PROLOGUE

In hindsight, I should have eaten before making decisions on the internet.

Hunger had never improved my judgment. Neither had exhaustion or coming home after a long day to discover that the person responsible for dinner was still me.

I stood in front of the refrigerator, my work bag dragging one shoulder toward the floor.

One egg sat in the door.

Behind it: half a lemon, water, and a container I had been avoiding since Sunday. Whatever was inside had reached the stage where opening it felt like accepting a dare.

I checked the vegetable drawer.

Nothing.

I closed it and checked again, allowing for a miracle.

Still nothing.

“All right,” I told the egg. “What’s the plan?”

It remained professionally detached.

Somewhere beyond my kitchen wall, a neighbor was frying garlic. The smell drifted into my apartment, warm and fragrant and deeply inconsiderate.

I considered knocking on their door with an empty plate.

Instead, I opened Twitter.

@ruby: being an adult is so embarrassing. why am i standing in front of one egg asking it what we’re going to do about dinner

I posted it, dropped my phone beside the kettle, and went looking for rice.

There was enough for one person with modest expectations.

Fine. Egg fried rice.

I rolled up my sleeves and rinsed the grains. The familiar task eased the tension in my shoulders. Rinse. Add water. Press button. Finally, a situation where nobody expected me to demonstrate leadership.

My phone buzzed.

Then again.

By the fourth vibration, I caught it before it reached the counter’s edge, expecting Jess Garcia to suggest her usual solution to my financial problems: Have you considered being rich?

Instead, I found this:

JIN: Have you tried asking it to contribute financially?

I laughed, wiping my damp hand on my shirt.

Then I noticed the profile picture.

My hand stopped.

I tapped the account.

“No.”

Back to the tweet.

Back to the profile.

Perhaps there was an extra letter. A misleading underscore. Some small mercy.

There wasn’t.

Kim Seokjin had replied to my egg.

More accurately, to me about my egg, but distinctions were becoming difficult.

I straightened so quickly that my knee struck a cabinet.

“Fantastic.”

I sent Jess a screenshot.

Ruby: is this real

Her typing indicator appeared, vanished, then returned.

Jess: WHY IS JIN TALKING TO YOU

I glanced toward the fridge, as though the answer might be beside the lemon.

Ruby: i don’t know i left him alone with the egg for thirty seconds

Her call filled the screen.

I answered immediately.

“Don’t scream.”

A sharp breath hissed through the speaker.

“I wasn’t going to scream.”

Her voice had climbed several notes. I pressed my lips together.

“You inhaled like you were about to announce a fire.”

“Ruby.”

Something scraped at her end. I pictured her pushing aside whatever she had been doing to give my crisis her full, unwelcome attention.

“Jess.”

I copied her tone, but mine came out thin.

“Have you replied?”

“No.” I checked the tweet again. Still there. Still ruining my ability to function.

“Good. We have time.”

Furniture creaked. She had settled somewhere. A seated Jess was a Jess prepared to supervise.

“Time for what?”

“To make you seem normal.”

I surveyed my spilled receipts, abandoned bag, and one wet sock.

“Let’s set achievable goals.”

She muffled a laugh. “Put me on speaker.”

I propped the phone against a jar.

“There. Now you can judge me hands-free.”

“Oh, good. I was worried about the workload.”

Her familiar voice filled the kitchen, making everything fractionally less impossible.

I opened Twitter.

The notifications had multiplied. My follower count was climbing, which suggested confidence in my future content that I could not support.

One reply caught my eye.

GIRL GET UP

I glanced at my legs.

“I’m standing.”

“What?” Jess asked.

“Someone’s worried about my posture.”

“Stop reading the replies. Answer him.”

A crunch sounded through the speaker.

I paused. “Are you eating?”

“No.”

Another crunch.

“Jess.”

“What? Your crisis happened during my snack.”

I stared at the phone. Of course she had food. Some people prepared for emergencies.

“I’m glad one of us is being looked after.”

“Answer the handsome man, Ruby.”

I opened the reply box.

The cursor blinked.

My mind supplied nothing.

This was unreasonable. I had plenty to say about Kim Seokjin when he wasn’t participating. Jess had received paragraphs. There were voice notes she could use against me in court.

Now I apparently knew four words, and three were oh my God.

“Something funny,” she prompted.

I tipped my head back.

“Thank you. I was about to attach my résumé.”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me. Save it for him.”

A smile tugged at my mouth.

I typed HAHAHAHA.

Deleted it.

Typed You’re so funny.

Deleted that too. He seemed well informed on the subject.

Then I looked toward the refrigerator.

An idea arrived.

Terrible, but reassuringly mine.

@ruby: it lives here rent free. i’m trying to be patient because it comes from a broken home

I hit send and snatched my hand away.

“I replied.”

“Read it.”

I did.

Jess went quiet.

“Well?” I shifted my weight.

“I’m imagining your mother reading it.”

My hand flew to my mouth.

“Should I delete it?”

“Wait.”

“Jess—”

“Wait.”

A notification appeared.

JIN: Don’t cook it yet. I want to hear its side.

I folded forward, laughing, one hand braced against the counter.

“What did he say?” Jess demanded.

I read it aloud, losing the sentence halfway through and starting again.

By the time I finished, she was laughing too.

“Oh, he’s encouraging you.”

I pressed my knuckles to my mouth, trying to contain a smile that had become difficult to manage.

“He started it.”

“Yes, and now there are two of you.”

The first shock had loosened enough to let something else through: the pleasure of a joke landing.

I knew what to say.

@ruby: its side is sunny up if it doesn’t find a job soon

I sent it before I could reconsider.

“You replied again, didn’t you?” Jess asked.

“Yes.”

I placed the rice pot in the cooker, suddenly capable of household tasks.

“Without me?”

“You were busy enjoying my distress.”

“I can do both.”

A clink punctuated her answer. Probably another handful of whatever she was eating. I would ask later, when knowing wouldn’t feel cruel.

I pressed the cooker’s button.

For a moment, Jess stayed quiet while I folded the rice bag. Having her there made the silence comfortable. I didn’t have to explain why my hands were still unsteady.

“How are you feeling?”

Her voice had softened.

“Hungry.”

“Emotionally, Ruby.”

I glanced at his reply. My mouth curved.

“Also hungry.”

Her sigh carried a smile. “Very revealing. Thank you.”

I scrolled.

People wanted updates on the egg. Someone offered to represent it in court. Another person called the exchange flirting.

I moved past that one so quickly my thumb slipped.

Then I saw a screenshot of my profile.

My stomach tightened.

“Oh, no.”

Jess stopped rustling. “What?”

I opened my account.

Beneath my name sat a sentence I had written months ago, when my audience consisted of friends and cryptocurrency bots.

kim seokjin if you’re reading this i can cook

The refrigerator hummed.

The rice cooker hissed.

My entire kitchen had become evidence.

“Ruby?”

Jess sounded as though she were approaching a frightened animal.

“I need to change my bio.”

“What does it say?”

I read it.

A thump came through the speaker.

Then silence.

“Jess? Did you drop the phone?”

“No.” She struggled for breath. “I put it down so I could laugh properly.”

I closed my eyes.

“You’re a terrible person.”

“I know. Read it again.”

I opened Edit profile.

A notification covered the screen.

JIN: Your bio says you can cook.

My thumb froze.

“What happened?” Jess asked.

“He saw it.”

She made a sound I hoped never to hear during a medical emergency.

I lowered myself onto the kitchen floor. The cabinet felt cool against my back. From here, I could see a grain of rice beneath the table and a dust bunny I had been choosing not to know about.

Another notification appeared.

JIN: I’m beginning to think you lied on your application.

I stared.

Then I laughed.

There was no impression left to preserve. He had seen my bio and an ongoing domestic dispute with an egg. Becoming sophisticated now would only confuse him.

I rested the phone against my knees.

“What are you doing?” Jess asked suspiciously.

“Answering.”

“Let me hear it first.”

Too late.

@ruby: in my defense you contacted my reference and it’s an egg

I read it aloud.

Jess groaned, then dissolved into laughter.

I grinned at the screen while the kitchen filled with the smell of cooking rice. Still hungry. Still tired. Still wearing one wet sock.

But suddenly, I wanted the evening to last.

Another reply arrived.

JIN: Fine. Cook dinner. We’ll discuss your qualifications after you’ve eaten.