Jung Yun - Shelter

“Should we turn on the TV?”

“The noise won’t help you sleep.”

“So we’re just going to sit here all night?”

“As long as we have to.” Connie knits his fingers over his stomach.

The silence doesn’t make Kyung tired. It simply feeds his frustration, expanding it like a balloon that can’t hold all the air being forced inside.

Connie must sense this because he turns to him a few minutes later, his expression softer than it was before. “Hey,” he says, seemingly hesitant about what he wants to say next. “It’s going to be all right, you know. It might not feel that way right now, but trust me, it will be.”

“How?” Kyung asks. “You were standing right there — you heard the whole thing.”

“You just have to give yourself some time—”

“Time for what? Time won’t change the fact that my father was hitting my mother again. That’s how all of this started, Connie. That’s why she and Marina aren’t here anymore. So what am I supposed to do? Just pretend like he’s not responsible for what happened?”

“I’m not saying you have to pretend anything. But you can’t run off half-cocked like you did earlier. Tomorrow, I want you to call Jin and tell him to pack up his stuff and move back to his place. And then you’re going to stay as far away from him as possible, understand? Let the police handle him from now on. You have a wife and child waiting at home, a life to get back to, so take my advice and don’t go looking for trouble, Kyung. You’ve had more than your fair share lately.”

Optimism isn’t a quality he associates with Connie. But it makes more sense to him now. Connie doesn’t know that Gillian threw him out. Part of him feels like this is her news to share, and she didn’t for a reason, but he’s also curious. Everything that Connie’s doing, everything he’s saying — would it change if he knew?

“Gillian and I aren’t together anymore. She asked me to leave yesterday, or maybe it was the day before.” He can’t remember when it actually happened. The days, the hours — they’ve all bled together.

“So why’d she finally do it?”

Finally, Kyung thinks. The word says it all. For five years, Connie has been waiting, quietly wishing their marriage would end, and now he doesn’t have to hide it anymore, not that he ever hid it well.

“What do you care? It’s not like you actually wanted us to stay together.”

Connie considers this for a moment. “Okay, I deserved that. I’ll admit it. Maybe at first I wasn’t so happy about you two getting together, but after the kid … I rooted for you.”

Kyung can’t think of a single time when anything like this occurred. His relationship with his in-laws had always been tepidly acknowledged, as if his connection to them were something to be tolerated or waited out.

“When did you ever root for me, Connie? You and Tim, you never liked me, never liked me for Gillian. You probably wanted her to marry some nice white guy, someone you could sit around and watch baseball and cop shows with. And don’t even bother trying to deny it — I saw the look on your face the first time she brought me here. It was so obvious. You were like, ‘Who the hell is this Asian guy?’”

Connie lowers his head, covering his eyes. “You think that’s why I didn’t like you for Gilly? Because you’re not white?” It almost sounds like he’s laughing, but when he looks up, his skin is furious and red. “Jesus, you’re the dumbest smart person I’ve ever met. I don’t care what color you are. You could have been black, for all it mattered. I didn’t want you dating my daughter, because of that goddamn chip on your shoulder. You think a father can’t see that kind of thing from a mile away? I knew — not even five minutes after meeting you — that nothing was ever going to make you happy. Not a nice girl on your arm, not a kid or a house or a fancy job. All the things that other people want in life, they were never going to be good enough. That’s why I didn’t want Gilly getting involved with you.”

Connie has never spoken to Kyung in so many consecutive sentences before. Each one indicts him more harshly than the sentence that preceded it, but he can tell there’s more to come, years’ worth of more.

“I saw how Gilly sidled up to you so fast. She probably figured, here’s a nice-looking guy, something different to bring home to Dad. He’s smart; he’ll probably make a decent living when he’s done with school. That’s good enough. And nothing I said would talk her out of it. She never thought she’d do any better than you, and you know how bad it felt to know what I passed on to her, to both my kids?”

“What are you talking about? What did you pass on?”

“There’s a saying for it. It was like”—Connie circles his hands, as if to grab the words he’s searching for from the air—“like low expectations or something. Gilly’s mom and me, we didn’t yell or scream at each other, but we didn’t enjoy each other either. Eighteen years Marlene and I were married, and I don’t ever remember feeling happy with her, or excited to be around her or hear what she had to say. We were just there. And that’s exactly where I saw Gilly headed with you.”

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.”