Gillian just shrugs. She doesn’t understand the way these people are — all smiles and politeness one minute, then vicious and judgmental the next. He’s known this about them ever since they entered his parents’ lives, felt it in their stares and questions and awkward attempts at conversation. They think he’s a lesser person because he refuses to believe as they do. And Gillian — lapsed Catholic that she is — she matters even less, but she can’t see through their act.
“Where’s Ethan?”
“He’s with your father in the living room.”
“Doing what?”
“I think he’s just playing—”
He leaves her midsentence, sidestepping past the women to rescue Ethan, certain that he’s trapped by a gaggle of old ladies who keep asking if he accepts Christ as his savior. Kyung’s first memory of them is exactly this. A crowd of pinched faces and perfumed hands, all pestering him about things he didn’t understand, words he didn’t even know. He’s not about to let a stranger click her tongue at Ethan and tell him that hell is for bad children who don’t believe.
The living room has been repurposed into a makeshift receiving area, with a long line that extends deep into the hallway. Jin is sitting in an armchair with Ethan on his knee, while Mae is sitting in the chair beside him. The small sofa and love seat are occupied by the very elderly, so the rest have taken to the floor, sitting compactly on their heels or with their legs tucked off to the side. His parents look like a king and queen, surrounded by their court, while a line of visitors slowly moves past to pay their respects. Jin greets them all with the same handshake and hello, but Mae does her best to make conversation, accepting their hugs and kisses with gratitude. Kyung wishes he could hear what people are saying to her and what she’s saying so pleasantly in response, but it’s too hard to make out anything above the din. Occasionally, someone passes through the line and pats Ethan on the head, but no one seems the least bit interested in him, and he only seems interested in his puzzle.
The reverend wades into the middle of the room and claps his hands in the air. “Attention, please. The ladies tell me they’re almost ready, so it’s time to give thanks.”
Everyone reaches for the two people sitting nearest them. Ethan looks around; he seems confused by the sight of so many strangers holding hands. Kyung doesn’t want him subjected to this, but one step forward, and he sees something that forces him to stop. At first, his parents take each other’s hands like everyone else, but as soon as the congregation lowers their heads in prayer, Mae lets go with a violent flick of her wrist. She blames him, he thinks. That’s why they’ve barely spoken ten words to each other since she came home, why she won’t let him sleep in the same room with her. Kyung almost feels sorry for his father. Nat and Dell Perry were twice his size and half his age. There was nothing Jin could have done to prevent what happened to her. He assumes Mae will understand this eventually, but he doesn’t want to rush her to that conclusion. She needs to get there on her own.
After the prayer, the reverend’s wife, Molly, walks into the room and asks everyone to form a line for dinner. The crowd surges toward the buffet as she presents two full plates to Jin and Mae and bows deeply from the waist. Kyung looks for Gillian, who’s nowhere to be found. This is why he always has to remind her how to behave around his parents. She says she knows what to do, and can recite the list as proof, but deference doesn’t come naturally to her. Molly removes two napkins from the pocket of her skirt and spreads them across Mae’s and Jin’s laps. Then she bows again and backs away.
Kyung always feels nervous when he runs into Molly, whom he’s known since junior high. She went by Mi Young back then, and he remembers her as not terribly pretty or smart, but loud and destructive and loose. Among certain types of boys, this latter quality seemed to make up for most of her failings. By the time they started high school, she’d earned an unfortunate nickname for herself. “The Car Wash.” Whenever fifth period approached, Kyung could overhear boys clad in letterman jackets discuss the impending lunch hour: “So who’s going through the Car Wash today?” During their senior year, Molly’s parents caught her in bed with a boy and shipped her off to a private Christian college after graduation. Through friends of friends, Kyung heard that she tried to run away on more than one occasion, so it surprised him when she returned home four years later, born-again and perfect wife material for a young reverend. All of this happened so long ago, but Kyung can’t help comparing the awkward, trampy-looking girl he remembers with the plain but pretty woman she is now.
“Hello, Kyung.” Molly takes both of his hands in hers. “How are you?”
He wonders if she noticed him staring, although it wouldn’t be the first time if she did. Molly, he assumes, is well aware that he admires her, and some part of her secretly enjoys it.
“All right, I guess.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I organized this.”
“You?”
“Yes, my husband said it might be too soon, but I thought your wife — I thought she might enjoy a night off from cooking.”
She glances at Jin, who’s leaning over his plate, shoveling food into his mouth without coming up for air. Kyung assumed he’d been picking at his meals all week because he wasn’t hungry, but he realizes that Jin probably didn’t like Gillian’s cooking. The blood rushes to his cheeks as he watches his father eat like some kind of wild animal. Slow down, he thinks. People will wonder if he and Gillian have been feeding him at all.
“I haven’t seen your son in a while. He’s getting so big,” Molly says. “I bet he’ll want a little brother or sister soon.”
She adds this wistfully, making no attempt to conceal what his parents have speculated about for years — that Molly and the reverend can’t have children of their own. Kyung assumes they’re right. People like the Sungs are all about God and family. They don’t wait to get pregnant. For them, there’s no good or bad time. He wonders what Molly would say if he told her he doesn’t want a second child, that there are days when having one seems like the hardest thing he’ll ever do.
“Ethan hasn’t said anything about siblings yet. A dog, maybe.”
Molly begins to laugh, but quickly cups a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“For laughing?”
“Now’s not the time for it.”
“Better to laugh than cry, right?”
He’s playing a part for her, badly, and the awkwardness of his attempt makes him overheat. He can feel the beads of sweat collecting above his lip, suspended in stubble that he wishes he’d shaved.
“Some of the ladies have offered to stop by and bring you food, or help around the house. Your wife shouldn’t have to take care of so many people on her own.”
She doesn’t, he thinks. That’s what’s so odd about the people from his parents’ church, especially the ones his own age. Most of them grew up in the States or came here from Korea when they were young. But the way they behave around each other — it’s as if they never left. The women are all subservient to their husbands and fathers and in-laws, which always seems so sad to him. Everywhere he looks, a woman is serving a plate of food to someone else. The daughters-in-law are the easiest to spot, the way they seem so eager to please. Kyung has been attracted to Korean girls before, but he never wanted to marry one, not even Molly. He didn’t want to subject someone he loved, or even vaguely liked, to the life of a foot servant like his mother. A few times a year, Gillian plays the part to keep his parents content, but a Korean wife would never be able to pick and choose when to be Korean.
The reverend returns from the kitchen and threads his arm around Molly’s thin waist. “Would you like my wife to make you a plate?”