Shelter(76)

“Who was it?”

He doesn’t know if it’s wise or even safe to say what he really thinks. The “who” isn’t the point. It’s the “what” she won’t forgive. His relationship with Gillian was never based on a romantic or even demonstrative form of love. Neither of them was built for that kind of outpouring. At its best, their marriage was practical and utilitarian—the sort of thing that people of a certain age entered into with a vague notion of improving their lives. Although Gillian asked very little of him from the start, fidelity was a basic assumption. Fidelity, security, honesty, decency—all the things he’s proved himself incapable of over time.

Kyung knows why he did it, why he married her despite believing that he probably shouldn’t marry anyone. On some level, he was grateful that a woman like Gillian would choose to be with him. Her goodness was redeeming; it made him want to be worthy of her. But whatever impulse he has to fight for them is checked by the knowledge that this person he loves—and he does love her, more than he ever imagined possible—would be better off without him, a thought he’s had so many times before. Kyung looks up at Gillian, at the way she’s standing with her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She seems resigned, as resigned as he is to let this be how it ends.

“I can’t keep asking you the same question, Kyung. Who was it?”

“You don’t know her,” he says. “She was just some girl.”

Gillian nods slowly, struggling to take it all in. “You can’t get out of your own way,” she says. “Do you even understand that about yourself? No one’s holding you back. No one’s trying to make you unhappy—not me or Ethan or even your parents. You can blame us as much as you want, but at a certain point, maybe you just have to accept the fact that it’s you. It’s all the things you can’t let go of.”

“But how can I—?”

“No, Kyung. Just stop. I know you had a hard life before we met. I understand that now, I really do. But your parents were responsible for that. Not me or Ethan. All we did was love you, so you owed it to us to be a better man. I can’t just stand here and watch you disappoint us anymore.”

She hasn’t raised her voice at him, not once, which is actually worse than being yelled at. It’s taken him five years to realize that Gillian only shouts when she’s invested in what happens afterwards. What happens to him from this point on, she clearly doesn’t care.

“Use your credit card,” she says. “For the hotel, or wherever you decide to go.”

“Which credit card?”

“It doesn’t matter. Your father paid them all off.”

He pauses. He knows he didn’t mishear her, but he still doesn’t understand. “What do you mean, ‘paid them all off’? How could he do that?”

“I asked him to. Begged him, actually.”

“Gillian!”

She startles at the sound of his voice, biting her lip as she lifts and lowers the handle of the suitcase. “He was happy to do it,” she continues. “A little shocked that I asked, maybe. But it wasn’t like we hid things all that well. He could tell we were in trouble.”

“Of course he was happy to do it. Don’t you realize that he just bought you? That he bought me too?”

“He’s not like that.”

Kyung never understood how his father could hit his mother, how he justified his actions as reasonable or right. Even now, his mind doesn’t get it, but his body is starting to rebel. He looks at himself, at the way he’s choking the sheets and blankets in his fists, holding himself down on the bed.

“How could you do this to us?” he asks.

“I didn’t do it to us. I did it because I had to. I was tired, Kyung. Tired of waking up in the middle of the night, feeling like something was sitting on my chest. It was getting too hard to breathe.”

She looks at him as if she expects him to agree, but Kyung is still holding himself down, fighting the urge to scream at her.

“I think you felt the same way, but you could never bring yourself to admit it, to do anything about it. All those books I gave you, the Web sites and articles … I couldn’t just wait for you to fix it anymore. And your father was actually so understanding. He kept saying I shouldn’t be embarrassed. The amount didn’t even seem to faze him.”

Kyung has no idea what the amount even is. Forty? Fifty thousand? Probably more. He lost track of the total years ago, ignoring the telltale envelopes and phone calls at all hours of the night. Occasionally, he allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like to pay off their debts in one fell swoop, but his father never entered into any of these daydreams.

“Tell him to cancel the check, or however he paid it.”

“No. It’s already done.”

“Then tell him to call someone and get the money back.”

“I just said no.”

“Fine, then. I’ll tell him.”

“It won’t matter. He’s not doing this for you. He’s probably not even doing it for me. This is for Ethan.”

“I take care of you and Ethan just fine.”

He has to look away as he finishes the sentence. His voice, his expression—he can feel how ugly they are—and he doesn’t need her to confirm what he already knows. He hasn’t been taking care of either of them, not for a long time, not in any of the ways that matter. Gillian chooses to let this go, and it occurs to him, as it’s occurred to him in the past—she deserved much better than he gave her. She’d always been a good wife; she wasn’t capable of being anything less. Even now, as she’s casting him out of her life, she’s packed his things for him, making sure he has what he needs.