How do you refuse someone's mother and tell her that you could not come to dinner? By the time Mark pulled up his dad's car on their drive way, I still did not have an answer to that question. He finally convinced me to go after he went through all my seafood allergies and making sure I could eat fish fine. I quickly showered, dried my hair and put on light make up as courtesy while Mark patiently waited, killing time by playing my old PSP I brought with me to the trip.

"Mom! Dad!" Mark called out, leaving his sneakers by the front door. I copied him and looked around. "We're here!"

Their house looked simple at first until I stepped inside. I could imagine multiple renovations that the place must have undergone. Architectural designing was also one of my frustrations so I had been quite keen to those details. What looked like a small entrance with a garage turned out to be a huge property when you go to the rest of the house. Further in showed a huge kitchen and I imagined what heaven it would be to cook there.

I learned that his mother was in the real estate business which explained the exquisite property. His dad was a retired businessman and did most of the job in the renovations that I guessed inside the house. Raymond, his father, praised me for spotting where he changed things because he said he tried his best to make sure it was not obvious, and that most people could not tell.

Mark led me out of the house into the pool and I felt like I was in a resort. Did most houses in LA looked like this? There were two other buildings that were extentions of their house and he led me to one. This one was a two-storey building and he led me upstairs. 

He did not have to tell me that it was his room when he opened the door. A personal computer with a huge monitor sat on a long desk occupying one side of the room. All the curtains were closed and he pulled one open, revealing a huge window, to let natural light in. What caught my attention was a series of medals that lined up on tall shelf, along with certificates and plaques of awards.

"Swimming?" I said, reading one of the awards. That explained the huge pool. "Okay. It's good to know that I have someone to rescue me."

He snorted. "You don't know how to swim?"

"I do," I replied quickly, defending myself. "But when the water is too deep, I get a panic attack. Also, I have severe cramps in my calves if I swam for too long."

"Make sure to always call me, then, if you planned on going in any deep water."

The room made me imagine what Mark Tuan was as a kid. There was a basketball on one side, a couple of skateboards. He even had roller blades, which he said did not fit him anymore, but kept it there for semtimental value since it was the first thing he bought for himself after earning money by plowing snow for their neighbors.

I located his yearbooks lining up one side of a shelf and I went through some of them, much to his protests. I complained that it was what I came there for, to look for his dark history. After a few minutes there was a knock on his door and a little girl of about three came running to Mark, giggling. Another one just probably two years older ran after her, but this one stopped when she saw me.

"Hey!" Mark said, giggling with them.

"Leila," the older girl said, pulling on the younger o