Yolk(80)

“It’s so fucking hot,” she says when she returns. She’s brought the old electric fan out from the garage. A Sanyo with blue fins that we used to put our faces right up against. We loved the way it garbled our voices and blew our hair around.

She sits down on the floor with her back up against the bed and switches it on.

Finally, some air circulation. The breeze is fluttery on my skin.

“We should open the window too, though, right?” I ask her.

She rolls her eyes, huffs, gets back up, and mangles the venetian blinds with a plasticky clatter. I get up to help. The vacuum-sealed window lifts after a moment. The house alarm beeps twice in rapid succession. My brows rocket up to my hairline.

“They don’t set it anymore,” she says and shakes her head. “God, you were so fucking bad at sneaking out. How hard was it to remember that the alarm code is Mom’s birthday?”

She sits back down next to me. I feel her warmth settling along my side even though we’re not touching.

“Should we open the door?” I ask her.

“You’re so dumb,” she says, laughing, extending her leg out to hook it open with her foot. “There.” This is the best part of having a sister. Since we were raised by the same lunatic, under the same conditions, June knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“It’s not a thing, you know,” she says. “Fan death.”

“Fan death” is a pervasive Korean superstition that if you fall asleep with a fan running without opening a window or door for ventilation, you’ll suffocate. It makes no sense logically or scientifically, but there’s no convincing Mom. Or me, evidently.

“I just don’t want to hear about it in the morning,” I reason.

“Sometimes I think most of what Mom told us is stuff she made up.” June’s voice is becoming raspy. She’s pressed her cheek against the knee of her tented legs. Once her foot twitches or she coughs dryly, she’s about to fall asleep.

“Fan death is a myth,” she says. “Just like lying down after a meal won’t turn you into a cow.”

“I love how that only applied to kids. Meanwhile Mom and Dad always passed the fuck out after lunch on their days off.” I smile at the memory.

“Writing someone’s name in red would definitely kill them, though,” says June. “That’s just science. And possibly the story line to a Grudge sequel.” She leans and knocks her shoulder to mine. I smile. The first time we watched that movie, I slept in June’s bed for a week.

We sit in silence for a moment.

“It’s so weird.” I stretch my legs out in front of me. “I didn’t ever believe her, but I didn’t not believe her. I don’t think to question anything she’s ever told me.”

“Yeah, I get that.” June stretches her legs out next to mine. “I always thought that if I just did everything the way she told me to, or the way she’d do it, that she’d love me more.”

I stare at June’s doll feet.

“I always figured Mom didn’t like me anyway so what was the point?”

“She loves you,” says June gruffly. “She’s just the worst at letting you know. I don’t think you can change people by acting a certain way. Just like how being skinny or smart doesn’t make them treat you differently.”

“I just want Mom to like me.” I reach behind my sister and pull on the white bed skirt, releasing it from where it’s hitched up on the box spring like a girl with her dress tucked into her panties. I don’t mention the part where I wish my sister liked me, too.

June pats my leg with uncharacteristic affection.

“She likes you,” she says and then laughs. “She told Helena Park, so it must be true.”





chapter 37


Mom drives us to the airport the next morning. I expect her to say something profound, something worthwhile, but all she can talk about is how she’s packed us lunches of kimbap.

“Did you remember everything? I put your clean underwear and laundry on your suitcases.”

“Yeah,” says June, who’s sitting in front. Dad’s at the restaurant for payroll.

“When will I see you girls again? Christmas?”

I look in the mirror, daring June to sign us up.

“We’ll see,” she says. “Depending on your behavior.”

Mom scowls, and they both laugh. I watch the backs of their heads. I try to catch June’s attention in the mirror, but she only has eyes for Mom. It breaks my heart that she thinks she’s doing Mom a favor by not telling. I can tell she wants to.

“Thanks for the food,” says June, instead of all the other things lingering in her expression.

“Yeah, Mom, thanks.”

Mom turns and pats my leg. I love that she’s put on lipstick for the short drive. “Don’t wait so long to come back,” she says to me.

I pop my door open.

Mom gets out and grabs our bags. Then she does something she’s never done before. She gathers both of us into her arms. “Ah, my daughters,” she says. “When will we be together like this again?”

She reaches for our hands. Her palms are papery and rough. “You’re both going to get married off and probably move away even farther,” she says. “Serves me right for leaving my own mother behind. They say that daughters are never yours to begin with.” She squeezes our hands tightly, pursing her lips. I wonder if she’ll cry. “And I guess they’re right. Ji-hyun I knew would go away from the moment she was born. But you…” She palms my cheek. “You I thought I’d get to keep, my smallest blood clot.”