Chapter 6After work, Andrew entered his house to the smell of—Biang Biang noodles? He could tell from the way his nose hairs wanted to burn away. His mother had always made the dish especially spicy, and he and Steven had been trying to outdo each other to get the recipe right ever since she passed away.
He also entered to the sounds of instrumental jazz on his record player—again.
“There you are,” Steven said as he came into view from the kitchen, carrying the delicious smelling noodles with potholders that he set on the dining room table. There were also vegetables and even some bao, though those looked store-bought, and a beer at each of their usual place settings. “You’re late.”
Bitterness tinged the back of Andrew’s throat, and he fought to keep his hands from tightening into fists
