PRESENT DAY

Without even realizing, my hand slid into my pocket to pull out my cellphone to compulsively to check the time for the millionth time today.

3:00 PM.

I cursed the slow crawl of time on this nothing-to-do-but-wait day. The whole rest of today remained before night would fall; then I’d toss and turn all night in anticipation. When I woke tomorrow morning, I’d finally leave for Jeju and Bora-do. I’d been waiting my whole life to visit the island where dreams came true (at least in dramas), to gather shells from the seashore, to see in person the house I’d only ever seen pictures of. I should have been accustomed to waiting, but on these last few hours were killing me.

As I exited my room, I saw JooHee hysterically crying in the hall.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I leaned over her prostrate form. Just what “horrible” calamity had befallen my step-sister now?

She rolled over, hair clinging to her damp cheeks, chest heaving with the force of her sobs.

“O-o-oppa is rumored to be d-d-dating Im YooNa,” she answered with a fresh sob.

“Who and who?”

“Lee Seung Gi oppa--the drama star--and stupid Im YooNa from SNSD!” she lashed at me through the tears.

I guess that’s what happens when you don’t keep up with pop culture in your native country.

“Come on Kang JooHee. No celebrity is worth this kind of ridiculous grief.”

“Oppa is!”

I reached toward her with a tissue I pulled from my pocket. “How can you breath with all that snot on your face?”

She swatted the tissue away. “Take your practicality elsewhere. I don’t want it Ki-Ti**!”

**기 디 is the Korean equivalent of the English Kitty, as in a kitten. It’s pronounced with long “i” sounds: KEE-TEE.

“MiYoung,” I reminded her through my teeth. It’d been three years since I’d dropped the nickname cold. How many times did I need to tell her to not call me by that awful name. “And of course you don’t want it. You just want to mope in the hall over a man you’ve never even met.”

“Not true! SeoYeon and I skipped school one day to camp outside his agency, and we caught a glimpse of his him as he rushed to get in his car. And another time we heard he was at a Starbucks getting coffee so we followed him around taking pictures with other fans.”

She called it being passionate. But there was only word for it in my mind: sasaeng.

“I stand corrected. You want to cry over a man you’ve harassed a couple times.”

She glared at me while screaming, “Omma! Ki-Ti is being unbearable again!”

“MiYoung,” I said, my own anger flaring.

“Oh not now JoonHee!”

The next second she marched into the hall. She had not even stopped at the entryway to remove her shoes. Her chest heaved with anger.

JooHee took one look at her mom and dashed off to her room, presumably to write an angry post on a fansite.

“Is it true? Can it possibly be true?” HeeSoo asked.

I pulled out my phone and opened my Spanish flashcards app.

In an instant she stalked over to me, her heels making hard clicks on the floor, and snatched the phone from my hand.

“I asked you if it was true,” her voice low and trembling. “Did you receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Lee and reject him? Without even consulting with me?”

I swallowed my nervousness and lifted on shoulder in an attempt at a casual shrug. “What was there to consult about? You know how I feel about marriage. Besides it was Mr. Lee! The man is the walking-dead!”

“Even better! You two marry, you change his will, he dies, and you inherit all his money! How could you have thrown away such an opportunity?!”

My upper lip curled in disgust. This was one of the reasons why I called her by her name--HeeSoo--instead of omma; this woman didn’t deserve my respect. “I’ve told you many times before that I have no intention of marrying. Ever. Now please give me my phone back. I’m practicing my Spanish.”

“Spanish!” her voice was high and mocking. “‘Oh no omma! I don’t want to do anything sensible like marry well. I only want to run off to Spain with my crazy aunt and throw away every potential opportunity in Korea at making a good match.”

I stood, my face hot. “I do not think my goals, though different from yours, qualify as a waste--”

“Your goals! That’s rich!” She paced in front of me, her shoes clicking hard with every step. She thought it was ridiculous enough that I went to college after high school, but now that I was done and not interested her next logical step--marriage--I was certified insane. “What exactly are your goals?”

“You know my goals,” I muttered.

She stopped pacing as she stood in front of me with her hands on her hips, “What goals? To disappoint me? To turn into a spinster like that crazy sister of your father’s? And Spain?! As if you weren’t enough of a burden to me with that stubbornness just like your father’s--”

I lifted my chin willing it not to quiver. “I care about more than that. I care about MiJoon. I care about Alma. I care about architecture. . .”

“This is the end Kim MiYoung,” she said, raising a finger and shaking it in my face. “I’ve had enough of your willfulness. I will show you that I know what’s best for you. You will not go to Spain. I will call your aunt and tell her I made up my mind. And--” She grabbed my chin and leaned in so close to me I could smell the hint of wine on her breath as she whispered, “--and you will not go to Jeju and your precious Bora-do. You will stay here and learn your proper place.”

She released my chin with a flourish as triumph blazed in her dark eyes.

I shook my head, heart pounding. “No! Please! Not Jeju! Please don’t take Bora-do from me--”

“No? No?” She held up one finger and motioned to my room. “Go unpack your bags Ki-Ti,” that horrid nickname spat out of as she overemphasized the syllables.

I stared at her eyes. I saw in them the cold tenacity of a bear trap. She would take Bora-do and the hope of Spain from me, and there was nothing I could do to stop her. There was no prying myself loose from her grip, no freeing myself from her will.

“My name,” I said in a low voice, “is MiYoung. Not Ki-Ti!”

I marched past her, scooped up Alma, and left the hall without crying. Alma scratched my cheek in an attempt to wiggle away, but I did not cry. As I walked the remaining steps down the hall to my room, I did not cry.

I locked the door behind me, set Alma down on the bed, and in a flash of gray fur she darted under the bed. I clutched my hair with both hands and paced the floor, fighting back the urge to cry. I should have guessed something like this would happen. That was typical HeeSoo so swoop in and ruin everything I’d planned. But even more infuriating was the fact that I was wholly powerless. True, I’d just graduated from college and was of legal age, but I’d yet to find a job and school had left me so in debt that there was no choice but to move back home until I could save enough for my own place and, eventually, Spain.

My hands shook as I knelt before the wooden chest my father had given to me before he passed. I removed the key from its hiding place under my dresser. I looked at the lock I’d not turned in ages. Finally, I took a deep breath, inserted the key, and raised the lid.

The scent of cedar wafted up. It smelled like my childhood. I lifted the small model from inside the chest. It was always lighter than I thought it’d