The Fold (12 page)

Helen’s face was almost purple with rage. “I don’t have time for this,” she said gruffly and hurried past.

“Look who’s projecting now,” Joyce said to Helen’s
back. She turned around and caught Apa furtively thumbing through his book, with his back to Gomo and Mr. Moon. Of all the times to be reading, Joyce thought. Apa was really taking this mystery novel a little too seriously.

By the time the dinner rush let up, Gomo and Mr. Moon had finished their meal and were waiting patiently for Helen to join them. Apa stood by their table asking Mr. Moon questions while Gomo fired daggers with her eyes at Apa.

“So, Mr. Moon, do you not agree that women need time to explore their own identity before they settle down?”

Mr. Moon looked confused. “Identity?”

“And in this modern age, do you believe in”—Apa searched for the word—“yes, in fluidity?”

“What?”

Gomo grabbed Joyce’s hand as she was passing. “Hurry and get your sister.”

“Yes, Gomo,” Joyce said and went off to the kitchen to hurry Helen so that she could come and stop Apa from rambling even more. Where was he getting all the weird questions?

“Mrs. Lee,” Joyce said, looking around the kitchen. “Where is Helen?”

Mrs. Lee was cleaning the grill and nodded her head at the storage room.

Joyce walked over and stood in the doorway. Helen was sitting on the exact same sack of rice that Joyce had been sitting on earlier in the evening.

“Helen, what are you doing? They’ve been waiting for you all night,” Joyce said.

“I can’t go out there,” Helen mumbled.

“Why?”

“He’s supposed to be my date. He wants to take me to some karaoke place,” Helen said miserably.

Joyce started to smile. “Ohhhh. He’s from that dating service.”

Helen sighed.

“Well, he’s not that ugly. He probably wants to serenade you. Just make sure not to stand too close to him, in case he trips or something.”

“It doesn’t matter what he looks like or what he wants to sing. I don’t want to go out with him.”

Joyce rolled her eyes. Helen was acting like she had to get a cavity filled. What was so wrong with letting a guy take her out?

“It’s just one date,” Joyce muttered and started to turn away.

Helen’s head sank even farther. “Yeah, right,” she
sighed. “First it’ll be one date and then he’ll start calling and want to have dinner and then he’ll want the kiss good night. And then”—Helen pulled out a small jewelry box from the front pocket of her apron—“they all want more.”

Joyce had never seen Helen so dejected before. Joyce was the one who usually had problems. Not Helen.

Helen fiddled with the box and stared off into space. “Or they start stalking you. Calling your cell phone and dropping by where you work, like that guy earlier tonight.”

Joyce cocked her head. “What guy?”

Helen shrugged and slowly began to open the box. “Some guy from your high school. He was on student council.” She pulled out one rose-colored, heart-shaped gemstone earring. “I think he’s a junior or senior. Why would I date someone as young as my sister?”

Helen placed the earring back in the box and muttered, “It’s like an arranged marriage or something.”

“What’s his name?” Joyce croaked and stepped into the storage room. Her heart was racing like she had just finished climbing the last hill before riding down to her school.

“John.”

“John Ford Kang?”

Helen met Joyce’s eyes. “Who else? There’s only a handful of Asians in your school.”

Joyce strangled back a cry. “He’s a Twinkie. A banana. Why would he want to go out with you? He only dates blondes!” Joyce wailed and grabbed on to one of the shelves for support.

Helen stepped back in surprise. “Calm down, Joyce. Not that I want to date him, but he’s not that bad. I mean, he is kind of player, but he was always really sweet with me. He said he wanted to hang out more with Korean friends. Have you ever talked to him?”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Joyce yelled and turned her back to Helen. Joyce wanted to throw something. She wanted to tear up the storage room and rage against the injustice of it all. Why was Helen always the one everyone wanted? Why wasn’t Joyce ever good enough? Joyce bowed her head and bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying. She was not going to let Helen see her cry.

“Are you okay?” Helen asked, her hand tentatively patting Joyce’s back.

“Don’t touch me,” Joyce mumbled and jerked away from Helen’s touch.

Helen stood still. “Joyce, tell me what’s going on.”

“Leave me alone!” Joyce yelled.

“Girls!”

Helen and Joyce both turned to the doorway. Gomo stood just inside the storage room, firmly clutching her purse with both hands to her stomach as though to shield herself from any muggers that might be lurking in the back kitchen.

“What is all this yelling?” Gomo asked. “Helen, Mr. Moon and I have been waiting for you all night. Do not embarrass me in front of our guest.”

Helen bowed her head.

“He has been very patient.” Gomo beckoned Helen.

Helen walked over to Gomo.

“I’m sorry, Gomo,” Helen said softly.

Gomo stared at Helen’s sorrowful face. She smoothed Helen’s hair back and took in Helen’s oil-splattered apron. “Are you worried about how you look?” Gomo asked. “I have my purse. You may use my makeup if you would like, but you do not need anything. Just change out of your apron. Now, where are the earrings?”

Helen fished inside her pocket and pulled out the small jewelry box.

“Put them on,” Gomo said, smiling. “He will be so pleased to see you wearing his gift.”

Helen carefully took the earrings out of the box
and placed them in her unadorned earlobes. The small heart-shaped jewels perfectly matched the rose blush of Helen’s cheeks.

Gomo beamed with pride as though she had picked them out herself, which Joyce would not have put past her.

“Do not be nervous, Helen. Just be yourself and he will see what a wonderful person you are. Truly beautiful inside and out.” Gomo draped her arm around Helen’s shoulder and shepherded her out of the storage area.

As Helen began to round the corner of the doorway, she glanced back at Joyce. And for a moment, in that last heartbreaking look, Joyce couldn’t tell who was more unhappy, Helen or herself.

Joyce followed them out of the storage room. Helen’s back was hunched forward, her feet barely shuffling along. As angry as Joyce was at Helen, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, too. Gomo pulled on Helen’s arm to make her walk faster. For once, Joyce was relieved not to be the perfect older sister.

joyce
woke up the next morning and walked out into the living room to find most of her family laid up as though she had entered a hospital. And even though it was a Sunday and they should have been getting ready for church, the television was turned on to the Korean channel. Uhmma and Apa sat on opposite ends of the couch. Uhmma was watching television and cradling Apa’s swollen black-and-blue ankle on her lap, while Apa sat on the other side intently reading his mystery novel. Andy sat on a large folded beach towel in the armchair.

Uhmma looked up as Joyce approached. Her forehead was slightly smaller, the skin showing some
wrinkles instead of being taut as a balloon. Joyce leaned over the back of the couch and gave Uhmma a peck on the cheek.

“Are you feeling better?” Joyce asked.

Uhmma nodded, tiny points of light coming from her now visible eyes. She gingerly poked her forehead. “The swelling is going down.”

Joyce studied Uhmma’s eyebrows, which had begun to look slightly off center and crooked now that the swelling had receded. Joyce didn’t want to say anything to make Uhmma more upset. Apa looked up from his book and offered his cheek for a kiss.

“Good morning, Apa,” Joyce said and gave him a peck as well. “Did you find out who did it yet? Your ankle looks better.”

“It does not feel better,” Apa sighed. “I might have to go to the hospital, after all. I will give it one more day of rest.”

Joyce nodded and glanced over at Andy, who was zoning out on the Korean soap opera. “How ya doing, poopy?”

Andy scowled. “Shut up.”

“Joyce, please tell your brother to stop taking the shark liver pills,” Uhmma urged.

“You’re still taking them after all that moaning last night about how Gomo poisoned you?” Joyce asked and walked over to the kitchen to get herself a bowl of cereal.

Andy perked up. “I called Tom this morning to ask if anything unusual had happened to him when he started taking the pills.”

“I can’t believe Tom Koh would admit that he had the runs,” Joyce said, pouring cereal into a bowl.

“Well, he wouldn’t exactly admit to anything, but he did say that whatever it was, it would pass,” Andy said.

“So you two had an entire conversation about diarrhea without naming it?” Joyce poured milk over her cereal. She stared down into her bowl. “Why am I having this conversation before breakfast?”

Andy turned back to the show. “It’s not diarrhea. It’s a side effect. And it should stop after my body gets used to the pills.”

Uhmma shook her head. “The pills are too strong for you.”

“I just want to try them for another week,” Andy pleaded.

The phone rang. Joyce picked it up.

“You’ll never guess who had the eyelid surgery,” Gina said.

Joyce took a bite of her cereal. “How did you know it was me?” she crunched into the phone.

“Well, everyone in your family is injured, and Helen picked up my mom for the early church service, so that just leaves you.”

Joyce was impressed. She took another bite of cereal before she realized that, once again, she was carless. Helen had been the good girl, waking up early to fill in for Uhmma. Usually, Uhmma and Mrs. Lee went to the early morning service so that they could help prepare the food to set out for fellowship after the regular service.

“So are you going to guess?”

Joyce crunched some more. “Uhm, I don’t know, Lisa Yim.”

“WHAT! How did you know?”

Joyce dropped her spoon. “Really! Lisa Yim had the fold done?”

“You could have at least pretended you didn’t know,” Gina said, her voice deep with disappointment.

“Honestly, I was just guessing!” Joyce fiddled with her spoon. Lisa Yim was one of the pretty college girls that
had started going to their church this fall. She and Helen attended the same university, but they never socialized. Lisa tended to hang out with a more sophisticated group. She was originally from New York City, which gave her an air of authority and made her instantly hip.

“Wow! I had no idea. I mean, she came to church with her eyes already creased and everything. I just thought they were natural, like Sharon Kim’s. Remember, there was that one time Lisa’s boobs grew, like, two bra sizes, and we talked about how she must have had some work done, but that was just a joke. That was a joke, right?”

Gina sighed. “I don’t know about her boobs, but she definitely got the folds.”

“How do you know for sure?”

Gina started to get excited again as she retraced the Korean grapevine she had tapped for the information. She went through about six unfamiliar names before she got to one that Joyce recognized. “Mrs. Shin.”

Joyce gasped. “Mrs. Shin never talks smack!”

“I know!” Gina squealed back. “That’s how I know this is one hundred percent true.”

“Wow,” Joyce said again and leaned over her bowl of cereal.

“So, we’ll ask her about the surgery at church today and you can get firsthand information.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Joyce said, standing up straight. “I can’t just go up to Lisa Yim and ask her about her eyelid surgery.”

“Why not?”

“That’s just weird.”

“Don’t you want to know?”

“Well, yeah. But.”

“But what? Just ask her.”

“It seems too personal.”

“Oh, please. We live in Los Angeles County, how personal can plastic surgery be?”

“You have a point.”

“I’ll pick you up for church in half an hour.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Joyce put down the phone and resumed eating her now soggy cereal. Lisa Yim. Wow. She was so pretty. And confident. She was always making announcements about some Bible study group or after-church volleyball game.

“Lisa Yim is a babe,” Andy called out.

Joyce gave up trying to eat her cereal and put her bowl in the sink.

“Stop eavesdropping, Andy,” Joyce said as she walked back to her room to change for church.

“Stop talking so loud,” Andy called after her.

Joyce and Gina stood outside on the lawn after church service was over. A row of bushes separated them from the cement courtyard outside of the fellowship hall. Joyce and Gina tried to look nonchalant as they spied through the leaves and branches at Lisa Yim and her entourage of college men. When she wasn’t the one talking, widening and narrowing her eyes with drama, Lisa sipped her coffee and listened, smiling provocatively, her head tilted just so in a gesture of extreme interest.

Joyce stared over Gina’s shoulder and licked her chocolate-glazed doughnut while making a mental note to practice smiling like Lisa in the mirror when she got home.