Yolk

by Mary H. K. Choi

  “They’re really good glasses,” says June, nodding.

  “We’ll come get you shortly,” says Dr. Ellington.

  As soon as they leave, I’m terrified that I’ll start crying hysterically. I pull my lip. Rolling the meat between thumb and forefinger.

  My phone rings. I check the screen.

  “Tell Patrick I say hi,” says June cloyingly. And then, “What does his dick look like?”

  “June, stop.” I grab my phone and walk out into the hallway.

  With Patrick I’ve been as honest as I can be. I already told him that I’d be out of pocket for a few days. That I’m dealing with a family thing but that I’ll see him on the other side. He didn’t press, and my heart was so grateful, it hurt.

  I need to show up for her. I need to get used to the strangeness of helping June for once and not the other way around. This phone call is the best way I know how.

  Once I’m back, June sighs extravagantly. “I think the last half hour is the longest I’ve been without my phone,” she says. “You were gone, what, five minutes? Without a phone it was like an eternity.”

  I check the time. They’ll be taking her in shortly.

  “June,” I tell her.

  “Don’t you mean Jayne?”

  “I did something.”

  I know from the tone in her voice and the crumpling in her face when she says “Umma?” as the door opens that I did the right thing.

  “Oh, Ji-hyun, Mom’s here,” she says in Korean. “Don’t worry.” She rushes in, kissing June’s temple.

  As soon as I’d gotten home from school yesterday, I’d called her. She’d left last night, made two connecting flights to arrive in the early morning after a thirteen-hour flight that would have normally been three, just to be here. Even when she called me from downstairs, asking what room we were in, I couldn’t believe it.

  Our mom’s here.

  Mom’s tears fall freely as she cups June’s cheeks. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  There are no more jokes. No snappy chatter. My sister begins to sob. “We’re here,” says Mom. “Don’t cry, Ji-hyun, or you’ll make your sister cry.”

  I’ve been crying. I’ve been openly weeping from the moment June said “Umma.” Mom smooths the worry lines on my sister’s forehead with her hands. “Shhhh… Stop crying, stop crying. Honestly, you’ll get wrinkles.”

  June laugh-sobs. Even if Mom’s deigned to descend upon us in filthy, freezing, godless New York, she’s still Mom.

  There’s a knock on the door as a nurse comes in. She’s young with bright, round eyes and shiny dark hair. “Good morning, Ms. Baek. I’m Celia,” she says, and slots June’s arms into the blood pressure cuff.

  “Aw, y’all make me miss my sisters,” she says in a distinctly Brooklyn accent. “I have two sisters. One in the city, the other in Westchester. I love them so much I want to kill them all the time. Who’s older?”

  I look over at June sharply. “I am,” I tell her.

  Celia takes a quick look at Mom. “You don’t look nearly old enough to be their mother. You look like sister number three.”

  Mom smiles charitably.

  “And what’s your name?”

  I feel my mother’s eyes on me. “June.”

  The air’s sucked out of the room. I can’t even look at my sister.

  “Jayne and June. I love that,” says Celia, taking June’s temperature and then shooting the plastic thermometer cover into the trash. “All right, Ms. Jayne, I’m going to need you to get on the stretcher, so hop on up.” She slides down the sides so my sister can get in.

  Celia fixes it so that June can sit up. The look is complete. With the gown, the IV stand, the hospital bracelet, and now this.

  When Celia leaves. I brace myself for Mom’s questions. All I’ve told her is that June’s having surgery.

  “I worry so much about you girls,” she says, blinking through tears. “Moving so far from home, struggling to make a life. But I’m so proud of you both.” Her voice breaks. “You’re both grown now and you’ll make your own decisions. I might not approve of all of them, but I’m so proud of the way you’re taking care of each other right now.”

  Mom starts crying openly and takes June’s hand. “Ji-hyun, you’ve always been so good at taking care of everyone. I wonder if that’s why you’re sick. If my failings are what did this to you.”

  “Mom, you didn’t fail us,” chokes June. “It’s no one’s fault. Cancer’s just a motherfucking son-of-a-whore,” she says in Korean. Even in this emotional moment, I’m impressed by my sister’s fluency.

  Mom pinches June for cussing and laughs in between a sob. “Why are you like this?” she asks.

  That’s when they come in. To take her away.

  “Jayjay?” The adrenaline jolts me to my feet. I grab my sister’s hand. They’re doing it; they’re wheeling her. Pure terror is written on her face, as I’m sure it is mine.

  “Juju,” she says, eyes locking on me.

  “I love you,” I tell her. I’ve never said it to my sister before. Ever.

  “Fuck, same,” she says urgently, reaching for my forearms. “I love you. I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you,” says Mom in Korean, holding my hand when June can’t anymore. I watch her lie back, and then that’s it. She’s concealed behind people. We walk with her stretcher as far as we’re allowed, and then the doors shut.

  There’s a burning sensation in my chest. We’re both standing in the hallway, staring like statues.

  When the door swings open again, we startle. Sandy Chee emerges and smiles. “Hi,” she says, looking at my mom expectantly.

  “This is my mom.” I fall into the role of my parent’s spokesperson easily.

  Mom nods several times and smiles with far more warmth than she would in Korean. “Hi,” she says, and takes a half step back. Mom lives in constant fear of being hugged.

  “I’m sure June can tell you more.” Sandy gestures at me. “But Jayne is in very good hands. It’s a relatively straightforward procedure, and I’ll give you updates as I have them.”

  She leads us to yet another waiting area, this one identical to the one before, with tasteful furniture and a television, but more private. “I’ll meet you back here as soon as I know more.”

  Mom takes a seat positioned optimally for the TV and pulls out a Kleenex, but instead of wiping her eyes, she wipes down the coffee table in front of her.

  I sit next to her as she pulls out a lunchbox and sets it down. “I brought kimbap,” she says. “I made it with no kimchi so it won’t smell.”

  “Okay.”

  Neither of us touches it. Finally, Mom turns to me. “Are you going to tell me why you were calling her Jayne?”

  “She had to be me,” I tell her in stilted Korean. “So, when I come here, I have to be her. Her insurance was messed up.” I don’t know if the words for car insurance and health insurance are the same, but she gets it.

  Mom sighs and pulls out a tiny Purell from her bag and offers it to me. “One of the boys at church had to do that for his brother. ACL surgery. You know Cho Theresa? The one with the super-pretty face and the unfortunate husband? I think the rehab was thirty thousand dollars. This country is ridiculous. Of course you helped her. What choice did you have?”

  She takes a quavering breath. Her cheeks collapse as she starts crying again. “I’m so glad you have each other. It lets me know that however much your father and I make mistakes, you’ll ultimately be okay.” Mom puts her arm around me. “I kept having this dream,” she says, handing me a warm bottle of Poland Spring from her purse. I scooch low into my seat, settling in. “I was eating from this huge platter of fruit, the juiciest, ripest fruit, but it was all gritty like soil and I could only taste metal. My teeth were crumbling out of my mouth.” She shudders. “I sensed something was going on even before you called me.”

  She pinches my leg. “You should have called me sooner.”

  I can’t believe Mom’s here. I�
��ve lost all sense of place. It’s almost as if we’re in a hospital in a parallel universe. Not in New York. Not in Texas. Not in America at all.

  “Your father knew something was wrong,” she says. “When you girls came home. I told him to stop being so cynical, but he said it was suspicious that you were together. That you were speaking to each other at all.” She turns to me, searching for answers. I say nothing. I can’t tell what she actually wants to hear. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but you have to know that you owe it to your sister to help. She loves you more than anything in the world. You were her baby. She was hysterical when we thought we’d lost you. When you kept playing in that stupid flower bed. She threw Flora—do you remember Flora? The porcelain clown doll? She wouldn’t let anyone touch it, she adored it so much.”

  I think of the photograph at home. The one that fell out of June’s album of her as a child, looking up prayerfully at the doll. June sitting on the floor, the toy presiding over her from the chair.

  “She tossed it out of the window to show you what would happen. I didn’t know what she was doing, but she took you to see it, and you finally understood. You stopped playing out there. It was her most precious possession, and she sacrificed it for you.”

  I realize I do know that. That it’s always been true. That there’s nothing June wouldn’t do for me.

  Mom grabs my hand again in her small one. Her palms are rough. Her knuckles thickened by work. Her wedding ring is a plain gold band, lacking in any adornment.

  “Mom,” I ask her, drawing up a breath for courage. “Did you wish that I was a boy? When I was born?”

  “Yes.” She says it so quickly that a small laugh erupts from my mouth.

  “Thanks a lot.”

  She looks at me impatiently. “Who wouldn’t have wanted a boy? Everyone wants one of each. We were hoping for a boy with Ji-soo, too.”

  My heart stops. I’ve never heard Mom’s dead baby’s name.

  “Your other sister,” she says. Again, in a tone that’s shockingly unvarnished. “I would have been happy with three girls, too. That would have been wonderful, to gather all of you in my arms like a bouquet. My sweet daughters with your enormous heads.” She leans back in her chair. “You girls weren’t easy on the way out, let me tell you.”

  “Mom?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Where did you go?” I barrel on before I lose courage. I want to be able to tell June when she wakes up. “When you were gone for so long?”

  She sighs. “Your father said you would ask,” she says. “I wonder when I’m going to start believing him.”

  I stay silent. Hoping this time she’ll say what I need her to.

  “I went to Korea,” she says. “I had to go home.”

  “Why didn’t you bring us with you?”

  She shakes her head. “That wasn’t your home. I can’t explain it. I needed to be in Korea. Your grandmother was furious, crying, hitting me every day, telling me I was a disgrace, but I just stayed at my childhood home and cried. And slept. I went to Ji-soo’s grave every day. That’s the only thing I did.”

  I picture a small grave. A child’s grave.

  “I missed you girls every day. I hope you believe me. I was haunted by thoughts of you. But Ji-soo needed me too. My body didn’t want to be in America. This life we chose, it was so hard. Your father and I had worked sixteen-hour days for over ten years. I thought I’d made a mistake. That I’d made a mistake to choose this life and that I’d brought you girls into it, which was unforgivable. But one morning, when I went to talk to her, it was pouring rain and then it cleared up. I was on my knees, clearing off the clumps of grass that were sticking to her, telling her about everything we’d seen, what our house was like, what the two of you were doing, and I felt a sense of calm wash over me. The horrible feeling, the weight that was pressing down the moment we landed in Texas, the way it would bear down on my chest until I couldn’t breathe, was lifted. I knew it was time to come back. To my real home. With you two and your father.”

  She looks at me.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have better words to describe it,” she says. “When you have children, you’ll understand.”

  I picture my mother, in the suit she’d left in, in her blouse, on her knees. The way the dirt and small stones bit into them, ruining her pantyhose. I imagine her talking to her dead baby on a green hill.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever understand what my mother felt. Whether it was grief for herself or her dead daughter that kept her away. I know what it’s like to want to leave. How it feels when the home you have is a mirage, an illusion. But I know that wherever I am, if June’s around, I’ll be okay. Even if she hates me a little. Because even when she hates me, she loves me the most.

  “You know, the trick to taking care of your sister is letting her think she’s taking care of you.” She scoops my hand in hers. “I suspect you can ask your father the best way to do that since he does it so well with me.” This makes me laugh.

  “Your unni needs you. You’re the only one who can get close enough to help. Be good to her. Especially when you two have to do this again.”

  I give her a questioning look. “When it’s your turn to have children, you’ll have to be June, because after this surgery ‘Jayne’ won’t be able to. At least not according to your medical records. You’ll have to switch places and help each other again.”

  My heart stops. I realize she’s right.

  The thought of doing all of this over makes my soul leave my body. I can’t imagine how tiring it’s going to be. But I also love the idea of June’s name looking after both of us. Maybe my kid’s name will carry her Ji. Or maybe it will be inspired by a poison or a war general.

  “Umma?”

  “Hmm?”

  I scooch low in my seat so I can put my big head on her bony shoulder. “What does Ji-soo mean?”

  I feel her heartbeat in her small chest. “I never told you?” She pulls my hand closer so she can trace the characters on my palm with her finger.

  I shake my head, eyes closed. “Tell me.”

  resources

  If you experience shame, obsession, and perfectionism around food and body weight, you are not alone. Please reach out to the support systems below.

  The National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) is the largest nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting individuals and families affected by eating disorders.

  Call or text: (800) 931-2237

  For crisis situations, text “NEDA” to 741741 to be connected with a trained volunteer at Crisis Text Line.

  www.nationaleatingdisorders.org

  Overeaters Anonymous (OA) is a community of people who support each other in order to recover from compulsive eating and food behaviors. There are no dues or fees to join.

  Call: (505) 891-2664

  www.oa.org

  acknowledgments

  Lol. This book.

  Remember when I said the second one was hard? Well. Just… Wow.

  I am grateful to so many people for their love and patience. Edward Orloff, my agent. You are decent and kind and I love the way you do business. Thank you, Susan Hobson at McCormick, for all the beautiful international editions.

  Thank you to my family at Simon & Schuster. Kendra Levin, I didn’t know that editors like you existed. Thank you for your wisdom. And for extracting me from the hellscape of my own making when I decided I wanted this book to be done before it was ready. Dainese Santos, thank you for understanding my heart and reading with such sensitivity and care. I feel so stinkin’ affluent that I got to have a pair of Asian eyes on this trust-fall of a manuscript.

  Justin Chanda, I’m grateful for your unwavering support. Chrissy Noh, Lisa Moraleda, Anna Jarzab, Anne Zafian, Lauren Hoffman… you guys! Here we are again. How even? I miss y’all! Remember offices? Plus, hi, Mackenzie at S&S Canada. Hearts.

  To gg, a genius. And Lizzy Bromley, a legend.

  Thanks to my people: Phil Chang, Asa Akira
, Minya Oh, Eric Chang, Leilani Zahn, Kenzo, Eric Hu, Steven Yeun, Yoonjin Ha, Trish Hook, Naomi Zeichner, Rose Garcia, Kerin Rose, Sara Vilkomerson, Jess Gentile, Soo-young Kim, Keith Abrams, Gabriella Ainslie, Maeve Higgins, Melanie Campbell, Imelda Walavalkar, Brooke Nipar, Stephen Porto, Usha Khanna, Ginny Hwang, Emily Pai, and Kyoko Fukuda.

  Suze Webb, thanks as always for the astute read. Karen Good Marable for the voice notes and the sentiments. Mark Lotto, thank you for bearing witness to every single multiverse version of Yolk and straight up telling me which ones were trash. Jami Attenberg for the perspective and reminders to be gentle. Aminatou Sow, Dr. Betty Nyein, Emily Eagan, and Dr. Jennifer Mueller at Memorial Sloan Kettering for your time and guidance around reproductive health.

  Thanks to Zareen Jaffery for all the hand-holding and the love.

  Thanks to Jenna Wortham for hanging out with me in outer space.

  Thanks to Jenny Han for being a Virgo and for world-class discernment and courage.

  To Jermaine Johnson, Priya Verma, Jason Richman, and Mary Pender. We are the most beautifullest together. I am so lucky.

  To my therapist Ryan and the fellowship of now two different flavors of 12-step group. You guys stay saving my life and my sanity. Thank you for teaching me that feelings are not facts and that the universe is a benevolent conspiracy hellbent on showing me magic if I simply get out of the way.

  For my family. Especially Ollie since he’s new. Especially—especially—to the mom one. I love you to the moon, Peaches. I’m so glad you’re still here even though you don’t read a lick of English.

  And, of course, Samuel Reinhard. My favorite human being on this bum deal of a planet. I love you so much, it’s stupid.

  More from the Author

  Permanent Record

  Emergency Contact

  about the author

  Photograph (c) Aaron Richter

  Mary H.K. Choi is a writer for The New York Times, GQ, Wired, and The Atlantic. She has written comics for Marvel and DC, as well as a collection of essays called Oh, Never Mind. Her novels Emergency Contact and Permanent Record were New York Times bestsellers. She is the host of Hey, Cool Job!, a podcast about jobs, and Hey, Cool Life!, a podcast about mental health and creativity. Mary grew up in Hong Kong and Texas and now lives in New York. Follow her on Twitter @ChoitotheWorld.