2013 to 2024

Part 1 of 3

Her daughter was driving. In the passenger seat, her husband dozed off. She’s in the backseat, sprawled and almost losing to the pull to just close her eyes and sleep. They were invited for an evening function with a few Koreans in the southeast neighborhood of the city, and as usual Seungwan was their drop-off and pick-up driver. Her husband and firstborn used to tease Seungwan for her less than brilliant first time driving lesson, which went like this: car, gas, pole. Her husband’s car had to stay in repair for a week. She was just glad that Seungwan only suffered a scratch above her right eyebrow.

Street lights passed by the car, illuminating the figure of her driving daughter in shadow then light then shadow again. She’s humming under her breath. An unknown song. Could be one of the songs she listened from her phone every time she saw her fiddling with her phone. She hadn’t heard or seen Seungwan practice her singing at home this last week.

Nice song.

She almost jumped at the voice of her husband’s low mumble.

Seungwan hummed an affirmative.

Whose song is it?

Just some American R&B singer.

Her husband cleared his throat. I missed listening to your daily practice, he said softly.

Her daughter’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Eomma said you were looking at flights from JFK to Seoul.

It’s cheaper from JFK than from here. Her daughter shrugged.

Her husband was quiet for some time. Then he sighed. Straightened in his seat. Sat up straighter. You know I went to Chicago when I was seventeen, right?

Yes, Appa.

I didn’t tell your grandma because I was afraid she’d say no. Your uncle Minhyun gave me money so that I could apply for the American visa. In the end, I had to tell your grandma. Her husband sighed again. She’s mad, as predicted. But not because of the reason I’d thought. She’s mad because I took my time to tell her. Smacked me in the with her cane, yelling to my face, Am I not your mother, Shon Jinyoung? Did I not give birth to you that you wouldn’t think of asking money from me instead of Minhyun?

Her daughter swallowed a giggle. Even when she’s keeping the level of home conversation at minimum, she’s still a softie at heart. That sounds like grandma, alright, she said.

Her husband chuckled, too. Your grandma signed my paper and went with me to the US Embassy, yes, but I was grounded for three days. Your uncle Minhyun got one day, too. He cleared his throat again. (She reminded herself to make some ginger tea tomorrow.) Darling, he spoke again, hesitated, stopped. Sighed. How’s your flight search going?

It’s her daughter’s turn to sigh. Not… well.

Hm.

Eonnie is helping with it. She said she could get a student discount if she’s booking it with her student email.

Hmmm.

The car turned to Canyon Hill Ave., and Seungwan slowed down further as it reached the house. She stopped in the driveway, turned off the engine, and was about to rouse her mother when her father laid a hand on her arm.

Yes, Appa?

Darling, he said. I’m not mad, okay.

Seungwan nodded. I know. I’m sorry for disappointing you.

Disappointing? My god, no. Not at all. Far from it. Oh darling. He leaned to take her into his arms, and she wasn’t sure if the sniffles were coming from her husband or her daughter. You’re my pride, you know that. Nothing you do will change how proud I am to be your dad.

But—

No. You didn’t disappoint me or Eomma, you hear me? Never, Darling.

Okay.

I’m still not 100% okay with you jetting off to Seoul, but that’s on me, okay. You—you do you, okay, Darling. You only live once, so you live well, yes? You live proudly, yes?

Yes, Appa.

She kept still when her daughter shook her shoulder to wake up. Eomma, we’re here. Once they got inside the house, she turned to Seungwan before she left for her room. Goodnight, Eomma, Seungwan mumbled as she kissed her cheek. She hugged her a second too long, and Seungwan squirmed free of her.

The following week, her husband went with Seungwan to Seoul. It was only after an Asiana split the sky above her head that she let herself break and cry in the parking lot of the airport.

-.-.-

Three months, her husband said. We made a deal, Seungwan and I. If after three months she wanna come back, I’ll march straight to her dorm and bring her home. She’s not gonna leave us ever again. Three months. I promise.

-.-.-

The first month was the hardest, the second the most challenging, and the third making her feel anger like never before. Seungwan updated Seunghee regularly but refrained from calling home too often. This much she knew: the dorm room she’s sharing with other trainees (three bunk beds for six people), the number of newly admitted trainees (thirteen, including the boys), the distance from the dorm to the training ground, the stores Seungwan passed when she walked from the dorm to the train station. Seunghee kept mum about the more detailed things that Seungwan shared with her.

Seungwan’s working hard and doing well, Mom, that’s how Seunghee always told her.

Why am I not enough, child?

Mom, please. Stop. That’s not how it is, and you know it.

But you sister still left, didn’t she? Where did I go wrong, Seunghee? Have I not supported her enough?

Her firstborn’s sigh was long and heavy. She felt guilty to some extent to have to burden her with listening to her, but she had to talk to someone. Or else she’d go crazy. Or else she’d book a flight to Seoul and demanded her youngest be returned to her.

Mom, you and Dad are the greatest parents one can ask. Who else but you two can stand not one, but two hyperfixated daughters like us? I think— her daughter coughed, and she could tell she was uncomfortable, —I think God gave us to you because of that.

God doesn’t let me keep you two longer, she didn’t say.

-.-.-

There’s a journal.

She found it when she was cleaning Seungwan’s room, thirteen weeks into her training. It was a hardcover one, its front embossed with the simple monogram WS. Seungwan wrote tidbits from songs she found, songs she wanted to cover, practice schedule, and a couple dates here and there that marked a meeting, group discussion, or notes from Seunghee (Eonnie: check Susan Fast. Eonnie: check Charles Kronengold).

There’s a line in the journal, written with a thin pencil, its last entry: I hope Eomma will agree to this like she did for Eonnie.

She closed the journal, put it back in the drawer from where she took it, and never read it again. She wondered if her daughter kept another journal and wished she did.

-.-.-

In early December 2012, Seungwan called home and said that half of the trainee roster were cut. As a mother, she wished Seungwan was among those trainees. As a mother, she said, Do your best. Good luck.

-.-.-

Two days after New Year 2013, the three of them went to Seoul to visit the Shon matriarch and Seungwan. Her mother-in-law made it clear that she expected both of her grandchildren. What greeted them at the dining table was nothing less than what she’d thought her mother-in-law would do.

Seungwan, sit next to me, child, her mother-in-law said.

Yes, Grandma.

Her husband took her other side. She sat next to him, Seunghee across.

Her mother-in-law took Seungwan’s hand in hers. Child, you need to eat more. The last time I saw you—how long has it been? Three years? Four?

Three, Grandma.

Yes, yes. Four. Look at you, all bones and skin.

Seungwan only laughed, softly. I’ve been busy, Grandma.

Busy? Doing what? Aren’t you in college like your sister?

The other three pairs of eyes were on them. She could almost see what’s going to happen next: Seungwan who couldn’t lie would tell her grandmother everything, her mother-in-law who couldn’t accept a philistine taste would disapprove, and dinner would stretch into a giant mess.

Dancing.

Dance? You’re taking a dance class? Oh my, you need to show me one day.

Seungwan laughed again. Pop dancing, Grandma. Like what Americans do.

Americans, her mother-in-law repeated, scrunching her nose in distaste. I want to say I’m surprised, but I gave birth to Minhyun, Namjoo, and your father. Nothing in this world can surprise me.

There’s an imaginary, collective exhale of relief, she thought. Under the table, her husband squeezed her hand.

After dinner, her mother-in-law told them to bring carefully selected and prepared pastries to the hotel where they stayed. Seungwan took a look at one of the boxes but took nothing. She went with Seunghee for a movie at Sejong Center. Her husband took out a box of tea that his mother had given.

Seungwan’s lost a little weight, don’t you think so?

Mm. Being away from your cooking will do that.

I think we should tell your mother.

He the water heater then turned to her. Sweetheart, we have discussed this. I really don’t wanna risk Seungwan’s getting less than 100% support from the family.

That was on us. She watched him flinch. Your brothers are fine with it.

You’ve never seen my mother get angry, he said. I’m her son. I have. She’s— he exhaled loudly. One year. Let’s give it a year, sweetheart. Then we tell my mother and your father.

Why? Do you think what Seungwan is doing right now something you can’t be proud of?

That’s not—no—you know I’m always proud of our girls.

The kettle whistled. She took over and grabbed it. Pour a little to the tea pot, shook the pot briefly, then poured some more. It’s hibiscus—Seungwan’s favorite. Her mother-in-law remembered.

She poured him the tea an