8 #3
“You can be a lawyer, then, and in law school, you can meet someone else with more ambition,” Nari said.
“My daughter would be a great lawyer. You’re excellent at talking.
Even when you were a little girl, the teachers would always choose you to lead the assemblies and classroom.
I’m always so proud of you. And you even got into UCLA after being in America for only a few years.
You know how to fight for yourself. You learned how to argue. ”
“I don’t argue with you, Umma,” Yun said. “To you, I lose,” she said, smiling. “You should’ve gone to law school.”
With her father gone, the apartment felt messier and more cramped.
He had been the one who threw out the old newspapers and grocery bags.
He would never leave a dirty dish in the sink.
Exhausted and sad, her mother worked six days a week and watched dramas in her remaining waking hours.
No one cooked anymore or bothered to order food.
There were empty soda cans and peanut butter jars on the counter and expired food in the refrigerator. Yun didn’t want to live here anymore.
She imagined living in a nice house with a grassy backyard.
There would be sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows.
In her mind, there was an upstairs, from where she could hear children laughing.
Having grown up as an only child, she wished for a large family.
Lion had two siblings, and what she liked best about his family was how the three got along.
Lion seemed stronger even when he was alone because somewhere else he had backup.
You could feel the presence of his brother and sister when you were with him.
He had extra knowledge, relationships, and experiences because he had been raised with a team.
“Lion wants to get married.”
“He’s not stable yet,” Nari said, frowning.
Yun was surprised. “I thought you liked him.” She’d figured her mother would be more worried about her age or that she hadn’t finished college yet.
“Lion is a nice boy,” Nari admitted. But she still wanted someone better for her daughter—a kind of prince who would take Yun away from their two-bedroom rental, its lobby smelling of roach spray.
The prince would be a warmhearted, noble person from a distinguished family and would be kind to her and her husband. He would never look down on them.
“You don’t have to marry a Korean,” Nari said. “You have time to get married. I’m not like the ignorant Koreans who insist that their daughters marry a Korean man. If you bring home a yellow-haired man with blue eyes who is worthy of your heart—”
“Umma.” Yun stared hard at her mother. “Lion is a good man. He is already doing well.”
“Do you have a lot of homework?” Nari asked. She tended to change the subject when she ran out of arguments.
“Just some reading and a problem set. It’s almost done.”
“Are you looking forward to Mido coming soon?”
Yun nodded and smiled.
Nari stood up and left the blanket crumpled on the recliner. Joonho would have folded it, but he was in Brazil.
“Going to sleep now,” she said, and patted her daughter’s shoulder.
At her desk, Yun opened her finance textbook and continued to work on her assignment.
Her mother was wrong about Lion. There was no need for him to be a lawyer.
About music she couldn’t be sure. There was so much they didn’t understand about that world.
Yun believed that he was incredibly talented.
There were no guarantees in the arts, but someone had to do well.
Everyone liked music. Why not, he’d say, why not me?
Lion didn’t want to be a pastor or a lawyer or work in finance.
He didn’t want to work in real estate like his brother, Ray.
Lion had created this life because he wanted to write music and play in a band.
He needed at least three hours a day for his music and an hour to exercise.
It was Lion’s plan to have a top-performing hagwon with the best tutors and the strongest students.
Later he’d replicate his model in other locations, he said.
Through tutoring, he had found a way to be financially independent, do work that he enjoyed, and pursue his music.
His business model was simple: He paid the highest salaries and bonuses to the most gifted teachers in Orange County. Already his small tutoring business had shown a net profit of $175,000. Now there was no way for Lion to have more students, tutors, and profit unless he had more space.
Yun didn’t tell her mother what he had earned last year, because it wasn’t her information to share.
He made more money than lawyers his age.
Lion wanted her to run the office for him so he could focus on growing the business.
He was impatient for its success. They would have a beautiful life with a good purpose, he’d said.
Too many American kids weren’t even getting a basic education, and Lion thought he could provide better ways for the students to study and become capable learners.
I want kids to like learning, he said. Yun respected the way he lived.
She finished her problem set and put it aside. From her church tote bag, she took out the sheet music. From beneath her bed, she retrieved her small Casio keyboard, and she propped it up on her lap. Without turning it on, she tapped “Blessed Be the Lord” and sang quietly.