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A woman with smooth, raven-black hair glides out of the vehicle. I suck in a silent breath because this has to be Lyric’s mother.

She is wearing a flowy, emerald green dress, with a wrap trimmed in black around her shoulders. The woman eyes us for a bare second before she walks toward the front door as though she is on a catwalk during a fashion show.

I glance at Fig, who’s eyes are as wide as mine. “This must be Lyric’s mother. I better get in there, just in case.”

“I’m right behind you,” he says.

As we reach the kitchen door, I hear Lyric challenge her. “Don’t even bother saying anything to me. I haven’t heard from you in six years.”

When Lyric’s face comes into my view, it’s mottled red. I don’t hesitate and hurry to reach his side. “Are you all right?”

Lyric doesn’t look at me. “I will be, once she leaves.” His fuming glare never leaves his mother, and I turn to look at her. The woman has spectacular bone structure and is just plain gorgeous. Even if I’d met her somewhere random, I would have known she is Lyric’s mother, because he nearly looks identical to her.

“Yeong—”

Lyric raises a hand to stop her from talking. “My name is Lyric now. And don’t bother with excuses. You were only looking out for yourselves. You and him. Like always.”

Who’s him?

I realize right then that Lyric is speaking in English, and this woman is answering in English.

Halmeoni utters something but Lyric’s mother flashes her a scowl that could melt the older woman’s face right off her skull, if she had the power to do so.

Lyric softly says something to his grandmother, before returning his glower to his mother. “I know why you’re here. And no, Rafe isn’t going anywhere. I also figured out the moment father showed up here, the real reason why I was told to come back.”

Him has to refer to Lyric’s father. I get it now. Lyric’s mother and father are tag-teaming him.

“Real reason? I told you the truth. Your grandmother was sick.”

“No. You used the word ‘dying.’ Not sick.” Derision coats his words.

“Then what do you think is the real reason why your father wanted you back?” she asks smoothly.

“Father wants to sell the land Halmeoni has worked so hard on all these years and ship her off to Seoul to tend to his house there. He wants me to go with her, so it’ll be an easier adjustment for her. You can’t deny it.”

“It’s in her best interests. As you saw when you arrived, she’s all by herself here with no one to help her. You know she can’t keep up with this house and the land, son.”

“Don’t call me that. You lost your right to call me your son the moment you let father ship me off to the States. And as for Halmeoni, she’s doing just fine here. And I know your plan is not for her well being. No, it’s all about the money this land is worth.”

“I know your father, and he wants to make sure his mother is cared for,” she declares, walking up to Lyric and staring him dead in the eyes. “How are you?”

I move closer, not touching him, but to show my support.

Lyric glances at me for a moment before shifting his gaze back his mother. “Why do you care all of a sudden? I’ve been here almost a month and not once have you called or texted me. You didn’t even bother to show up when I arrived in Busan. But I should have known better.”

Her spine slowly straightens even more and she eyes Lyric for a long moment. “You know I have a career. I was in Thailand when you arrived—I finally got a big part in a movie. But I came back here to see you the second I was finished. Yeong…” Her words falter and there’s a light sheen of tears in her eyes.

Aside from the speck of humanity that his mother is suddenly showing—which I think is suspicious, because she just said she is an actress—mother and son stare at each other as if they are in a stand-off. Until Lyric’s mother’s eyes shift to me. She smiles at me, and it’s so fake. Her smile slides easily across her flawless features and I again suspect it’s her acting skills. All true emotion is gone from her face.

“Hello, I’m Young Ja Lee, Lyric’s mother.” She tips her head slightly.

“I’m Rafe D’Angelo” I reply, giving her the same head nod.

Without missing a beat, she says, “Yes, the rock and roll singer. What is your band’s name?”

“She already knows what band you play in. Don’t let her fool you, my father most definitely filled her in on the details,” Lyric states. I want to rub my fingertips across his forehead—if he keeps frowning like that, he’s going to have a permanent crease between his eyebrows.

“No, I don’t,” she contradicts, bringing a hand covered in jeweled rings to her chest like Lyric’s comment injured her. I notice that her wrist is adorned with a diamond-encrusted bracelet for maximum gaudiness, and it’s all I can do to not roll my eyes at her.