Page 18 of I'll Be the One

“She had to go run some errands. Today’s a slow day, so I told her she could take care of them and come back later,” Mom replies, still looking at the orchids like she’s talking to them and not me.

“I see.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.

Sally is usually the one who fills the gaps in conversation between Mom and me. She’s the bridge between us that makes us seem like we’re at least acquaintances and not just total strangers. But the truth is, we barely know each other.

I make myself comfortable at Sally’s desk and pull up some homework from our school’s Google Drive. This is what I usually do on Mom’s slow days, and it’s how I used to do most of my homework as a kid when Mom didn’t want to leave me alone at home. Sally never minds; in fact, Mom and she always encourage it because they know all my schoolwork is online.

Despite how strained things are between Mom and me, this routine feels familiar. Comforting, even. Physics is as confusing as usual, and I’m so caught up in one of the questions that I don’t notice that Mom is staring at me until she says, “Haneul, we have to talk.”

Immediately, my hands clench into fists as I look up at her, all traces of whatever comfort I was feeling gone with just those five words. For some reason, she’s unhappy with me again. I can see it written all over her frowning face.

“Do you really have to go to danceandvoice practice?” Mom asks. “I read the email you forwarded me, and it sounds like you’ll have to go to LA every weekend. I suppose, next week, your father can drive you, but what about after that? How on earth are you going to get there?”

I should have known this was coming. Luckily, I already worked out the kinks with Lana during our drive back.

“My friend Lana said she could drive me on the weekends Dad’s not here,” I say. “It works out, since she lives in Irvine. She can pick me up on the way.”

“I see.”

I don’t tell her that our arrangement only works for as long as both of us remain in the competition. Itisa pretty obvious predicament to have, but if Mom suspects anything, she doesn’t show it. I expect her to say more, but she just goes back to rearranging the orchids. She’s moved them back and forth in the same exact place multiple times already. I don’t know which is worse, her explicit disapproval of me dancing in the competition or this passive-aggressive show she’s putting on now.

I wonder if she’ll even acknowledge the show when it airs.

After watching her rearrange the flowers for a bit more, I getout my earphones from my bag. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, fine. I’m not wasting any more time waiting for her too.

Sally comes back later in the day, while Mom’s with one of her afternoon clients. She only has to take one look at my face before she says, “What did Ms. Kang say this time?”

I groan, but not loud enough to be heard over the classical music blaring out from the facial room.

“She was giving me a hard time about the competition again.”

Sally gives me a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Skye.”

“It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s not.

I go back to my homework—APUSH just might be the death of me this year—and I’m about to put on my earphones again when Sally says, “I can’t understand why she can’t be more supportive of you. I mean, she’s shown me clips of you dancing and singing. You’re so talented!”

“She’s shown you clips of me dancing?” I ask, momentarily taken aback.

“Yeah, she has them on her phone.”

I’m struck speechless. Before he moved to NorCal, Dad was the only one who ever showed up to my dance performances, so I always assumed Mom didn’t care about that part of my life. It’s not totally unbelievable for her to have seen the videos Dad recorded. After all, knowing him, Dad probably made her watch them. But for Mom to have the videos saved onherphone? It’s enough for me to doubt whether Sally and I are talking about the same person.

“Oh,” Sally says. “You didn’t know she has them.”

“I didn’t know she evensawthem.”

Sally sighs. “She’s watched all of your performances. And shown me a couple. I really do think she’s proud of you, in her own weird little way. She’s just too afraid of other people. And what they might think. I’m not saying that this makes the things she says to you okay. None of what she says is okay. I just... spend too much time with her, I guess. Since it’s usually just her and me in this office all day.”

“She’s mean to me because she’s afraid of... other people? How does that make sense?”

Sally comes over to where I’m sitting in front of her computer. “Scoot over for a second.”

I immediately get up from the seat, because after all, it’s her desk.

As I watch, Sally navigates through several nested folders until she finds one labeled “old family photos” in Korean.

I frown. I didn’t know these even existed.

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