Yolk(32)

“Why did you move out of your old place?”

“Does Mom still call you every weekend to ask if you went to Mass?” I ask instead of answering.

“Yeah,” says June, irritation flashing across her face. “It wouldn’t kill you to pick up once in a while. It just doubles my load.”

I never thought about that. “Is it true that parents go to hell if their kids don’t go to church? Mom keeps wailing in her voicemails about how she’s going to hell.”

“Just lie. Also”—she chuckles—“why are you asking me if it’s true? Hell’s not a real place.” June takes a swallow of tea, then sticks her tongue out. “Fuck, burnt my tongue.”

She always burns her tongue. Even worse than I do. She also salts her meals before she tastes them.

“Lie?” Honestly, it’s never occurred to me. It also never occurred to me that June wouldn’t believe in hell.

“It’s not lying if it’s to protect her,” June reasons. “She’s happier not knowing. Most people are.”

Just then my phone lights up on the floor in front of us. It’s Mom.

“How the fuck does she do that?” We look at each other and then back at the phone.

She’s worse than Alexa or Siri or Amazon ads. “Fuck,” I breathe. I watch it go to voicemail. “That’s creepy.”

Mom’s like June. She only leaves a voicemail after power-dialing at least six times in a row.

MOM appears on the screen again.

“Does she do this to you?”

“What do you think?”

June’s phone buzzes in her coat. She shows it to me. Mom. Of course. And, of course, June picks up.

“Yoboseyo?” she says into her phone. And then, “I’ll call you right back.”

“What are you doing?” A trill of anxiety shoots through me. “Why’d you pick up?”

June then goes and FaceTimes her.

I fix my hair.

Mom picks up. “Yoboseyo?”

We’re treated to a visual of Mom’s ear. She mutters in Korean about the crappy sound quality.

“Umma,” June calls out, laughing. “You’re supposed to look at us. Look at the screen!”

“Hi,” I pipe up from behind June.

Mom’s scowl turns into a smile. “What are you guys doing together?” she asks in Korean. Her expression shifts again. “Why is it so dark where you are? Turn some lights on. You’ll ruin your eyes. Is everything all right?” It’s astounding how quickly she goes from happy to worried.

“We’re fine,” says June. “We just thought it would be nice for you to see us.”

“Oh, okay.” Mom’s wearing a mint-green golf shirt with what appears to be a fake Ralph Lauren logo. The embroidered polo player’s missing his horse. “Not that I can see you,” she reiterates. “Do you need me to send a lamp?”

We ignore that.

“We’re drinking yujacha,” I tell her, lifting my mug. I always do this. Inform her when I’m doing Korean things as if to ingratiate myself. As if this will make her proud of me.

“Where’d you get it?” she says. “Is it the red label or the green and gold?”

I’m not going back to the fridge to check. “Green?”

“That one’s all sugar. Get the red label next time. Red and yellow, I think.”

“I will.” I will do no such thing.

I haven’t seen my mother’s face in so long. I don’t even recognize the silver wire-framed glasses she’s wearing. A lump forms in my throat. It’s like staring at the sun.

“I’m coming home,” June announces.

“Really? For a business trip?” Mom’s face brightens immediately. “When? Can you stay for a few days? You must be so busy.”

“Yes, for work,” says June. “Dallas for a meeting, but I’ll come down.”

There’s a falling feeling in my stomach. I can’t believe she hasn’t told me about this. I can’t believe how easy all of this is for her.

“How long?”

“A weekend.”

“You’re still coming for the holidays though, yes?”

“For Christmas,” says June. Even with Mom’s birthday at Thanksgiving, we don’t usually celebrate. It’s never felt like a real holiday to us, and Mom hates turkey. “What a tasteless bird to eat,” she says. “And so huge.” She thinks it’s a perfect allegory for American food.

“Send me your flight information,” she demands. “Is Jayne coming?” I duck out of the frame and glare at my sister.

“You’re going to have to ask her.”

I reach over and pinch her thigh.

“Jayne?”

June points the phone right at me and raises her eyebrows, smiling prettily.

“I want to,” I tell her in English. “But I’m busy with school and work.”

“Of course,” she says, face tightening. “You have to focus on what you have to focus on. You poor girls, working like dogs in that gutter-filthy city. I heard the subways are always broken. You couldn’t pay me to go inside a tunnel on the subway. Are you at least taking exercise and eating proper meals at proper times? What’s good grades and money if you don’t have your health? Are you okay for money, Ji-young?”