Page 9

When my father decided I would be a singer, I told him I wanted a different name—a stage name to use. I suggested Lyric, but he shot that down as though it was an insult for me to use anything English. When I got to the States, I started calling myself Lyric Kim just to spite him. A few years later I made it legal. Now, Lyric Kim is my actual name. It’s on my driver’s license and it’ll remain that way.

“Yes, Halmeoni?” I respond respectfully in Korean.

“It’s time to eat.”

I silently groan, since I’m far from hungry, but I obediently say, “Be right there.”

I quickly wash up, then dress in a pair of worn pants and a t-shirt my grandmother gave me that used to be my father’s, since the few clothes I brought with me are hanging⁠—

“Crap, my clothes.” I rush out of the bathroom, through the bedroom I’m using, to the back slider in the living area and watch as my clean clothes—the ones my grandmother washed for me yesterday—soak up the heavy rain. If I had known that she didn’t have a dryer, I would have bought one for her and had it delivered right away. Instead, I’m staring at every stitch of clothing I have with me as it is being drenched.

“What is crap?” Halmeoni asks as she stands next to me, looking out at the clothes on the line, fluttering in the wind despite their sodden weight. “Ba. They will dry. Come and eat.”

I don’t have a choice but to, as she takes my hand and urges me to the low table set up in the middle of the room.

My eyes widen in dismay at the array of food set up on the small table. There’s a bowl of rice, a seaweed soup, three different types of banchan, or side dishes, including a fried white fish. All for me.

How am I going to finish all this?

As much as I love each of the foods on the table, I haven’t eaten like this for a long while—not since I lived with her when I was a kid. However, the last thing I want to tell her, especially when she obviously woke up early to cook for me, is that I’m not hungry.

I can’t tell her that this is far from my normal breakfast fare in the States: coffee, granola and yogurt. Halmeoni would only try to feed me more.

“Smells good,” I say as I sit on the floor and pick up the chopsticks and spoon.

“Yeong Ho, you are too skinny. Now eat,” she encourages me before returning to the kitchen.

I let out a silent breath, resign myself to not making her upset and start eating. I have barely taken a bite when my cell rings. Snagging the phone out of my pants pocket, I am so happy to have this reprieve from eating that I don’t bother looking on the screen to see who’s calling. “Hello?” Because I am in Korea and the few calls I’ve received lately have been from my family, I answer in Korean.

“Missed me?”

My best friend’s voice rings out, and it brings a smile to my face. “What’s up, loser,” I greet him in English, so my grandmother doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

“Loser? Who’s the loser now? Looking after your grandmother like a baby sister,” Eun pokes. I haven’t seen him since I left for the States all those years ago, but we have kept in touch by text, FaceTime and social media.

Eun and I have been friends since public grammar school, all the way to Soksem Hagwon program, where we learned the arts like singing and piano.

I groan. “She’s the one who’s been watching me. She’s making me eat three—four times a day, Eun. Save me.”

“Well, it’s your lucky day. We’re coming to pick you up. So pack, wash up and get dressed—do what you have to do and don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

I chuckle and then ask, “Who’s we? And where are you taking me?” I scoop some rice into the soup bowl and dig in. The explosion of flavors makes me hum. Hungry or not, I always love my grandmother’s cooking.

“Busan for the weekend, idiot. Karaoke. Drinking. Good food. Some dancing. It’ll be fun.”

“And with who?” I push, curious to see who is joining us.

There’s a long pause before Eun says, “Me, Lina—she’s in town for a week—and Jay of course. And… Min Jun will join us later, too.” He utters the last part under his breath.

My spine straightens, and I slowly lower the spoon. “Min Jun? Why?”

“We’re friends, Yeong. And I thought it would be fun to get together with old friends,” Eun explains so nonchalantly it’s like my past with Min Jun never happened.

Min Jun Han was the boy I was kissing all those years ago when someone caught the act on video and posted it on social media, outing both of us. The leak that brought the wrath of my father down on me. I lost my brand new career, most of my friends and the life I was accustomed to all at the same time when I was only sixteen.

For Min Jun? I’m not sure what transpired since with him. All I know is what Eun told me at the time, that his family took him out of Seoul. That was the last I heard and I never asked again.

Even though I don’t blame Min Jun for what happened, he’s a reminder of what I lost.