The phone rings a minute later. Mom again.
My palms tingle. She never calls twice like that. I pick up. “Mom?”
There’s a quick gasping noise. “Ari? Sweetie?”
It must be bad. “Mom, is everything okay?”
“He’s safe, that’s what you need to know. I don’t want you to worry. Do you hear me?”
I hear the words, but it’s hard to understand, as if my brain is sifting out every second syllable, leaving me with a broken message. Everything goes very slow.
“Mom? What’s going on? Is it Dad?” I stumble over the words.
“He’s at the hospital. We’re at the hospital.”
“Mom!”
“He’s okay. It’s fine.” Is she reassuring herself or me? The first is scarier. “He had a heart attack, sweetie. The ambulance came, and he’s going to be fine, I promise.”
“What hospital?”
“You don’t need to come. They said he’ll be out in a couple days. He doesn’t need surgery.”
“I saidwhat hospital.”
She sighs and tells me, then she says, “I called your sister.”
I take a moment to absorb my rage that she called Phoebe before she called me. Now’s not the time. “Okay.”
We hang up, and I watch my hands shake. Dad had a heart attack. He could have died. What if Mom hadn’t been there to call an ambulance? What if he’d been alone?
I don’t even notice I’ve moved to the living room and am standing in the middle of the floor until Jihoon cracks open his door.
He’s in front of me immediately, hands warm on my shoulders. “Ari, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to tell him that nothing happened and I’m fine, but instead I tell the truth. “My dad’s sick. He had a heart attack. He’s in the hospital.”
He steps in and tucks my head under his chin as I sniffle. I’m notcryingcrying, but I can’t seem to control the speed of my breath or the tears leaking from my eyes. Jihoon whispers softly in Korean as his hands stroke down my arms. He walks us to the couch and urges me to sit beside him without letting my wrist go.
The comfort of his touch wars with my shame at crying in front of a relative stranger. I choke out a laugh to try to save some dignity. “Sorry I got your shirt all gross.”
I expect Jihoon to take the out I’m offering and make a joke that will be the first step in extricating himself, but he only looks at me. “Is your father safe?”
“Yes.” My breath is light and uneven.
“Your mother. She’s safe?”
“Yes, with Dad at the hospital.” I feel a little stronger. In this moment, they’re both safe, and I cling to that.
He hums an acknowledgment and sits with me silently, not loosening his hold, as I alternate between staring mindlessly at the red lines threading through the floor rug and thinking through what I need to do.
Finally I pull back and wipe my face. “I need to go to the hospital.”
He nods and releases me.
Although my thoughts are darting around, my body sits unmoving on the couch. Keys. I need my keys and my wallet. Should I change? Call a cab. No, drive. A cab is better. What do I need to bring? ID? It’s all so draining. I feel I need to move slowly, almostgingerly, like something in me will break if I rush, but I’m filled with a contrary need to hurry.
Jihoon’s dark eyes are trained on me. “Ari? What do you need?”
