Jung Yun - Shelter

“If that’s what she wants to do right now, I guess you should probably let her.” She offers him a dumpling from her plate, which he declines.

“The hospital called while you were gone. They’re releasing Marina this week. You remember what we agreed to, right?” She leans her face toward his, searching for a reaction, but he’s too tired to have the same argument twice.

“Yes, I remember.”

The wind picks up again, pushing the clothesline around in a creaky circle. Two car doors slam shut in front of the house, one after another, but Kyung can’t tell if the occupants are coming or going.

“You want to sit in this chair?” he asks.

“No, I’m fine here.”

She stretches her legs out on the dandelion-covered grass, a shady patch where they once planned to build a deck. Gillian had never lived anywhere with a deck before, and he liked the thought of sitting outside with her after dinner, staring at the sun disappearing just beyond the green wall of trees. It was the ideal, idyllic image of what their marriage was going to be, but that image seems so dusty now, like an old photograph that neither of them has looked at in a while.

“So, Kyung”—she hesitates—“that thing with Lentz and the sandwiches today — that was really disturbing.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to—”

“There’s a lot we haven’t been talking about. We probably should at some point.”

“Like what?”

“Like how you’re feeling about all of this.”

Kyung shrugs, staring at the field of wildflowers and grass. He hasn’t set foot in the backyard since the day Mae turned up, which seems like another lifetime ago.

“I’m fine.”

“You know that’s not really an answer, don’t you? ‘Good,’ ‘fine,’ ‘okay’—they’re just words, not feelings. I’m asking you how you feel. ”

Gillian’s response seems practiced, as if she’s been waiting to have this conversation for a while. This isn’t the way they usually talk to each other, and he resents the expectation of change at a time when everything has already changed enough. Kyung has no idea what he’s feeling because it’s never the same from one minute to the next. He’s angry with his parents and sad for them. He hopes they’ll get through this for their sake and worries for himself that they won’t. He knows Mae deserves his pity now more than ever, but he’s tired of handicapping her, giving her so many excuses for being a bad mother. Everything he feels seems so contrary or conflicting, it all cancels each other out.

“You’re not licensed yet, Gillian.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t want to be treated like your patient.”

Another set of car doors slams shut, but this time, Kyung distinctly hears voices approaching his house, not leaving it.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m just worried. And I’m sorry to say this, but I think I have a right to wonder what you’re not telling me.” She shoos a mosquito hovering too close to her face. “Besides, it’s not such a hard question.”

“If it’s so easy, then you answer it. How do you feel right now?”

Gillian puts her plate on the ground, pausing as she hugs her knees to her chest. “I feel guilty, Kyung.”

“What do you have to feel guilty about?”

“It’s actually been kind of nice having your dad around. It’s almost as if we have a nanny now, the way he’s always looking out for Ethan. You know they finished the bike this afternoon while you and your mom were cleaning? And I’ve gotten so much reading done since he’s been here.” She stretches out her hand, showing off freshly polished nails, done up in a glittery shade of peach. “This probably sounds stupid, but how long has it been since I had time to give myself a manicure? Or didn’t have to worry about bouncing a check?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. All this time we’ve been together, you had me thinking your dad was such a terrible person, and I’m not saying he wasn’t when you were little, but I wonder if he’s trying to make up for it in some way.”

He’s glad, for her sake, that Jin’s presence hasn’t been the nightmare he assumed it would be. But he bristles at the thought of what Gillian might be saying, that Jin is a better father and provider than he is.

“You have no idea how we used to live. There’s nothing he can do to make up for that.”

Gillian picks up a dumpling, pinching the greasy ball between her fingertips. He watches it slide down the curve of her throat in two labored swallows. She’s deciding whether or not to continue the conversation. He can tell by the way she chews much longer and slower than she needs to.

“I think you have to let people change, Kyung. I think your father probably regrets the way he was with you. Maybe that’s why he’s being so sweet to Ethan now.”

“People can’t change that much.”

“Some people can.”

He rips out a clump of grass and chucks it toward the field. “You’re only saying that because you didn’t know what he was like before. All you see is this nice old man who wants to spend time with his grandson, but he’s still the same person he used to be. Both of them are.”

“You don’t necessarily know that.”

“They’re my parents. I know them better than anyone. Haven’t you even noticed the way they’re just sitting in there, shaking hands and making conversation as if nothing happened to them?”

“Maybe being around their friends makes them feel better.”

He rips out another clump and aims for the clothesline, but comes up short. “This is what they do, Gillian. What they’ve always done. They’re good at putting on a show for people, but it doesn’t mean they’re different inside.”

“Your dad, though, he’s been so helpful these past few days. Isn’t it possible that this experience changed him? I mean, it’s not unusual for victims of trauma to—”

“Stop saying things like that,” he shouts. “Stop talking like you know anything about them.”

A car pulls up to the house with its radio blaring. Gillian turns toward the noise, keeping her face angled away from him after the song ends. He worries that he’s ruining her, ruining the part of her that wants so badly to have faith in people, but this isn’t a subject they can afford to disagree about. He needs her on his side.

“When I was six, my parents got into an argument about something. I’m not sure how it started anymore — it never took much back then — but he went after her with a belt right before we had to leave for an open house at school. So there I was, sitting between them while they’re talking to my teachers, and my dad’s asking all these questions about my grades, while my mom’s sitting perfectly straight, her hair and makeup just right even though her back was covered with gashes. And I remember thinking, even before I really knew the meaning of the word, that my family was just so fucked, and I’d never be able to explain that, because who would believe me? We were all too good at pretending to be normal, like the world would end if anyone realized who we actually were inside—”

He stops when he notices the look on Gillian’s face. She’s devastated — by him, or for him, or maybe both. He can’t remember where he left off, or what more he planned to say. All he knows is that he made a mistake. The story implicates him too.

“Is that what you do with Ethan and me?” she asks.

Gillian knows him better than anyone; she’s loved him better than anyone. But even she can’t see who he really is. Kyung’s face reddens; his palms and armpits go damp. Every part of his body begins to betray him, sending signals he can’t hide. The only answer that she wants and deserves to hear is no. The word is right there, a single syllable on the tip of his tongue. All he has to do is say it, but the coupling between his mouth and brain suddenly seems disconnected. He pries his legs off the plastic straps of the chair, crossing and uncrossing them again as time slowly runs out. The longer he doesn’t respond, the less truthful he’ll sound when he does, but something inside him feels broken now, worn out with overuse. Gillian waits for him to deny it until she can’t wait anymore. Then she dusts herself off and walks toward the house, taking in the silence like the reply that it is.