If I Had Your Face(41)

“Hello, what’s this?” said Byung-joon. “I thought you didn’t even know her name.”

Stung, I blushed, but Jae just laughed.

“I was just trying to pretend I wasn’t interested,” he said without missing a beat, as if it were a punch line. Byung-joon laughed a little too, but in a preoccupied way, as if he was already thinking about something else. I glanced at Hanbin, who was staring down at us with frosty eyes.

“We were talking about how Miho is working in a gallery,” said Jae. “You should go see it, Byung-joon. Didn’t you say you wanted to buy something for your kitchen?”

Byung-joon looked pained. “Yes, but I have very specific stuff in mind, so I think I’m just going listen to my decorator,” he said.

I was mortified that Hanbin would think I was trying to talk myself up somehow.

“I work in Ruby’s gallery,” I said, not looking at Hanbin. “She has beautiful selections, even if it is a student gallery.”

“Oh, Ruby’s gallery?” Byung-joon looked discountenanced. “I did hear that she started one…she only uses student works?”

“For now,” said Hanbin. He was looking at books, running his finger along the shelf. “It’s practice for her.”

“Of course,” said Byung-joon. “Well, then I should definitely go help a friend out. And see the new artists who will be the next big thing!” He guffawed. “Not that Ruby needs any help,” he amended, glancing at Hanbin.

“It’s a fun little project for her,” Hanbin said. “Miho can tell you all about it.” He still wouldn’t look at me, and it was dizzying—how my heart was soaring and skidding and plunging all at once. And my face! I was blushing again. I was glad Hanbin was not looking at me.

“Here,” said Jae, pouring some more whiskey into my glass and handing it back to me. “Anyone else want some more?”

Byung-joon said yes and Jae poured him some too.

“Your face is all red,” said Hanbin abruptly. Looking up, I saw that he was talking to me from where he stood by the bookshelf. “Like, bright red.”

I clapped my hands to my cheeks and was surprised at how hot they felt.

“You should probably stop drinking if you don’t want to look so crazy,” he said.

“All you need is some Pepcid before you drink,” said Jae. “It’s a little trick I use because I get super red too. Here, I’ll give you some.” Taking his wallet from his pocket, he opened it and fished out a sleeve of white pellets, which he held out to me.

“It won’t help now—you have to take that before you drink anything,” said Hanbin.

I didn’t know what Pepcid was—drugs? But I wasn’t about to ask. I took the tablets and put them in my purse. “I’ll try it next time,” I said weakly. “I have to go to the bathroom.” I really needed to see what my face looked like—if I looked as crazy as Hanbin said.

As I passed Hanbin on the way out of the room, he said in a low voice, “You should go home, Miho. Don’t make a fool of yourself. It’s embarrassing.”

With the door shut behind me, I felt tears welling and I hurried to the bathroom I’d seen down the hallway. Locking the door, I started crying for real until I saw myself in the mirror and stopped, horrified. My face was distorted and ferocious, patterned with red welts. I looked down and closed my eyes.

Remorse, that was all I allowed myself to feel. “How Loring,” they would have said if they could see me now, all the girls from the Center. “Stop being so Loring,” I could hear them jeer. Because secretly, to each other and to ourselves, even we used that word that way.





Ara


I do not like going back to Cheongju. I feel bad because it is no fault of my parents that their only daughter has not been to see them in three years. I know the other servants of the Big House pity them twice over, for having a mute daughter in the first place, and an ungrateful one at that. She would rather spend holidays alone than travel home like the rest of the country.

Perhaps this is why I feel so at home with Sujin or Miho. Neither is the type that longs for family. Anyone else would fault me for being a bad daughter, or wonder how it is that I do not withdraw to where I came from, bruised by an impatient city.

My parents are old. They should have had a daughter who is filial and generous, one who sends them a percentage of her paycheck and comes home every month with news of promotions and romantic conquests. TV dramas depict such daughters in droves—with their doe-eyed faces that furrow in sorrow when they choose their beloved, destitute parents over their fabulously wealthy suitors because you cannot have both. I have never met such a daughter in real life, but perhaps that’s because they’re all at home, busy being virtuous. Kyuri, I suppose, comes close, but she has her own share of problems that would kill her mother and sister if they ever found out.

But for Sujin, and for Sujin alone, I am thinking of going home for Lunar New Year and taking her with me. Watching her fall apart yet again this week in front of our bathroom mirror, agitated and despairing, I have been asking myself how I can get her mind off the state of her face. It has actually come a long way but she is unable to get over how it stays stubbornly swollen.

“All the girls in the blogs had their swelling go down so much faster. It’s been more than two months! This really isn’t normal, is it? I should call Dr. Shim, right? Don’t you think so, Ara? And I keep hearing a clicking sound in my jaw when I walk. That cannot be normal or they would have told me at the hospital, right?”