“It means I don’t want to be treated like your patient.”
Another set of car doors slams shut, but this time, Kyung distinctly hears voices approaching his house, not leaving it.
“That’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m just worried. And I’m sorry to say this, but I think I have a right to wonder what you’re not telling me.” She shoos a mosquito hovering too close to her face. “Besides, it’s not such a hard question.”
“If it’s so easy, then you answer it. How do you feel right now?”
Gillian puts her plate on the ground, pausing as she hugs her knees to her chest. “I feel guilty, Kyung.”
“What do you have to feel guilty about?”
“It’s actually been kind of nice having your dad around. It’s almost as if we have a nanny now, the way he’s always looking out for Ethan. You know they finished the bike this afternoon while you and your mom were cleaning? And I’ve gotten so much reading done since he’s been here.” She stretches out her hand, showing off freshly polished nails, done up in a glittery shade of peach. “This probably sounds stupid, but how long has it been since I had time to give myself a manicure? Or didn’t have to worry about bouncing a check?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. All this time we’ve been together, you had me thinking your dad was such a terrible person, and I’m not saying he wasn’t when you were little, but I wonder if he’s trying to make up for it in some way.”
He’s glad, for her sake, that Jin’s presence hasn’t been the nightmare he assumed it would be. But he bristles at the thought of what Gillian might be saying, that Jin is a better father and provider than he is.
“You have no idea how we used to live. There’s nothing he can do to make up for that.”
Gillian picks up a dumpling, pinching the greasy ball between her fingertips. He watches it slide down the curve of her throat in two labored swallows. She’s deciding whether or not to continue the conversation. He can tell by the way she chews much longer and slower than she needs to.
“I think you have to let people change, Kyung. I think your father probably regrets the way he was with you. Maybe that’s why he’s being so sweet to Ethan now.”
“People can’t change that much.”
“Some people can.”
He rips out a clump of grass and chucks it toward the field. “You’re only saying that because you didn’t know what he was like before. All you see is this nice old man who wants to spend time with his grandson, but he’s still the same person he used to be. Both of them are.”
“You don’t necessarily know that.”
“They’re my parents. I know them better than anyone. Haven’t you even noticed the way they’re just sitting in there, shaking hands and making conversation as if nothing happened to them?”
“Maybe being around their friends makes them feel better.”
He rips out another clump and aims for the clothesline, but comes up short. “This is what they do, Gillian. What they’ve always done. They’re good at putting on a show for people, but it doesn’t mean they’re different inside.”
“Your dad, though, he’s been so helpful these past few days. Isn’t it possible that this experience changed him? I mean, it’s not unusual for victims of trauma to—”
“Stop saying things like that,” he shouts. “Stop talking like you know anything about them.”
A car pulls up to the house with its radio blaring. Gillian turns toward the noise, keeping her face angled away from him after the song ends. He worries that he’s ruining her, ruining the part of her that wants so badly to have faith in people, but this isn’t a subject they can afford to disagree about. He needs her on his side.
“When I was six, my parents got into an argument about something. I’m not sure how it started anymore—it never took much back then—but he went after her with a belt right before we had to leave for an open house at school. So there I was, sitting between them while they’re talking to my teachers, and my dad’s asking all these questions about my grades, while my mom’s sitting perfectly straight, her hair and makeup just right even though her back was covered with gashes. And I remember thinking, even before I really knew the meaning of the word, that my family was just so fucked, and I’d never be able to explain that, because who would believe me? We were all too good at pretending to be normal, like the world would end if anyone realized who we actually were inside—”
He stops when he notices the look on Gillian’s face. She’s devastated—by him, or for him, or maybe both. He can’t remember where he left off, or what more he planned to say. All he knows is that he made a mistake. The story implicates him too.