“Hit you? Why would I do that?”
“For spying.”
“That? That’s nothing.”
Junyoung stared at him, mystified. His father was a man who hit him for just about everything. The previous week, Junyoung had spilled a bag of chips all over the floor. Before his mother could even sweep it up, his father had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and thrown him into his bedroom.
“I don’t understand,” Junyoung said slowly.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Boys will be boys. You just acted on your natural instincts.” His father sat heavily on the couch and turned on the TV, pulling up some crime drama he had been fixated on over the last few weeks. He continued to talk without even glancing in Junyoung’s direction. “The thing is, Son, women are inherently weak. It’s a man’s job to lead. The faster she gets it through her skull, the better.”
Only three months later, his father was leaving. Junyoung waited by the door, watching, his heart in his throat. “Don’t be like me,” Abeoji said gruffly, his fingers tight around his suitcase. “Don’t make the mistake of marrying the wrong woman. Your mother—she’s not a bad person. But she’s a fool. And I can’t live with a fool. You understand me, don’t you, Junyoung?”
He hadn’t understood then, but he did now. “I understand,” Junyoung whispered to his father’s picture, hugging his pillow tightly to his chest. The video of Dahye was still playing on his phone, and he brought it close to the frame. “You would’ve liked her, Abeoji,” Junyoung whispered. “She’s a good girl. She has a good job. She’s beautiful, too. And she’s aproperKorean girl. Respectable. Someone you can bring home to meet your father without being ashamed. What do you think?”
Abeoji stared out blankly.
Say kimchi,” Dahye said, positioning her arm around Bora’s shoulders. The shutter popped.
“Let me see,” Bora said. They stepped off the escalator. Dahye showed her the picture. Starfield Library, with its stacks of colorful books, was visible in the background. Sticky summer light poured in from the high windows. “I look weird.”
“What are you talking about?” Dahye said. “You look great.”
“No,youlook great.”
“Stop it. I’m posting it.”
“You always choose the worst pictures of me,” Bora complained.
Dahye, ignoring her, posted the photo to her Instagram story. “You look fine,” she insisted. “Anyway, you’re the one who said we have to hurry.”
She looked up from her phone for the first time since arriving at the mall. It was busy, filled with families and tourists. The murmur of overlapping conversations swelled around her. Thencame an odd sensation. She felt like she was being watched again. She stopped.
“What are you doing?” Bora asked.
“Nothing,” Dahye murmured. “Sorry. I was just thinking …”
“About?”
Dahye cleared her throat. “The last time I was here, it was with Eunhye.”
A pained expression came over Bora’s face. She put her arm around Dahye’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“It was our father’s birthday. His fiftieth, I think. She wanted to get him something nice, so we took the subway and came all the way to Gangnam. I didn’t say a single thing to her the entire ride. I was really upset. Mom told me”—Dahye swallowed—“that Eunhye was saying things behind my back. That I was meeting boys after school and fooling around with them.”
Bora looked away. On the rare occasions when Dahye talked about her sister, Bora grew uncharacteristically quiet. Dahye took in a shaky breath. “Sorry. Let’s go. I know we don’t have a lot of time.”
“It’s alright,” Bora said gently. “We’ll make a new memory today. A better one.” She grabbed Dahye’s hand and began leading her through the corridor. They walked into the first store they saw, and right away Bora began clamoring for her to try things on, plucking dresses off the racks and dumping them into Dahye’s arms.
“This one has a long slit,” Bora said. “Not the best color, but it’s worth a try. I’m thinking this one is better …” She held up a sheer black dress with a low-cut top. “It’ll make your tits look great.”
Dahye wasn’t listening. She couldn’t stop thinking about her sister. All day Eunhye had dragged her from store to store, showing her beautiful things that neither of them could afford.Slowly, Dahye’s anger had washed away. How could she stay upset at her sister? Everyone who passed them had smiled. Dahye remembered the way the shopgirls had looked at Eunhye as she had touched the colorful cashmere scarves, a look of wonder on her face. And the way Eunhye had pressed against the glass cases filled with diamond necklaces and gold earrings, not caring when the passersby laughed. Her want had been written so clearly on her face.
“Before I found out I was pregnant with Eunhye, I had a dream that our entire apartment was overrun with pigs,” their mother had once said. Pigs were auspicious—a symbol of wealth. But the family lived in a modest apartment, situated in a not-so-nice part of Seoul. For as long as they could remember, the two sisters had shared a room. Eunhye had constantly talked about Gangnam, how one day, she would live there in a high-rise apartment overlooking the city. She had had her future mapped out: a good school, a good job, a good husband. Everything that made up a good life.
When the light coming in through the tall windows had begun to fade, leaving soft shadows on the marble floors, Eunhye finally picked out a gift for their father. It was a set of blue-enameled sterling silver cufflinks that cost nearly 110,000 won. It took up nearly the entirety of Eunhye’s savings from the last few years, and Dahye watched her pass the crumpled cash to the man behind the counter, feeling apprehensive.
“Are you sure?” Dahye had asked. “They’re so … expensive.”