Sunny was thinner, these days. Hwa wasn’t sure how that could be possible, but it was true. She had never been a big eater. Starting a modelling career at eleven years old did that to a woman. Food was the enemy. Hwa’s earliest memory of actually being allowed to finish a meal was sharing a pot of ramen with her brother. He always added fun things, like eggs or hot dogs. He knew how to cut the hot dogs so they made octopus shapes. And he let her have the pot while he took the lid, so she wouldn’t burn her fingers.
If there were jelly shots embedded in the carpet, there was probably vodka in the place. Hwa ditched the tongs and moved to the freezer. Inside was a mother-lode: vodka, gin, local screech, applejack, all sandwiched between fever packs and ice cubes in heart-shaped moulds.
<<I went and saw you. At the hospital.>>
Hwa pulled out a mostly finished bottle of vodka and shut the door. Sunny was still watching the screen. “When?”
<<Yesterday. You were asleep.>>
“I was in a coma.”
Sunny shrugged. <<You seemed fine. So I left.>>
Hwa didn’t know what to say. She had not been aware, until now, that there was a wrong way to be in a coma. “Okay…”
<<And you shouldn’t drink that. Not if you’re on drugs.>> Hwa looked at the bottle in her hand. Sunny was right. She hated when Sunny was right. But the woman had spent more than her fair share of time in hospitals. She knew how to recover. “Yeah.”
<<You shouldn’t be drinking my liquor, anyway. It’s expensive. Buy your own.>> Hwa put the bottle back and went back to the kimchi. Sunny stood up. She stretched.
<<Your boss is a nice man.>>
Hwa felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Master control room, she reminded herself. “He’s not my boss anymore. I quit.”
Sunny affixed her with a glare that was pure disdain. <<Of course you did.>> “They almost got me killed,” Hwa said, and hated herself for even feeling an urge to explain.
Sunny sighed, and before she even opened her mouth, Hwa knew which of her many girl-group stories she would tell. <<I did a show in Incheon, once, and—>> “And your hair caught on fire, during the encore. And you didn’t complain. I know.”
Sunny rolled her eyes. <<Are you spending the night?>> Not staying. Never staying. Just crashing. Always imposing. Always in the way.
“Just for tonight.”
<<Good.>>
Sunny left for the professional side of the apartment. Hwa put away the kimchi and found an unopened toothbrush in the washroom. She brushed her teeth for longer than strictly necessary. Eventually, she would have to enter the room. Hwa thought of this as she stared at her face in the mirror. Sunny was right. She really did look like shit. More so than usual. Her stain was dark and her skin was dull. Her lips were too big. They looked stupid on her, like a distracted assembly-line worker had slapped someone else’s mouth on her face.
She looked herself straight in her bad eye. “Stop being such a pussy.”
Tae-kyung’s room still smelled the same. She had known it would, but somehow it still surprised her. It was like he was still there. There was his bed, with the sheets still on it. His winter blanket still lay folded at the end of the bed. His training gloves still hung on the wall.
Sunny had moved the trophies to a cabinet at the foot of the bed, where Tae-kyung might have seen them if he were still sleeping in it. They were all out of order. Hwa put them back in place. Chronological order from left to right. Linear time. No more Singularity bullshit. No more ghosts. Everything neat and tidy and dead and gone.
Tae-kyung had a shot at going pro. Anyone could see that, looking at all the trophies and ribbons and certificates and belts. His whole history was right there, with words like “finalist” and “winner” and “champion” in big letters with sharp fonts. His future could have been there, too. He could have left home and snagged a management contract and started out on the circuit. He could have made money that way. Not a lot, but enough. He was handsome and funny and fast. He could have been a star.
Instead, he’d stayed home and gotten a job on the rig. He’d set it all aside. Said he could wait. Said he should make some money first. That he couldn’t just leave Hwa with their mother. And that was why he was on the Old Rig when it blew. Because of Hwa.
She was still standing between their two beds when the ping came: “Are you all right?”
Joel. Her specs were gone and her earbud was out, but he still had her info. But it was odd that he’d reach out like this. They hadn’t even known each other that long.
“Doing okay,” she told him.
“Are you really quitting?”
Hwa had no idea how to answer that.
“Is it my fault?” Joel pressed.
“No,” she said aloud, and then pinged: “No. Not your fault. Just not cut out for the job. You were right. I was stupid. It was a stupid idea. Stupid mistake.”
The lights were out and she was almost undressed when the next ping came. It was tough going, with only one arm. She was beginning to wonder if Joel had fallen asleep. But his message came across loud and clear: “Can we still be friends?”
Slowly, her body folded down to the floor. She curled around her wrist, staring at the little window of light in the darkness of her childhood bedroom.
7