks, shudders to a stop, and all the lights go out. Blue emergency lights flicker on seconds later.  

I’m frozen in fearful horror. THANKS, Ma. 

I shut my eyes and grip my bag closer as my breathing speeds up again. The dim blue of the lights shine though my eyelids. Okay. You’re going to be fine. There’s an emergency button. Use it. 

I force my eyes open, drop my bag, then hit the call button, waiting tensely as it glows. A voice comes through the speakers. “Hello?” 

“Hi!” I exhale in relief. “I’m stuck. I’m the only one in here.”  

“Are you in any immediate danger?” 

“No?”  

“There’s been a power cut and it’s damaged the wires. Help is coming soon.”  

“Okay... thank you.” 

The speaker cuts out. I sink to the floor, placing my hand against my stomach. It rumbles in anguish. My poor rice cakes. But, ugh, what were the chances of this happening? My big opportunity, and the lift just had to stop working, my literal worst anxiety. I could only hope that my boss, Charlie, would understand and explain to the bigger bosses. But what if they didn’t have my time? Or anyone’s time? It was incredibly busy today. Oh, no... 

I bury my face in my hands. The makeup doesn’t smudge. Props to Ma. I’m heartbroken, but if there’s any consolation for me, lifts truly aren’t scary. It is just a hunk of metal. The power cut hadn’t hurt me. No electrical shocks, no knife cuts. Metal is dangerous, but not this one. I’d be okay. I sit back and wait, hoping I’m saved soon, counting the daisies on my shirt to pass the time. 

I guess luck switched to my side, because it’s only been ten minutes when there’s a clanging in the ceiling above me. I scramble up and huddle into the corner as a square of metal is lifted up, the venting is hauled aside and a flashlight beams into my eyes, blinding me for a second. A figure drops down into the lift, equipped with harnesses and ropes. The light points upward, hitting the fireman’s face.  

I stumble back when I recognise the gold skin and almond eyes. “Hoseok?” 

“Hi, Mochi.” My nickname, based on that cook-off night, when he made rice cakes and they became my favourite food. 

I’m so confused. “How are you here? Wha-” 

He steps closer to me and puts a finger on my lip, effectively silencing me. He scoops up my bag and tosses it upwards to his colleague, then clips the harness on me. “Wait. Let’s get you out of here first.” 

Too surprised to say anything, I hold onto him, one hand around the rope and the other around him as we’re drawn up by the rope, all the way up to the roof.  

The day is as bright as it was just moments ago, and the sun is warm as Hoseok detaches me. A paramedic walks up to me, asking if I’m fine, but I wave him off. I’m frowning at my best friend. Because he said he’d be away today, and yet he’s here in front of me, at work, and just so happened to be the one dispatched? I pull him to a less crowded corner of the rooftop, scowling. “You want to explain yourself?” 

He runs a hand through his hair. I squint suspiciously. That's his nervous tic. “Okay. I did say I was going to be out of town, but it wasn’t a complete-” 

“Wait!” A horrific thought occurs to me. “Did you plan this somehow? Oh, my-” 

He cuts me off with a laugh. The audacity. “What? How could I have caused a power outage? Mochi, no.” He looks off to the side. “I mean, I wish I’d thought of it.” I hit his arm. “I’m kidding.” 

“Well, I’m not.” I wrap my arms around myself. “It was awful in there. I’ve literally had the shittiest day: I’ve barely eaten, and Ma was hounding me about my face, and about you, and I’ve missed my meeting now, and I don’t even know what the interviewers are like, if they’ll even understand...” 

He’s quiet. I frown again. “What is it?”  

He takes my hand and leads us away from the corner, towards the door leading back inside. He stops to grab my bag from where it sits with his other firemen buddies, who are all eerily silent and avoid my gaze as we walk away. A bead of dread builds in my stomach. Oh, no. Please don’t let it be what I really don’t want it to be. That’s my other worst nightmare. 

He opens the door and leads us down the stairs. My chest tightens with every step. “Can you please explain what’s happening? You’re scaring me, Elliot.” I feel his hand tighten in mine. I rarely call him his other name.  

We're still heading down the roof stairs, and we’re nearly at a door that leads directly into the seventh floor, of which at the end is the room where my interview was meant to be. If we turn left, and follow the signs, there’ll be the obvious exit into the main hallway. We walk straight through the door. But he doesn’t know that. Unless he does. 

My heart is in my mouth at this point. The corridor is brightly lit, like it’s not leading me towards my possible demise. We stop at the door, and Hoseok finally turns to me. He’s nervous, more nervous than he was the night before his fireman’s test. I’m petrified. 

“You trust me?” he asks. 

I’m lost for words. “What? Of course, but none of this makes any sense. Just-” 

He pushes the door open, gesturing for me to walk in.  

So I do. I take a tentative step forward... 

And what I see takes my breath away. 

The room is set up like a typical boardroom – large mahogany table, several chairs lined up on either side, huge window overlooking the parking lot and the mountains beyond. Light streams in, falling on the end of the table in front of me, on which a tray of rice cakes is laid, of many shapes and sizes – the cylindrical ones, the round ones, the little triangular crumble-topped ones, just like the ones I was eating this morning. They all spell out: will you marry me, Laney? 

I whip around, and he’s on one knee, hand trembling, a ring with a tiny diamond in his palm. My brain blanks. He takes a deep breath. 

“Hi, Laney. This was the hardest thing to plan, ever, because you can smell rice cakes from a mile away...” I crack a smile, some of the shock leaving me. “So I had to get your entire office to help me. To fake a meeting on this date, when there would be PR work so you wouldn’t be able to take the stairs, just so I could set this up. But I did not plan the elevator stopping, I promise.” I laugh.  

“I didn’t quite plan everything to be like this, but it is. Kind of how a lot of things in life happen. In a different world, we wouldn’t have gone to the same college, I wouldn’t have met you at that orientation event. I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you the moment I saw you, and I wouldn’t have known I was in love with you the day we ate mochi at my apartment. And I wouldn’t be here asking you to marry me. If you’ll have me.” 

I walk to him and pull him upwards, then wrap my arms around him. “Of course, you absolutely crazy man. Oh my God. I love you so much.” He kisses me. My heart soars. I look down at the ring, and he slips it onto my finger. “It’s beautiful. But let’s be real, you won me over with that.” I point to the table, and he laughs, tracing my lip. “I figured. You look pretty in red, by the way.” 

A thought crosses my mind. “Momma had something to do with this, didn’t she?” 

He shrugs. “She was the real MVP. Helped me stall you. And I’m pretty sure there’s a camera somewhere in here.” I look around, and sure enough, a phone is placed neatly at the other end of the table.  

I walk up to it and stare into the camera. “Hi, Momma.” My heart softens. No wonder. You’d be surprised. “Thank you for making sure I looked nice on camera. I’ll see you downstairs.” Then I switch it off and turn to my best friend.  

“We are not leaving this room until this tray is empty.” He laughs, my favourite sound in the whole world. “Whatever you want, Mochi.”