“It’s no hassle really. We want you all here, you bring so much life to this house.”
“Can I ask you something?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Did your mother not want to come today?” I asked him. “I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I know that this is a family holiday, I know you guys don’t really speak about her much, but I thought she’d at least…”
“Show up for her children?” He completed my sentence then glanced back at the distance, the fairy lights twinkling above him. “That’s not her style.”
“Oh.” I swallowed hard. “Sometimes I see you explaining certain things to the girls and talking them through hard topics,and it makes me realize that maybe that’s not fair on you, Wynter. You’re offering wisdom before your time. She should be here counselling her kids.”
“I do what I have to, I don’t have the privilege not to. I help my father where I can.”
“But you’re a kid too,” I reminded him. As his eyes turned sad, I regretted making him hurt like that.
“My mother isn’t coming back, Yesoh, and when she was here it was like chasing a ghost. She didn’twantto stay and we didn’t make her,” he explained to me. “We’re whole on our own.”
“I know you are, it’s admirable.” I smiled.
“It’s not like she has to explain British culture to us, we could just crack open any history book to know the depths of that,” Wynter joked. “Or drink earl grey tea and have dry humour.”
“Don’t you have that already?” I chuckled.
“Ah, indeed,” he mused. “Can I confess something, just to you, Yesoh, will you keep it between us?”
Oh. Wynter Kwon had asked me to be his vault. My stomach flipped at the opportunity.
“Of course,” I assured him. “I’m no snitch.”
“I miss her.” He smiled sadly, shaking his head. “Despite how terribly everything ended, despite how easily she walked out I still miss her.”
“Oh…” I acknowledged.
“Do you judge me for it?” he wondered, “is it dreadful?”
“Well now that, that’s notmystyle,” I assured him. “I accept even your dreadful, unacceptable feelings.”
“Thanks,” he responded quietly, his shoulder brushing mine ever so slightly.
I went to the table and cut a piece of pancake onto a tiny plate and approached him, a fork stabbing the piece before lifting it towards his mouth. “Happy Chuseok, Wyn.”
He smiled, letting me feed him a spoonful.
DIARY ENTRY
August 12, Wynter 16 yrs old
My relationship with masculinity has always been like wandering through a maze with invisible walls, like an inherited designer suit that doesn’t quite fit. There are these inferred, but never explicitly stated, rules and regulations that one must follow—I’ve known that from an early age.
Don’t cry, it makes you look weak, play a sport—no, not that one, that’s for girls. Keep women near you, but don’t be friends only with them because then your sexuality is in question, so be friends with guys instead and keep women around for pleasure. Never confront insensitive jokes, otherwise you’ll become the next joke. Don’t spend too much time in the kitchen, go outside, and race cars.
It was all so confusing, especially as someone who was raised entirely differently.
I was raised by a woman who, despite her fleeting nature, instilled a great deal of respect for women in me, and a man who’d have my head on a platter if I was ever out of line. I was always comfortable in my own gradient of masculinity in my home, until I stepped outside and outside forces got to my head.
The first time I remember feeling different was at a beach party I’d gone to with Jax, Cahya, and Beck the summer we were sixteen.
The beach was buzzing under the night sky, the bonfire casting flickering shadows across the sand. Beck had wandered off somewhere, probably with her mystery boy. Laughter and musicwove through the night, and the smell of saltwater and smoke filled the air. Cahya, Jax, and I had barely found a spot to sit when I felt eyes on me—the glances, the giggles, the overly sweet greetings from girls I’d never met.
