Six

We have fish again tonight. Umma does her usual routine, peeling off the skin and separating the bones from the flesh as Ji-hyun and I watch. My foot taps against the floor, making the table shake. Ji-hyun puts her hand on my knee to make me stop.

This morning, when my mother pulled the fish out of the freezer, I decided that I was going to be brave. The mackerel sat on the counter for hours, thawing slowly, leaving behind a big pool of water that trickled into the sink. Every time I went to get a glass of water, the fish glared at me, as though it knew what I was about to do.

In spite of the guilt I feel, I have to go through with it. Umma is in a terrible mood today, her spirits even lower than usual. Ji-hyun and I had to drag her out of bed this morning, and since then she’s been moping. This is the only way I can think of to cheer her up and show her that I care about her.

Last night, my father called. It was the first time I’d heard from him since he’d left. Even so, he didn’t say much, letting me do most of the talking. His answers to my questions were hurried and vague.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Oh, this and that,” he said.

“Where are you?”

“I’m close by.”

I could tell that he was trying to hang up as quickly as possible. Perhaps it was because of the person who was there with him. Whoever it was, they were trying to be very quiet, but failing. I could hear noises in the background: soft clicking, the clink of glasses, a muffled sneeze. I pressed the phone harder to my ear, trying to listen. Who was that? Was it his new girlfriend? What did she sound like? Did she have a pretty voice? I was burning with curiosity and asked question after question, trying to make him stay. After a minute, though, Appa hung up with an abrupt goodbye. He didn’t ask about Umma, who was lingering, waiting for the phone, her hand outstretched.

Her face fell. “He didn’t want to talk to me?” she asked.

I considered lying. But what could I tell her that she didn’t already know?

“No,” I said, feeling very sorry. “He had to go. He sounded busy.”

“Okay,” she said in a tiny voice.

Afterward, Umma began cleaning the apartment in a frenzy. Ji-hyun hovered over her as she moved from room to room, throwing me anxious glances over her shoulder. I understood why. Our father hadn’t picked up his belongings after leaving, and his things were still scattered across our apartment. They surprised us unexpectedly, at the worst times, and always when our defenses were lowered. I was worried about what Umma might find.

The other night I stumbled upon a pair of Appa’s sweaty black socks behind the laundry basket in the bathroom. They had been forgotten for months, and seeing them almost made me cry. And in the kitchen drawers I found a stack of his old credit cards, long expired, hidden underneath a pile of unopened mail.

But the worst is when I find the little red-and-white candies that he turned to once he quit smoking. He would never be without them. Now, whenever I catch a whiff of peppermint or hear the crinkle of plastic, I feel a small zap, an electric current that runs through my entire body. A reminder that I once had a father.

“Are either of you feeling brave tonight?” Umma asks. Her chopsticks hover above the fish’s head.

“I am. I’ll try the eye,” I muster up the courage to say.

My mother’s face cracks open into an enormous smile. I’ve made the right decision. “Really? You will?”

I nod, too afraid to open my mouth.

She digs the eye out and drops it onto my empty plate. It rolls around and around, spinning wildly, before coming to a stop in the middle.

“Go on. Try it!” Umma urges.

Fish eyeballs are slippery. My chopstick skills, which weren’t great to begin with, have been rendered useless. I concentrate and finally manage to pick up the eye, only to drop it again. It falls onto the ceramic with a soft plink.

“Just use your fingers!” Umma says.

“Fine.” I squeeze my eyes shut and feel around blindly before grasping the eyeball between my forefinger and thumb. It’s surprisingly firm, nothing like how I imagined it to be. Trembling, I drop it into my mouth. As soon as it touches my tongue, I start gagging.

“Gross!” Ji-hyun screeches, jerking back from the table.

I have to remind myself that I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for Umma. She looks at me with such tenderness that I force myself to keep the eye in my mouth. The initial wave of nausea recedes, and I roll it against the inside of my cheeks. It’s a strange feeling. The outside of the eyeball is fatty, almost jelly­like, with a salty, fishy flavor. Underneath the gelatinous goop there’s a hard white sphere that tastes like nothing. I bite down, grinning at my mother, and swallow.

“Ta-da!” I open my mouth as wide as it will go. Ji-hyun covers her eyes. Umma claps.

“Wow, Ji-won!” she says excitedly. “This means you’ve matured. You’re all grown up now.”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

I don’t point out the fact that I’m eighteen, the age when most people are already considered adults.

“I can’t believe you,” Ji-hyun says, her expression reproachful. “You’re disgusting.”

“It’s okay! You should try it too, here—” I push the plate toward her, but she swats my hand away.

“Leave me alone, you fish-eye-eating freak. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“I can tell that this eye is going to bring you a lot of luck,” Umma says cheerfully. “You’ll see! Maybe you’ll even get a boyfriend this year. What do you think about that?”

I blush. My mother is obsessed with my love life. She’s constantly asking me about boys and crushes, even though I tell her the same thing every time: that I’m too busy and that I have to focus on my studies. But if I said that I didn’t want to be in love, just once, it would be a lie.

Umma turns the fish over and tears out the other eye. I reach for it, suddenly starving, but before I can say anything she pops it into her own mouth with a smile, all thoughts of Appa gone for the night.