A lot of the tidbits in this chapter were anedoctes I've heard or read from translated/subbed UFO and radio show materials. At the end of the day, like most non-Korean fans, the Red Velvet materials I consume are a second-hand fan experience acquired by way of translation. I thank all translators and subbers out there, both active and defunct.

-.-.-

2001-2012

If there’s one thing she wanted to change about her husband, it’s the fact that he was a loud bathroom singer and often did so on a repeat. He could spend twenty minutes in the bathroom and sang the same song four times with improvisation here and there. She didn’t think she would ever get the art of jazz, really. Right now he’s on his third round of Kim Gunmo’s Moon of Seoul.

Sunday mornings were always her favorite. No one had to leave for school or work, there was no church service until noon, and everyone would wake up without regard for time. Seungwan called out at six o’clock sharp, her daughter the wise rooster. She went to retrieve her from her room and carried her to her own bed. Appa, she spoke over the loud singing and water noise, can you keep an eye on Seungwan? I’m gonna start with the pancakes.

Seungwan claps in glee. Pancakes, please. The door to the bathroom opened slightly. Her husband’s head peeked out. The lower part of his face was covered in shaving foam, and Seungwan gasped at the sight. Appa, you look scary!

Her husband waved a hand. I have to do this so I will look handsome, he said.

Seungwan clambered down the bed, one foot almost tangled in the sheet, pajamas bunched up to her neck. Oomph. She helped steady her. Once Seungwan stood and found her balance, she looked up to her. Thank you, Eomma. I’m going to help Appa become handsome.

She left the bedroom for the kitchen. Pancakes were always a Sunday treat for them. Her husband loved his slathered with butter and maple syrup. Seunghee loved hers with jams, and Seungwan always went for ice cream. She made coffee for herself and prepared milk for her girls.

She was about to flip the first pancake when she felt her husband snuck up behind her and kiss her cheek. We’re almost running out of maple syrup, he said.

Where’s Seungwan?

In the bathroom, playing with your lipstick.

She frowned, turned around, and pinched his waist. Why don’t you stop her? She pushed him with her elbow.

Relax. He laughed, stealing another kiss from her. Don’t you love it when she’s finally interested in girls’ stuff?

Don’t be a swine. Go get her and wake Seunghee.

Mama is no fun this morning. He grinned and was about to tiptoe away when a loud cry followed by a wailing came from their bedroom. Alarmed, they both ran to the bedroom. She couldn’t even remember if she’d turned off the stove or not. Her husband almost slipped as he skidded to a stop in front of the bathroom. Seungwan!

Eomma!

She nearly passed out at the sight because there was just so much red on her baby daughter who’s standing on the bathroom stool. Around , on her fingers and pajama, dripping from her chin. Lipstick. It’s just lipstick, she tried to reason. But lipstick didn’t drip and definitely didn’t do enough harm to make Seungwan wail in pain. My Lord, my good Lord. She pushed her husband to the side to get to Seungwan and check on her. My Lord. The smell of blood hit her at once. But from where—

Her eyes caught a bloodied shaving razor lied in the sink.

I t’ied—likkit—hu’t, eo’a— Seungwan tried to talk.

She grabbed a handful of tissues to wipe Seungwan’s face. Once it’s clear of lipstick, she made her open and only then she saw the damage. She took a deep breath, shuddering. You Appa’s razor?

Sowy, eo’a—hu’t—I sowy.

Seunghee had arrived, too. She blocked her firstborn’s sight with her body. Grabbed more tissues, folded them, and pressed them to Seungwan’s tongue. Hoped it would stop and pass soon. Her little girl’s crying had turned into hiccuping now. She kissed the crown of her head. Ssshhh, it’s okay now. It’s just a small cut, okay. Very small, very small. Seungwan’s clutching to her dress so tightly. It’s okay, it’s okay. Eomma’s here. Let’s get some ice for it, okay. It’ll heal quickly.

Hu’t, Seungwan said again, and her heart committed a mutiny by squeezing itself into a torment.

(Years later, her firstborn—two years into her medical program—would tell her that it’s all thanks to the vagus nerve. When we experience distress, there’s this anterior part of our brain that overstimulates our vagus nerve, Eomma. Since the nerve runs all the way to our chest and abdomen, it tenses and creates pain in the area. Hoorah for science, really, Eomma. She would merely glare at Seunghee for speaking Google.)

Once the bleeding subsided, she transferred Seungwan to her husband, who looked shaken, chastised, and regretful. Get her some ice cubes, she told him. It’ll help with the bleeding. I’ll get her clothes change.

I ca’ hab ice c’eam? Seungwan brightened.

Her husband took Seungwan into his arms, carrying her to leave the bedroom. Yes, Darling. Anything you want.

Ba’illa?

Yes. Vanilla, your favorite.

Aw’sob!

Once they left, she staggered to get to her feet. Sat down on the toilet. Swallowed the big, fat coward sobs that’d been clogging for the last few minutes that felt too long. Lord, You didn’t tell me it’ll be this hard, she protested God, seething and frightened. I don’t wanna be this weak. I can’t be this weak.

-.-.-

They took lengthy steps to childproof the house more seriously. Her husband’s shaving kit and her hairdryer were now in a locked cabinet. All furniture edges were blunted. Knives were moved and stored in a higher and locked cabinet. No more china cups and mugs lying around after morning coffee or afternoon tea. No more guitar and saxophone lying around on the couch.

I don’t like red, Seungwan told her two days after the incident. Her wound had been healing well, but she’d still avoid hot food. Why is my blood red? It’s ugly.

Okay, her husband agreed. My blood is red, too, but I don’t like it either.

Red is bad.

Yes. No more red. Stay away from hurt. Stay away from red.

Okay, Appa. I promise.

-.-.-

The first time she lashed out at her husband happened when they went to a hot spring. Seungwan, being Seungwan, nearly drowned after humoring Seunghee’s antics, in which she told Seungwan if she’s really Ariel she would be able to breathe underwater. Her husband, always the soft Shon Jinyoung, always the girls’ dad Shon Jinyoung, said nothing against her daughters’ tendency to be curious and go after their interest. Good thing Seungwan wasn’t hurt, only taking a few big gulps of water and a tender bump to her temple. Once she’s away from her daughters’ ears, she made her husband sit down, and whisper-scream at him.

I can’t be the only one who’s going into a near cardiac arrest every time they’re pulling a stunt!

Sweetheart, they’re children, curious children. As long as they’re not hurt, it’s okay.

It is not, she seethed.

He sighed. What should we do, then? We can’t forbid them from doing this and that.

I don’t know. Do something. I’m not the only parent here, aren’t I? I can’t always be the strict parent to your fun one!

He looked hurt, understandably. I’m sorry.

You’d better. She exhaled loudly, dropping to the bed, hands on her face. I swear, Jinyoung, every time I see them take two steps away from me, it feels like my heart is running outside my chest.

Shuffling to sit next to her, he put a hand on the small of her back. He said nothing.

My heart, goddammit, she repeated. Running outside my chest. How do I put it back inside? How?

You’re a good mom, he said. I’m a lucky husband and dad.

She spent the rest of the evening crying in his arms. She would spend much longer time later trying to put her heart back inside her chest for years—to no avail.

-.-.-

The first time she was called to school was because of Seunghee. Apparently, her firstborn had roundhouse-kicked a boy during PE. Worse, the boy was two years her junior and was in Seungwan’s class. She dusted off one of her work blazers, called upon her old self the field coordinator for many household NGOs, and went to see the school’s principal with her head high. After the talk, she was left in the principal’s office with her daughter to, in the principal’s words, instill motherly discipline in her.

This is not why I approve you taking taekwondo class, she said through gritted teeth.

Seunghee had a bruise on one corner of , and she winced when she scowled. Principal Baek was wrong.

Then tell me where she went wrong.

It wasn’t unprovoked, Eomma. I’ve been patient for a long time.

A long time how?

Seunghee scowled again. Eomma, remember the stupid boy who tried to kiss Seungwan before? He’s the same Song Beumsoo, okay.

She straightened up, fear creeping along her spine.

He’s been teasing Seungwan more often, okay, Eomma. Waiting after class to talk to her, pulling her hair, her skirt, her bag. Telling everyone he and Seungwan are gonna date once they’re in junior high. That garbage mouth. I wish I’d kicked him harder.

She slapped her daughter’s knee, softly though. You know I don’t like violence, Seunghee.

Eomma, he’s dumb and just won’t listen.

Why didn’t Seungwan tell me anything?

I don’t know. Seunghee shrugged. Maybe you never asked her?

Oh the way her heart squeezed itself again. Alright, alright. I’ll talk to her, okay. And you—you need to stop.

You asked me to keep an eye on her!

But not like this. She cupped her daughter’s face in her hands, her thumb softly rubbing the bruised lip. You’re a great sister, Seunghee. Seungwan looks up to you, and I’m just afraid she’ll copy what you do. What if you two get into a bigger trouble? Who’s gonna look out for Seungwan when I’m not around?

Her firstborn sighed heavily. Oh the dramatic trait she inherited from her husband. Okay, Mom, she mumbled, in English. Okay. Okay, alright.

When they exited the office, Seungwan was waiting outside. She jumped from the bench and glomped onto Seunghee, arms around her sister’s neck. Eonnie, I don’t like it when you’re fighting, she flat out told her.

What are you talking about? I did it for you, silly, her firstborn said, her rubbing Seungwan’s back going against the reluctant bite of her words.

Well, eonnie, you got hurt, too, so it makes me sad.

Urgh. Whatever.

Did Eomma scold you?

Of course not!

Oh good, then. I’m glad. I don’t like it when you have a fight with Eomma, too.

She patted them on the head. Seungwan clung to her leg as they walked to the car, while she held Seunghee’s hand in hers.

-.-.-

Came summer 2003, her husband’s brother Namjoon invited them to visit him in Canada. Thought to be a Bohemian, lifelong bachelor, Namjoon surprised the Shons when he married a Korean-Canadian teacher and settled in Brockville, ran a successful Asian grocery, and was now on his way to open a second store. For a bigger surprise, he also offered to host Seunghee and Seungwan for the whole summer, saying they could be playmates to his own daughter.

How it led to Seunghee’s deciding to stay for a three-month junior exchange camp escaped her mind.

I wanna see Eonnie, Seungwan told her in the first week of living in the house as three.

Sighing, she put aside the self-help book she’s reading. Patted her knee. Which Seungwan understood, as she went to sit on her lap. We can’t, she told her. Not yet. Eonnie’s still in camp. She gathered Seungwan’s hair and started to divide it into three sections.

Her baby daughter pouted. I miss Eonnie.

Me too.

Can I go to that camp next?

Cold dread filled her insides. Her hands that had started the braiding process trembled a little. Do you want to, Seungwan? Cros