The Sea King takes pity on Sim Cheong, and because of her enduring loyalty to her father, he rewards her by placing her in a lotus blossom and sending her to the top of the sea. The sailors who cast her out discover the giant blossom and haul the flower aboard to take back to the king. In the palace, the blossom petals unfurl to reveal Sim Cheong. The king falls instantly in love—lust, more likely—and asks for her hand in marriage. Sim Cheong agrees but requires that a wedding banquet be held for all the blind. Sim Cheong waits until her father arrives at the palace grounds and calls out to him. In this moment, Sim Bongsa’s eyes are healed, and with his new vision, he is able to see his daughter for the first time.
I finish the story and drum my fingers against the paperback. A traditionalist like Choi Yusuk would like this story. Sacrifice everything for your parents, including your life, and you will be richly rewarded. I wonder if Yujun knows this story. He must since it is so famous, but it isn’t controlling his life. I need to learn from that.
Wansu will relent, eventually. My coworkers will see that I’m a hard worker who deserves a job, and when the other women go to the bathroom, they’ll invite me to join them. After the hweshik—company dinner—which we all hate, we’ll skip out on the second round of drinks at a different bar, shove the drunk men into a taxi, and escape to a noraebang, where we will sing our favorite idol songs, pretend we are onstage, and drink until we have to be poured into taxis. It will be fun and bonding and we will laugh about how they all thought I was this nepotistic hire but I’m really a decent person whom they are so happy to have as a coworker. Soyou especially won’t have a pinched expression around her mouth when I call her sunbae-nim. Hell, she might even invite me to call her sunbae, dropping the honorarium -nim.
I finish reading a passage in the book, tuck the folded sticky note I use as a bookmark between the pages, and stow the collection away in the bedside drawer, refusing to admit how sad my fantasies are. I fuss with the covers again.
Sae Appa, your son is so handsome and good. You would be so proud of him. He’s open-minded, sweet, and good at his job. You raised him right. Your ancestors are cheering you on. You should wake and see what he has done, and Wansu misses you. She comes here every night. I hope you enjoy the dramas.
I pat the side of the bed because it feels wrong to touch him, even his hand. He hasn’t given me permission to do so. I wonder again about Wansu. She doesn’t have many friends that I’ve seen. We haven’t had a house party or even a single guest in the six weeks I’ve lived with her. She spends her nights with her unconscious husband watching melodramas. Her mornings are given to tending a collection of small bonsais and reading.
Ellen watches game shows and reality television, and if the circumstances were reversed and Yujun was Ellen’s son, she would’ve had a party the second night and invited everyone within a fifty-mile radius. She goes to pottery parties, martini nights, knitting socials. She’s dragged me to dozens of these events, where I slink to the back, drink copious wine, and find my way home with a dubious craft that sits on a shelf collecting dust for months until I finally stow it away with the sweatshirts from college that I can’t seem to get rid of even though I never wear them.
Since I moved in, only Wansu and I have ever sat at the large walnut table that seats twelve, and every night after dinner, Wansu retires to this room and this man. And then there’s Yujun. We’ve never really discussed his father, which is my fault. I’ve been so focused on my own drama that I haven’t made time for him. I need to do better.
Outside the bedroom, Yujun is seated on a bench that wasn’t there before. “My legs were tired,” he says by way of explanation.
“Did you wait here the entire time?”
“I said I would. I didn’t want to break my promise again.” He stands and tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, leading me toward the stairs.
The last time he told me he’d be waiting was right after I discovered Choi Wansu was my biological mother. I went to her office to confront her and ran into Yujun. He’d said he would wait for me while I confronted Wansu, but when that first disastrous meeting had concluded, he was gone. He had been called away to see his father.
My apology is long overdue. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before I was spending time with your dad.”
At the first step down, he stops and turns. We’re almost eye to eye. “Why would you need to apologize for that?”
“Because it feels like something you should’ve known, and I wasn’t trying to hide it, but it felt awkward to bring it up.” Because your dad’s unconscious and can’t give his consent to me, the interloper, being in his room.
“It’s fine. It really is, and I’m not merely saying that.” He tugs me down for a quick kiss. “Eomma is on her way home. This will have to last until tonight.” He wipes his finger across my wet lips. The touch is fleeting but I feel it everywhere. “Come and keep me company while I unpack.”
I let it go. Yujun believes this is my home now as well. It’s not. His rooms are on the opposite side of the house, far away from mine. It’s different over here—warmer and more inviting. When Wansu gave me the tour, she opened the door to his room for all of a half second. I caught a glimpse of wood and carpet before I was hustled back into the living room.
The floors are mahogany and the walls are painted a dark blue. A large king-size platform bed rests on a raised floor. On the level below is a large-screen television, a black velvet sectional, and a desk. Around the corner is a small eat-in kitchenette with a sink, microwave, and hot plate and doors leading to his en suite bathroom and a dressing room full of sneakers, hats, and enough jackets for every day of the month. A large suitcase rests open on a bench.
“What story are you on?” he asks as he begins to unpack.
“ ‘Sim Cheong.’ ”
“ ‘Sim Cheong’?” He hoots. “Going for the traditionals. Let me sum them all up for you. Be selfless, put your family first, and you will be rewarded. Have you read the goblin one?”
“As in the great and lonely god?” There’s a dreamy K-drama based on the story of a goblin god.
“No. The one about the two brothers. I won’t spoil it for you since you haven’t reached it.”
“I’ll get there eventually. I found the book in the English section at Kyobo in Gwanghwamun.” Above his desk is a shelf lined with trophies. I don’t know what they’re for, but he has a lot of them. “Bomi says that there is a Korean version, but I didn’t want to torture your father with my terrible pronunciation. I did buy some children’s books. Maybe when I finish with the Korean folktales, I’ll move on to one of those.”
“I’ve read Where’s Halmoni? to my cousins a dozen times. You should try that one.” His voice fades in and out as he moves around in his dressing room.