Shelter(90)

Kyung knows what this is all about. Connie’s newfound romance suddenly has him talking like a philosopher, like someone who thinks he knows about love. If he weren’t so tired, it might almost seem funny, but he doesn’t see the humor in it now.

“I’m not trying to criticize,” Connie continues. “I understand a lot more about you because of everything that’s happened, and I get why you’re like this now. My dad was a son of a bitch too. It’s hard to be happy when you don’t know what it’s supposed to look like. But I’m telling you, things can change. That woman in there”—he points to his bedroom door—“that woman makes me happy. She makes me want to be a different person. Maybe if you tried to convince Gilly that you can change too—”

“I cheated on her,” Kyung says. “I cheated and she caught me. That’s why she asked me to leave.”

The position they’re both sitting in—backs reclined, legs stretched out—is at odds with the sudden tension in the room. Kyung realizes he made a mistake. He wanted Connie to stop babbling like some love-struck teenager, but he didn’t think about the consequences before opening his mouth. Now he’s staring at a man twice his size who looks like he’s about to beat him senseless. Kyung tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, at a small spiderweb fluttering from the vent. He listens to Connie breathing—in, out, in, out—relieved to hear that he still sounds calm. He’s not huffing and puffing like someone getting ready to throw a punch.

“I don’t know why she didn’t tell you herself. Maybe she was just waiting for the right time or something. Anyway, I’m sorry you had to hear it from me.”

Connie doesn’t respond. He just sits there with his hands folded over his stomach. Kyung wishes he’d say something. Despite all appearances, he’s always respected his father-in-law, always wished for a scrap of that respect in return. Over the past few weeks, Connie has been the steady one, the one who tried to help everyone else, even though he never heard a word of thanks for his efforts. Kyung feels terrible for disappointing him. Or at the very least, he feels terrible for confirming what Connie always knew.

“Gillian deserves better than me. I think we all understand that. So I’m going to let her get on with her life, and you’re going to let me get on with mine.” Kyung slowly tilts his seat back up and begins to stand. “I’m sorry, Connie. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but there’s no fixing what happened with Gillian. I made sure of that. Maybe—” He stops, realizing there is no maybe. “You were right about me from the start.”

He takes a step toward the door, then another and another, but as he lifts his hand to reach for Tim’s jacket, Connie brings his chair upright.

“Sit down,” he says.

Kyung doesn’t move.

“Sit your ass down.”

“You’re not my father-in-law anymore. You don’t need to be responsible for me.”

“You and my daughter have a kid together, so even though you’re a miserable little shit, I’m not going to let you run off and do something you can’t take back. My grandson’s not going to spend his weekends visiting you in prison. Now sit down.”

“But he needs to pay for what he did, Connie.”

“Sit down and shut the f*ck up. You don’t want to know what’s going to happen if I have to get out of this chair.”

Kyung waits, listening for Vivi or Tim to stumble out of their beds. Connie spared no volume, which was meant to intimidate him, to make him behave. He realizes how different he must have sounded when he told Jin not to hit Mae again. He can almost hear his weak, frightened voice, just trying to spit out the words. Connie spoke with the kind of force that Kyung didn’t possess as a teenager, leaving no room for doubt about the consequences of his decision. If he doesn’t sit down again, he’s going to suffer. Kyung is terrified now, terrified and desperate and filled with an overwhelming desire to make his father feel exactly as he does, if only Connie would let him. He rests his hand on a table, and the idea comes to him quickly, so quickly that he doesn’t stop to think before he acts. He picks up a candle and swings, hearing the hard strike of bone against glass. Connie slumps forward in his chair, dropping his arms to the floor.

The room is suddenly quiet. Nothing, no one—not even Kyung—moves. He holds the jar in his outstretched hand, counting the seconds as they pass. Five, ten … He’s never hit a man before; he thinks he hit him much harder than he meant to. Connie remains folded over his lap, his back rising and falling with each breath. Fifteen, twenty … As Kyung returns the candle to the table, a single word begins to beat through his head like a drum. Run. The longer he waits, the louder he hears it, but he inches toward Connie’s chair instead.

“Are you … are you okay?” he whispers, pushing him upright.

Connie slowly opens his eyes at the sound of Kyung’s voice, blinking like someone waking from a heavy sleep.

“What”—he reaches up, wincing as he touches the back of his head—“what happened?”

He stares at Kyung, his expression confused. Dazed, almost. And then there’s a flicker—a bright, angry flicker in which Connie appears to remember exactly what happened. “Idiot,” he says hoarsely. “You stupid … stupid…” He shifts in his seat, about to get up, but standing seems to require more strength than he has. He winces again as he leans against the headrest. Then his chin rolls forward and he passes out.