her hand on her protruding stomach.
The last time my aunt came, she had to sit and take gulping breaths every few minutes. She said she could feel the baby on her pelvis and that his head was hitting her pelvic bones every time she took a step.
I had not known it would be the last time, but after they left, Miss Loring came to tell me that they had left me an envelope of money, entrusted to her for safekeeping, which they had not done before. When she showed me how much, I was shocked—it was more money than I had ever seen—or heard of—at one time. They must have borrowed it—I knew they had never had this kind of money.
But had I known it was their last visit, I would have been glad. I was grateful I never had to say goodbye to them again.
* * *
—
“I DON’T CARE what your aunt’s situation was,” said Ruby. “Who does that?” We had been eating at the izakaya for almost an hour but no one showed any sign of slowing down. The table was crammed with tiny dishes of grilled meats and vegetables while waiters frantically passed us by with orders from the other tables. As always, I thought of the bill, how much it would be with all of this meat. The tongue in particular was expensive. The endless pours of shochu would also drive up the bill, and I took care not to drink very much. It made me feel less bad when, inevitably, either Hanbin or Minwoo, but usually Hanbin, paid the check. Never once had I heard Ruby offer. When I had offered to chip in early on, when I first met them, Hanbin had just laughed and patted my head while Ruby looked on with amusement.
Ruby’s face was flushed and she shook off her camel-colored fur jacket, which slid down the seat and then onto the floor. I bent and picked it up gingerly and draped it back over her chair, my fingers lingering on the softness of the fur.
“So you never saw them again?” she asked, picking at a skewer of chicken hearts. “They never even called you? Do you know where they live now?” She held up the bottle of shochu and shook it, to show that it was empty. Minwoo called a waiter and asked for another bottle, then saw a friend at another table and went to talk to him.
“Maybe we should talk about something else if Miho is uncomfortable,” said Hanbin, reaching over to Ruby’s cup. It was half full and he picked it up and finished it, putting it down on his side of the table. “And I think you are drinking too fast,” he said to her. Looking at him, I thought how big his shoulders were. In his thick, ribbed turtleneck sweater, he looked as if he belonged in some New England catalog against a backdrop of a log house and snow-dusted fir trees. His face was mostly impassive—throughout my story he had not said a word. I noticed just a glint of disapproval, although at whom it was directed was unclear.
“Oh shut up,” said Ruby, rudely. “If she was uncomfortable, she wouldn’t be telling us in the first place. Don’t you want to hear more?” She wasn’t even looking at him as she said this.
If anything made me uncomfortable, it was the savage way Ruby talked to Hanbin. I looked down at my plate of food. I hoped they noticed that I wasn’t eating very much. I always ate several cups of yogurt or a slab of tofu with soy sauce from the Asian mart before meeting them, to fill myself up.
“Of course I want to hear more,” said Hanbin, looking at me. I stared at his hair, glinting under the lamp, to avoid meeting his eyes. “But not if it brings up bad memories. I’m really sorry to hear about all this. It must have been so hard for you.” The frown line on his forehead grew deeper.
I mumbled something, embarrassed. I did not want him to feel sorry for me and I regretted telling either of them this. I knew that hearing this story would change the