If I Had Your Face(45)

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WHEN MY MOTHER and father were married, my mother moved into a small annex that had been hastily built at the far end of the estate as a wedding gift, away from the other servants’ quarters. Because it was the only structure on the estate that was not traditional hanok architecture, it was also easily the smallest and ugliest building in the complex—a concrete, oblong box with a blue roof that had two small rooms and a kitchen. My grandfather’s stern portrait had presided over my room all my life. It was in that room now that both Sujin and Miho would be staying with me.

A few days ago, I had texted my mother to ask if we could borrow more sleeping mats from the Big House. “That cannot possibly be asked,” she had responded. “How can you even think of such a thing?”

I had closed my eyes in exasperation when she texted back. There were entire wings that were lying empty and unused, and certainly dozens of luxurious, thick, embroidered sleeping mats. Lady Chang had petted me when I was younger—she would say yes if asked. But my friends and I would be sleeping on thin blankets instead.



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AS WE SLIP past the back entrance, Miho comes to a dramatic stop in the middle of the path, surveying the grounds. “This is so beautiful,” she says in the dreamy voice that is starting to irritate me now. “How old is it? It must be centuries old, right?”

I shrug. It is at least a hundred years old, that I know. The Big Family is obsessed with their lineage.

“You never asked?” marvels Miho. Her eyes are hungry as they travel across the lotus pond, the pagoda, pruned pine gardens, and in the distance, the Big House itself, with its elaborately crafted woodwork and the sloping, gabled roof. Enormous stone frogs stand guard in front of each building’s entrance. The grass has been cut to perfection by my father—that is another one of his duties around the house.

“It’s not her family—why should she care?” snaps Sujin, and I grin at her.

“If I lived here, I would never leave,” says Miho, still staring.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, she keeps it up even when we finally reach the annex. Setting her bags down in the dim living room, she says it’s so cool to see where I grew up and how lucky I was to have my own room as a child.

My parents are not here, of course, even though I did text them what bus we were taking. It doesn’t matter that it’s a holiday—holidays are the busiest times, with all the extra cooking and cleaning and shopping and rituals.

I try to see it through Miho’s and Sujin’s eyes, and it is as painful as I predicted. The edges of the living room wallpaper have turned a shade of yellow, and in the far corner a triangular flypaper is studded with insect bodies—a few still flickering with life. I also hope Miho doesn’t notice my parents’ matching “Adidis” slippers in the foyer.

Miho smiles at me and asks where the bathroom is. I point to the right and walk to the kitchen, where Sujin has already poured herself some barley tea from a jug in the fridge and is eating a rice cake from a plate my mother left on the table.

“It’s kind of eerie how it’s stayed exactly the same,” Sujin says, gesturing around her. “I feel like I’m in middle school again. Your mother made these, right? You used to bring them to school.” Sujin pushes the plate toward me but I shake my head. Even as a child, I could see only how much work and cleanup they involved, and I did not like to eat them.



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WE GO FIND my mother in the kitchen of the Big House. She is making dumplings with Mrs. Youngja and Mrs. Sukhyang at the round table. Waving their flour-coated hands, Mrs. Youngja and Mrs. Sukhyang yell in excitement when they see me.

“Look who it is! Ara! Pink hair! Oh my goodness! And you gained some weight!”

“No, she hasn’t, she’s lost weight!”

Mrs. Youngja and Mrs. Sukhyang immediately start squabbling while my mother waves me closer. When she soundlessly wraps me in an emotional hug, my heart gives a guilty jump as I take in how lined her face has become. Her skin looks powdery and thin, and uneven silver streaks her hair. Can she have aged this much in what seems so short a time?

I write a New Year greeting and show her. I also write out Sujin’s and Miho’s names and beckon them to come say hello.

They enter shyly, then bow. Elders make them uneasy.

“It’s been a long time,” says my mother to Sujin. I am relieved that there is no sorrow or reproach lining her voice. She sounds too exhausted to mind the girl she once disapproved of for leading her daughter astray.

“It’s so wonderful to be back here again!” says Sujin loudly.

I am waiting for my mother to comment on Sujin’s face—she looks like a completely different person after all, but my mother doesn’t say a thing.

“You’ve been here before?” asks Mrs. Youngja, as she rummages in the refrigerator to find us some snacks. “Are you a school friend of Ara’s?” Mrs. Youngja is a relatively new addition to the staff—she started working at the Big House when I was in high school. Mrs. Sukhyang is a good decade older than my mother, but she looks about the same age, probably due to the harsh blue-black shade of her hair.

“She is a middle school friend of Ara’s,” my mother answers. And then she says something that flabbergasts me. “You know, one of those children from the orphanage.”