Somewhere Only We Know(8)

But, tonight, as I fretted about my impending American debut, I needed a little more comfort than usual.

I pushed my salad aside and FaceTimed my mom. It was early in the morning for my family, but they could deal. My parents always made time for my calls since they were so few and far between lately on my tour.

On the third ring, my mom answered—the screen dark and fuzzy for a moment before it adjusted on her face, eyes set far apart from her button nose, strands of wavy hair framing her smooth face.

She squinted into the screen. “Is something wrong?” My mom’s typical greeting.

“Hi, Umma. No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just calling,” I said, my voice choking up. It had been three weeks since we talked, and I hadn’t felt the distance until right this moment. Seeing and hearing my mom’s voice instantly stripped me bare of my pop star confidence. I was normal me again.

My dad’s face popped into the screen then, shoving hers out of the way. His salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled, and he pulled his black-framed glasses on. “Oh! Why are you still awake?!” My dad always looked like a flustered professor at a wizarding school.

“It’s only like, ten o’clock here,” I said with a laugh, watching my parents jostle for prime screen space. “Did I wake you?”

My mom waved her hand dismissively. “Not me. I wake up earlier than your dad now.”

“Yah, in what world?” my dad said, mixing Korean and English as he always did. “Only this week because—”

“He’s watching that Game of Thrones,” my mom interrupted. “I don’t know how he can watch that before bed.” She shuddered. “Horrible.”

“You’re watching that?” I asked with my eyebrows raised. “Appa, that is like, so violent. Also, can you even follow the storyline?”

My mom burst out laughing and my dad pushed up his glasses in agitation. “Wow, wow. Okay, you think your appa is a total babo.” The Korean word for “fool” never failed to make me giggle.

“No, I don’t!” I protested. “It has so many characters and like, complicated fantasy world-building—” I stopped talking when a puff of cream with black eyes suddenly obscured the screen. Fern, their Pomeranian. She yelped loudly, and then it was chaos for a few seconds as my mom tried to hold her up to the phone while in selfie mode. Her nose pushed into the camera and I started laughing when I heard a voice screech in the background.

“Oh my God! Why are you guys being so loud this early?”

Ah, the unmistakable sounds of an irate fifteen-year-old.

“Your sister’s on the phone! Say hi!” my dad said, moving the phone around until I was staring at my sister’s face. It was like mine, but not—fuller cheeks, wider mouth, bigger eyes.

“Hey, Vivian,” I said.

“Hi,” she muttered. “I hate FaceTime.”

“What are you up to today?” I asked, fully knowing what her answer would be.

“Nothing.” She avoided looking at me, but I saw her shoot me a furtive glance. “Did you microblade?”

I touched my naturally full eyebrow. “No.”

“Hm. Looks weird.”

Nothing like a younger sister to bring you down a peg.

My parents interjected, talking about their plans for the weekend. The regularness of it was so nice—a conversation separate from my job, my schedule, my fans.

When I yawned, my mom frowned. “Hey, you should go to sleep now. You had a long tour and now you have to prepare for The Later Tonight Show, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Monday. You’re going to come watch, right?” They would be waiting for me in the greenroom right after the taping.

“Of course!” my dad said. “We’ll make sure you eat well so you have lots of energy.”

The worried expressions that crossed their faces made me teary again. I pasted on a bright smile. “Oh, I’ve been eating so well on this tour. A lot of dumplings and noodles and stuff.”

They nodded, pleased to hear it. It was a lie, of course. One of many to keep my parents from freaking out. If they knew how little I ate and slept—well, I wouldn’t be able to do this. I knew the sacrifices my family was making to get me here. The least I could do was keep them from worrying about me.

We hung up and the homesickness still weighed me down. Or was that the sleeping pills? My limbs felt heavy, but my mind was racing. I crawled into bed without washing my face or brushing my teeth, like a monster, the fluffy white comforter swallowing me up. The luxurious sheets slid against me, cool on my cozy pajamas. I was dressed warmly for bed, a habit I picked up while living in Korea.

The first night I spent at the training room dorms, I had gone to bed in a tank top and underwear and the other girls had ridiculed me within an inch of my life. Like, calm down, it’s just undies. Or as I had called them, ppanseuh, the word my parents had used for underwear. Another faux pas that made my Americanness more clear. Apparently that was an old-fashioned Japanese word that only grannies used. The cool kids said “paenti.” Like panty. Straight-up panty, a word that gave me the creeps. And no one slept in just their paenties.

You know, my boots were annoying the heck out of me lately. It’s like, don’t let Lucky wear flat shoes, God forbid she’s only five-ten! FIVE! TEN! THAT! IS! TALL!