Shelter(50)

“Don’t,” Jin says.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t raise your voice.”

Kyung doesn’t understand at first, but he realizes he’s been frowning. He softens a bit, aware that his son’s presence provides a barrier of safety he’s never felt around his father. Jin doesn’t want to scare the boy again.

“Why did you two even get married in the first place?”

“What kind of question is that? You shouldn’t ask—”

“But I’m asking.”

The mirror of his father’s face startles him. Kyung feels like he’s seeing himself aged by thirty years. The eyes are droopier, the skin redder and more wrinkled, but the outline is still the same.

“We weren’t even supposed to. I wanted to marry her cousin.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because she was poor.”

“But your family was poor too.”

“My parents thought I could do better. I was almost finished with my degree—that was a big deal back then.” Jin scowls, but now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop. “If I couldn’t marry a rich girl, they said, I should at least marry someone middle class. Your mother’s parents—they owned a store. Not a big one, but respectable. They offered mine a dowry.”

“You mean like money?”

“Yes, money.”

Somehow, it seems only fitting that what brought his parents together, what’s kept them together all these years is the same thing that Kyung worries about every waking minute of his life. It’s like a disease they passed on through their bloodlines, mutated into a new form for his generation.

“I still don’t understand why you’re selling the house.”

“Because she likes to decorate. If we start somewhere new, it’ll keep her busy.”

“But busy isn’t the same thing as happy.”

“People your age,” Jin says, not making any effort to hide his disdain. “All you do is think about happiness. You think I was happy when I first came to this country? When I was trying to get tenure and no one said I could?”

“There’s nothing wrong with—”

“If you think too much, you won’t ever accomplish anything.”

Had the words been phrased differently—a little kinder, a little earlier in life—they could have formed the basis for something meaningful passed down from father to son. But said in this moment, they don’t resemble advice so much as judgment.

“It’s crazy to sell your house so she can decorate a new one. The market—you’re going to get killed.” Kyung regrets his choice of words, but his other option—you’re going to take a beating—is no better than the first. “You’re not going to get what that place is worth, not even close.”

“I don’t have to worry about things like that anymore.”

It’s hard to tell whether Jin is bragging or simply being objective about his wealth. But either way, he’s earned the right not to worry, to do something foolish because he wants to and can.

“It’s your decision, I guess.” Kyung pulls the covers over Ethan. “You should take those off now.”

“Take what off?”

He motions toward Jin’s glasses. “You’ll break them.”

“I can’t sleep without them anymore.”

Kyung nods, aware on some level that sharing a bed with Ethan, feeling the boy’s warm breath and small hands against his skin, probably helps his father feel safe. But their closeness has the opposite effect on him. “Tomorrow,” he says.

“You’ll call the realtor for me tomorrow?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I meant. Tomorrow, you have to let him sleep in his own bed.”

*

Gertie is clearly pleased with the house when she pulls into the driveway. She bounds out of her car like a Labrador and starts taking pictures of the exterior, something she never bothered to do at Kyung and Gillian’s. Instead of the conservative black pantsuit he saw her wearing last, she’s dressed in a T-shirt and shorts with a sweater wrapped around her waist, and her hair is tied back into a stubby ponytail that looks like a paintbrush.

“Morning,” she calls out. “What a gorgeous home your parents have. Absolutely beautiful.”

He’s standing on the front steps waiting for her, but she continues to click away with her camera, assuming what hasn’t been agreed to yet—that the listing is hers to sell. Kyung is content to wait and stare at the sky, which is cloudless and blue, still like water. He doesn’t remember when the seasons changed and spring finally turned into summer.

“Sorry about the workout clothes,” she says sheepishly. “I’d just finished with my trainer when you called.”

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he says, bracing himself for her furious handshake as she joins him on the steps.

He didn’t expect her to be available the same day he called, but he could sense something change in her voice as he gave her the details. A property in the Heights seemed to interest her. The address did too. Is it one of those houses at the very top of the hill? she asked. And as soon as he confirmed it: yes, of course, she said. How soon could he meet her there?