Page 94 of Under Construction

The renderings slip from Dennis’s grip. His eyes widen enough that his contacts threaten to pop out. "Mywhat?"

"Your mom." Jason snatches the files from him before they actually fall, bending his knees to juggle them along with his briefcase that Dennis is dumping on him in his daze. "She's been here for like, an hour."

"Oh god,” Dennis sucks in a breath. “Where is she?"

"Second floor." Jason's lips twitch. "Chris is giving her a tour."

"He'swhat?!"

Every disastrous family dinner flashes through Dennis’s mind—his father dismissing his dreams while his mother defends them. Both of them reducing him to a child in their own special ways.

And now she's here with Chris.

Chris who has zero filter.

Chris who'll say something ridiculous.

And thenshe'llsay something evenmoreridiculous. And somehow his father will hear about it and Dennis will have to move to Antarctica.

Dennis shoves everything else he's holding at Jason and takes off running.

He finds them by the bamboo supports, his mother's elegant Chanel suit somehow immaculate despite the construction dust.

She's doubled over laughing at something Chris is saying, and Chris...

Chris is smiling.

Not his usual smirk or that flirty dimpled grin he uses to get his way, but something real.

Something genuine that makes Dennis’s stomach flip-flop in ways that make him feel like he’s jumped from a skyscraper.

"So that's when your son revolutionized the whole support system," Chris is saying, hand gestures in full force, pride evident in his voice. "Insisted on perfect forty-five degree angles because even sustainability deserves to look stunning—"

"Oh, Dennis, darling!" His mother spots him first. "There you are!"

"Mom, what are you doing here?"

Dennis plasters on a smile then walks over, trying not to wheeze too hard from his sprint as he bends to kiss both her cheeks.

"Well, I flew in early and thought I’d come by to see how your dream is taking shape."

She rises on tiptoes to ruffle his hair.

A snort-turned-cough nearby makes Dennis wish the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

Her eyes sparkle as she surveys the site. "It's beautiful. Just like your workers," she adds in Japanese, making Dennis choke.

"Mom!" He screeches in English, then hastily switches languages. "What if he understands Japanese?!" he hiss-whispers, mortification coloring his tone. "Oh my god!" he blurts out helplessly in English, his neural circuits fried at her sheer audacity.

Chris's eyebrows shoot up at the language switch, eyes ping-ponging back and forth, hands clasped behind his back like he's discovered something fascinating he'll definitely interrogate Dennis about later.

Chris clears his throat, "I was just giving Mrs. Kim a tour and explaining a little of your vision, princ—" He catches himself. "Uhh, Mr. Kim."

The air stills. His mother's gaze flicks between them, catching the slip, the correction, the way Dennis freezes, the blood draining from his face.

"Come have lunch with me," she says suddenly. "Both of you."

They end up at a no-frills noodle shop around the corner, where plastic chairs wobble on uneven tiles and faded photos peel off water-stained walls.

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