She crossed her heart and threw away the key, getting another giggle out of me.
“Okay,” I breathed, plucking up the shattered bits of my courage. “When Omma threw me out, I was two weeks away from my eighteenth birthday. Two weeks from being an adult, and not qualifying for any of the protections or help that would apply to abandoned minors—and that’s exactly what the shelter workers told me.
“All the things that a youth shelter would’ve done for me or helped me with, would evaporate in only a few days, so there wasn’t much point. That left me with only the adult shelters that weren’t focused on mental health or education. It was all about helping me get a job, get a place to live, and then get out.
“Not that the staff weren’t all nice and helpful people,” I added. “But all of a sudden, I had to be completely independent immediately when a few weeks before, I couldn’t be trusted to go to the bathroom without permission and a hall pass.”
Courtney snorted, bobbing her head in agreement.
“To me, I was still a kid clinging to all my privileged dreams of Ivy League colleges, summering in Europe, and interning at a prestigious law firm. All I knew to do was to keep trying to make those dreams come true. I had no idea how to transition from all of that to sleeping in my car and trying to explain to managers why they should hire me and my lack of experience over dozens of qualified applicants. But,” I cried, voice rising, “because my mother happened to expel me from her womb eighteen years prior, I was expected to just magically figure it all out!”
“Preach, baby.”
“Now, after all this time, that idea just seems more and more ridiculous.” I was gaining steam and nothing was slowing me down. “Society expects our parents to prepare for every possibility and every outcome. Putting aside the fact that literally no one can do that because some things just have to be lived—we’ve also got the parents that just flat-outrefuse to.
“Omma and Appa did very little that amounted to actual parenting of me and Sue. The nannies raised us. The groundskeeper taught us how to ride bikes. Our friends played with us. Our teachers taught us. Our tutors helped us with homework. Our chef showed us how to make Korean food. And our Korean tutors and extended family taught us our culture and traditions! Can you even comprehend that, Court? Our parents outsourced teaching us their heritage!”
“I can believe that of your parents for sure,” she mumbled. “Sorry if that’s a bitchy thing to say.”
“It’s not bitchy if it’s true! But how is being raised by people being paid to do a job, and don’t give a shit about you outside of it, supposed to prepare you for the real world?”
“It doesn’t.”
“How do two cold and neglectful parents provide the stability a new adult can build their life on?”
“They don’t,” Courtney said.
“Exactly. That’s why I’ve always felt we’ve needed something more. Something for the eighteen-year-old who gets thrown out onto the street because their sister is a psychopath who ripped her future away, but oh well, she’san adult now and figure it the fuck out on her own,” I said. “Something for the college dropout who runs away because the emotional load got too heavy for their mental health to carry.
“Something for the foster kid who had to take a job working for a drug dealer because, even though his foster parents are good people, not even the money from the state is enough to pay for his care and the care of his sisters. And they certainly won’t have enough to keep housing him after he ages out of the system.
“Who cares about those people? Who’s helping them? Who still wants to see them make their dreams come true?”
“Well, that’s easy.” Courtney smiled at me. “Sarang Kim does.”
A silly blush crept up my cheeks. “I told you, it probably won’t work, but I’d like to offer something better for people who are lost and just need a little help. We’ve got all of these different programs run by all of these different organizations. The youth center run by the local high school. The food pantry run by the local church. The housing voucher program run bythe government. The shelter run by the local charity. Andallwith different rules and requirements for who they’ll help and how.
“Wouldn’t it be great to have access to all of these resources in one place with all of it freely given without having to prove you deserve it?”
She paused in her baking to face me. “I mean... yeah, that would be great, but how would that work?”
“I want to build a community—a real one. With rent-free units, food pantries with fresh produce, tutors for wherever you are in your education, job assistance, language programs, on-site and free daycare, on-call doctors and psychiatrists, affordable medical care and prescriptions at a heavy discount, and community shuttles that’ll get everyone around town for free.
“All of that, but no curfews that lock someone out into the cold just because the buses stopped running and they had to walk three miles from work. No stuffing thirty people into a tiny room with ten bunk beds. No living on canned food and ramen because it’s too hard and expensive to source fresh, organic fruits and vegetables.”
“All of that sounds amazing, Sarah, but how would you fund this paradise?”
“Annnd that’s where the dream stops,” I sang, slumping over the metal surface. “The money to make it happen. Maybe if I were more like Sue was, I could figure out how to take my dream from fantasy to reality. She was the creative one. She was the persuasive one. She was the ruthless one who could forge ahead without considering anyone else’s thoughts or opinions. She was the one who could turn an idea into a successful business.”
“Successful business?” Courtney picked up her tray of strawberry cheesecake cookies and carried them to the oven. “What are you talking about?”
“SueNation.” I started picking up the whisk, mixing bowl, and cookie scoops. “She told me all about how she and her business were the headliners at last year’s Lantana Street Fair. Took great pleasure in telling me about it, now that I mention it.”
A strange noise sounded behind me.
I dropped the scoops in the sink, spinning to blink at a doubled-over, wheezing, knee-slapping, guffawing Courtney.
“She told you... she was... headliner!? Aha!” she cried, almost toppling into the oven. “Hera help her, Sarah, your sister wasn’t just a liar. She was deranged! How can anyone sane rewrite history like that with a straight face!”
